Chapter 65: The Returner

When Sean was hoisted into the air by the Chelicerate, gripping him by the back of his collar, he could only think how utterly absurd everything was—how could a Chelicerate possibly appear in an underground base?

This was not the wasteland; this was a habitable zone, specifically the safest, most improbable place within the most habitable zones for a Chelicerate to emerge.

He had painstakingly planned a future for himself paved with blooming flowers. By then, the casualties among the Mercury Needles would be nothing more than a statistic to him. He would glance over them hastily in the morning newspaper, forget all about it, and calmly enjoy his croissant and coffee.

The weeping in the distance had nothing to do with him, because he was about to completely escape the fate of being sacrificed, living an ordinary, carefree life in the safe rear like any ordinary citizen of the habitable zone...

"Don't cry. Stand straight." The Chelicerate's voice was thin and papery as it set Sean down against the wall. "Look at me?"

The final strand of rationality in Sean's mind snapped. He obediently followed the Chelicerate's command, though his gaze went completely hollow.

Instead, the Chelicerate frowned. It had wanted to witness the ugly spectacle of the youth struggling in his dying moments, which would have brought it immense amusement. Yet the young man seemed paralyzed with fear, showing not the slightest hint of resistance or survival instinct, like a broken toy.

"Breathe."

The Chelicerate raised a hand, gesturing for Sean to inhale and exhale to the rhythm of its arm.

The collapse brought on by impending death briefly ebbed between each breath. With a shudder, Sean finally snapped out of his delirium-like panic.

Only at this moment did he truly see the Chelicerate before him clearly, and he slumped back down to the ground, trembling uncontrollably.

The Chelicerate let out a soft breath—anyway, the boy's expression was far more vivid now than it had been before.

"What is your name, young man?"

"Sean... Sean Grandguillot."

"Any family left, Sean?" the Chelicerate asked calmly. "Close friends? A teacher? I don't know... who usually takes care of you?"

Sean answered with a trembling voice, though it was so faint that the Chelicerate had to bend down and press its ear to his lips to catch it.

"Ah, your brother." The Chelicerate wore a sorrowful smile. "Alright, I understand... You may go."

Sean did not understand. "Go... where?"

"Anywhere. Leave this place; it's not safe here." The Chelicerate glanced back the way it had come. "I'm not the only Chelicerate that escaped today... If you want to save your life, run."

Sean paused, looking at the Chelicerate in disbelief. "Why? Why are you, why would you—"

"Because, just like you, I also had a brother, Sean. But he died in the wasteland, and I will never see him again."

The Chelicerate looked at Sean with a trace of tenderness in its tone, even extending its pincers to brush the hair from Sean's forehead.

"How I envy you, having a brother to rely on. Don't waste any more time. Run."

A faint light gradually ignited in Sean's eyes. This sudden stroke of fortune left him slightly dizzy, and it took him a long time to process it.

He felt the warmth returning to his limbs, and the restriction period seemed about to end.

Bracing himself against the wall, Sean slowly stood up. He staggered forward a few steps, looked back at the Chelicerate behind him, his gaze still carrying a hint of uncertainty.

The Chelicerate waved at him, as if bidding farewell.

Sean took a deep breath—he felt his restriction period end. In an instant, his survival instinct surged like molten lava once more.

Must live...

I must survive!

As he burst into a sprint, Sean tried to re-enter bullet time as if grasping at a straw. He pumped his arms and ran wildly, feeling the familiar power returning to his body like a stray spark falling onto dry brushwood.

Yet the next moment, he saw his own right hand fly out in front of him.

Spattering hot blood stained the nearby walls and ground. While still propelled by momentum, before he could even feel the pain, Sean saw his left arm fly off as well.

Overwhelmed by a tearing, agonizing pain, Sean lost his balance once more and collapsed heavily to the ground.

Not far away, his severed limbs hit the floor, bounced, rolled a few times, and came to a stop.

Amidst a fog-like despair, Sean finally realized that he had once again slipped out of bullet time.

There was no chance left...

Sean heard the Chelicerate laughing wildly behind him, along with the sound of its rapid footsteps approaching—in the end, he had indeed become a piece of meat on a chopping board, just another nameless soul among countless victims beneath the Chelicerate's claws.

"Save me... I don't want to... I don't want to die..."

His weeping sounded like the prelude to a musical piece, and this intense thirst for life exploded like a sudden storm, plunging the Chelicerate into rapturous delight—

"Bang."

"Bang. Bang."

The sudden gunfire interrupted the Chelicerate's charge. It dodged the first shot and used its hard pincers to deflect the subsequent two.

Sean was stunned once more. His plea for help moments ago might have been called out to some savior in the void, to an ethereal miracle, or perhaps merely served as a meaningless final inner confession... He had not truly expected any specific entity to appear at this final juncture.

He raised his head blankly to see a blurred figure standing in the distance. As the person drew closer, Sean's expression froze on his face.

It was Hesta.

Hesta walked through the gunsmoke, gripping her weapon as she re-entered this corridor of death.

The Chelicerate's figure was reflected in Hesta's eyes. Beneath its dark blue prison uniform were several sharp scalpels; thrown with the Chelicerate's immense strength, these metal blades were not to be underestimated—Sean was living proof of that.

However, if she had already been able to evade this Chelicerate's attack back at the shelter... did that mean it was possible for her to break through it head-on?

"You came back?" The Chelicerate asked in sheer disbelief, glancing at Sean on the ground. "Did you come to save him?"

Hesta did not answer. She only muttered in a low voice, "Step aside. I need to get through."

The Chelicerate brought its hands together, pressing the heels of its palms as it clapped rapidly. "How touching... How touching."

While the two sides were at a stalemate, Sean on the ground finally snapped to his senses and shouted toward Hesta, "Destroy... Destroy its prefrontal cortex—"

Hesta looked at him in bewilderment—What on earth are you talking about?

Sean immediately translated it again: "Shoot it in the eyes!"

At that very moment, the Chelicerate launched its high-speed charge. It leaped into the air, lifting its left arm to shield the upper half of its face, leaving only its right eye peering through the gap in its pincers to monitor Hesta's every move.

Hesta held her breath.

Her guess had not been wrong. The scene that had unfolded outside the shelter was no coincidence: in her field of vision, the Chelicerate seemed to have entered slow motion.

Hesta furrowed her brows and clenched her fists. Even though the slowed-down Chelicerate remained ferocious, nevertheless—

This speed, I can keep up.