北京青年手机

Chapter 739: The Shadow Before the Apocalypse

For a brief instant, Zhou Ming’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief, half-convinced that his mind was playing tricks on him, a mirage conjured by the recent string of bizarre incidents and profound disappointments. However, he quickly snapped back to reality, recognizing the persistent knocking as a tangible, unceasing reality.

With a swift motion, he approached the door, his movements as rapid as a whirlwind. His hand touched the doorknob, ready to turn it, but he paused, hesitating for a mere two seconds.

The question loomed in his mind – should he really open the door? Was he about to carelessly walk into a potential trap?

In the early days of his confinement in this room, Zhou Ming would have had no such reservations. Back then, he dismissed the thick fog outside as a mere illusion, still firmly believing that his familiar hometown lay just beyond it. But now, his understanding had drastically changed. He knew the grim truth – his hometown was long gone, obliterated. What remained was this small apartment unit, an isolated speck in an otherwise empty universe. Beyond the impenetrable fog lay nothing but the remnants of a world that had succumbed to oblivion.

Who, then, could possibly be knocking at his door in a world that had ceased to exist?

It seemed highly improbable that it would be a regular, living human being.

With a cautious mindset, Zhou Ming contemplated his options. Meanwhile, the knocking continued with a patient rhythm, each ‘thud’ spaced three to five seconds apart. The sound was neither rushed nor slow, embodying the patience and persistence of the unseen visitor – like a courteous but stubborn guest determined to be received.

Zhou Ming faced a dilemma: opening the door could lead him into a trap, but ignoring it meant missing out on what could be a crucial, unprecedented encounter. No matter who or what was outside, this event was supernatural and demanded his attention.

A whirlwind of thoughts raced through his mind. Finally, with a deep breath, he resolved to act. One hand firmly grasped the doorknob while the other gently swept across the door frame.

As his hand moved, a translucent, ghostly flame traced his path, creating a shimmering, fiery barrier across the frame.

Braced for whatever might come, Zhou Ming exerted pressure on the knob and swiftly pulled the door open. But there was nothing there – just the familiar, ever-churning black fog.

Zhou Ming’s heart raced, his breath coming in heavy gasps as he stared out into the void of the black fog, unable to shake off the intense feeling of unease that clung to him. A nagging thought plagued him: had he been too slow in responding to the knocking? Perhaps the mysterious visitor, having grown impatient, had departed just as he opened the door.

His brow furrowed in confusion. Zhou Ming was certain that the knocking had not ceased until the very moment he opened the door. It seemed implausible that whoever was there would vanish so suddenly, even if they had lost patience.

As he stood there, immersed in his doubts, a familiar sound abruptly shattered his train of thought.

The same knocking noise—’thud, thud, thud’—resonated in his ears once more.

Zhou Ming’s eyes widened in astonishment as he peered into the dense, swirling black fog. It dawned on him that the source of the knocking wasn’t from his immediate surroundings, but rather, it was emanating from within the fog itself.

The sound appeared to be tantalizingly close as if it was emanating from just beyond the fog’s murky veil, seemingly within arm’s reach. Yet, despite Zhou Ming’s efforts to peer through the fog, his vision was met with nothing but opaque darkness. He tentatively extended his hand into the fog, feeling the cold, empty air brush against his skin. His hand grasped at nothingness, even as the knocking persisted in its rhythmic patience.

Slowly retracting his hand from the fog, Zhou Ming stood silently at the doorway, his mind gradually calming as he listened to the endless knocking. He realized that someone, or something, was attempting to reach his “hut” from the other side of the black fog, hindered by the impenetrable barrier of this “cocoon”.

After a prolonged period of deep contemplation, a sudden idea struck Zhou Ming. He swiftly made his way to his desk.

In a flurry of activity, he gathered various items—a whiteboard marker, sheets of paper, a soft tape measure, and a ball of string among other miscellaneous objects. He hastily stuffed these items into a plastic bag and then returned them to the door.

Next, Zhou Ming grabbed a note and scribbled a message in the universal language of the Boundless Seas: “I heard you. Who are you?” He attached the note to the mouth of the plastic bag and, without a moment’s hesitation, hurled the bag into the enveloping black fog.

The plastic bag, now a vessel of miscellaneous items, was swiftly consumed by the undulating darkness, vanishing into the dark abyss.

Zhou Ming watched the spot where the bag disappeared, his breathing slowing significantly. He was gripped by an intensity of anticipation greater than any he had experienced before—even surpassing the anxiety he felt during the onset of Pland’s fire of his doing.

Then, the knocking abruptly stopped. Just a second after the bag penetrated the fog, the ‘thud, thud, thud’ ceased entirely.

It was evident that the “visitor” on the other side had received Zhou Ming’s makeshift “gift” and had reacted to it. Yet, Zhou Ming found himself waiting in prolonged silence, receiving no further response or indication of what would come next.

….

On the navigation table, Goathead suddenly sensed something and immediately turned its neck with a creaking sound towards the door of the captain’s room – a tall and imposing figure opened the door and walked in, his footsteps slightly heavy.

“Your name?” it asked.

“Duncan Abnomar,” Duncan replied with weariness as he plopped himself on a nearby chair, seemingly exhausted.

Goathead, sensitive to the captain’s mood, picked up on his weariness. It had initially planned a five-minute welcoming aria for the captain, intending to engage in light conversation about the peculiar weather patterns of the borderlands. However, sensing the captain’s current state, it hesitated to hold back before asking cautiously, “Are you… alright? You seem upset?”

Duncan briefly looked at Goathead and dismissed the earlier knocking incident, saying, “Someone knocked, but there was no follow-up.”

Goathead paused, pondering, then inquired, “…Does this have anything to do with Ai?”

Duncan, familiar with such random conversational turns, waved his hand dismissively. Goathead, even more adept at such situations, quickly shifted its tone and topic upon realizing that the captain was not inclined to discuss further. “Captain, we are about to navigate through the dense fog of the Eternal Veil. Should we continue directly back to Wind Harbor, or do you have other plans?”

“…Return to Wind Harbor. I need time to think and discuss some issues with the popes—they’ll likely be in the city-state during this period,” Duncan decided.

“Understood, captain,” responded Goathead promptly. It then hesitated before adding, “Also, captain, what are your thoughts on the report from Vanna and Morris?”

“Are you referring to the ‘figures’ they saw before evacuating the Holy Island?” Duncan clarified.

“Yes,” Goathead confirmed. “They were cloaked in tattered robes, resembling spectral figures of the Doomsday Enders, yet they interacted with no one, almost as if they existed in a different dimension of time and space. This doesn’t align with the Doomsday Enders we know. Their presence on the Holy Island is highly unusual.”

Duncan thought for a moment before pulling out a small photo and placing it on the chart table for a closer examination. This photo, given to him by Morris during a previous meeting in the cabin, was the only evidence they had of the mysterious figures that appeared on the Holy Island.

The photo was somewhat unclear, marred by a fine, striped pattern that seemed like some sort of interference or veil. Yet, it was possible to discern a black door deep within a cave and a vague, white figure beside it. Shrouded in a tattered robe, the figure had indistinct features, identifiable only by its posture and location. It appeared to be intently observing something – either the black door or perhaps something beyond it.

As they contemplated the photo of the mysterious figure, Goathead voiced its thoughts, reflecting on the nature of the Doomsday Enders encountered in the past. “In earlier times, the Doomsday Enders who appeared before people were either deranged individuals, lost in their own apocalyptic delusions and spouting nonsensical prophecies, or they were level-headed scholars. These scholars tried to communicate important messages or guide significant events, making their intentions known to those who witnessed them. But this is the first instance where such ghostly apparitions appeared, ones who don’t interact with anyone at all. They seem preoccupied with their own mysterious purposes, utterly ignoring the bustling activity around them, almost as if…”

With a soft voice, Duncan added his own interpretation, “As if they are travelers in a rush, on an extensive journey.”

Goathead hesitated, “You mean to say…”

“Just a fleeting thought,” Duncan clarified, lifting his head. “They appear deeply absorbed in their tasks, indifferent to anything happening in their vicinity. It’s possible that we’re witnessing the Doomsday Survey Teams traversing the currents of time—this might be how they manifest ‘on the move’.”

Intrigued by this idea, Goathead said, “So, are you suggesting that Vanna and Morris witnessed the residual phantoms left by the Cretans as they journeyed through time? We’ve never observed anything like this before…”

After a brief pause, Duncan shook his head. “Or maybe it’s yet another warning.”

Goathead was a bit slow to understand, “Another warning?”

Duncan elaborated calmly, looking directly into the eyes of Goathead. “The Doomsday Survey Teams, originating from the Deep Sea Era, once journeyed to the ‘end of time’, reaching the final moments of the Sanctuary,” he explained. “This implies that…”

He left the thought unfinished, but Goathead grasped the implication, “That suggests we are destined to encounter them at the end of time, during the apocalypse. It’s the only moment where our timelines might truly intersect…”

Duncan remained silent, his gaze fixed on the photo resting on the chart table. The photo showed the indistinct figure standing next to the black door, seemingly focused on something with great attention.

It might have been just a trick of the light, but Duncan couldn’t shake the feeling that the blurred figure in the photo appeared somewhat clearer than before.