The piercing sound of alarm bells echoed one after another, as if this city was riddled with crisis and danger at every turn. Sitting in the café, gazing out at the cold, wintry London through the glass, I watched as three police cars sped past in just a short time. My ears twitched; I could faintly hear gunshots in the distance. The bustling capital of this old empire now felt like it had plunged straight into war.
To be fair, it’s not quite war, but it’s close enough. The Prime Minister has already signed a nationwide martial law order, mobilized for battle, and declared a red-level anti-terror alert. Ever since the attempted assassination of Queen Elizabeth, the British media has gone completely bonkers. Twenty-four hours a day, every single channel, no matter where you turn, it’s all anyone’s talking about.
Of course, what happens to Elizabeth doesn’t really matter to the average Londoner. What people are actually losing their minds over is the fact that someone’s out there firing guns, launching rockets, and blasting missiles right on the streets of London. Every Londoner with half a brain is losing it—men, women, nonbinary, you name it. Every single person with a mouth is talking about the same thing. The blazing fire lighting up half the sky looks like a volcano erupting downtown. MI5, MI6, MI-whatever—they couldn’t cover this up if they tried.
People are panicking. Seriously, everyone’s freaking out.
There are two main signs.
First, this historic, exclusive, rule-obsessed café—usually impossible to get into—has dropped all pretenses. Jill Young and Dream Monroe just strolled right in. Everyone from the waiters to the owner looked miserable, and after we placed our order, nobody bothered us again. Who cares about fancy etiquette at a time like this?
Second, the whole city of London seems to have descended into utter chaos. The original troublemakers have gone quiet, but now every wannabe rebel is popping up like acne. The British government is going nuts, sweeping the city like they’re digging for buried treasure. Most of the people getting caught are just unlucky bystanders, but who cares about that now? Even if it’s just for the international image, they can’t afford to stop.
Official forces, shady characters, opportunists, and random nutcases—London’s basically a war zone right now.
“You all deserve to die! You rich folks are all the same!” Amid the chaos of hurried footsteps, a wild-eyed man burst into the café. With a dramatic flourish, he whipped out a submachine gun from under his coat. “The end of the world is here! Judgment Day has come, sinners! I’ll send you to meet your maker!”
Ratatatat! The rapid gunfire, terrified screams, bullets whizzing through the air, glass shattering everywhere—the place was total chaos.
Jill Young rested her left cheek on her hand, sitting there looking utterly blank. Bullets were flying all around, but she didn’t even bother to glance over. The goddess across from her was just as unfazed, head resting on her arms, deep in thought. Compared to everyone else scrambling for cover, these two were a bizarre sight.
Naturally, weirdos stand out. The gunman immediately ignored everyone else and fired straight at them. The bullets, with absolutely terrible aim, traced a giant 'H' between the two of them, missing every hair but successfully turning the nearby window into a shower of glass. Only then did Jill Young cover her coffee cup to keep out the glass, and with a casual flick of her fingers, like swatting a mosquito, she snapped.
Boom—a ripple shook the air, her finger flick slicing through space. The shooter collapsed instantly, eyes bulging, body rigid, completely out cold. The customers realized they’d just dodged death and, knowing this was no place to linger, bolted out without even grabbing their stuff. The owner of the century-old café hated to abandon ship, but after the staff shot a terrified look at Jill Young, they dragged him out by force.
In an instant, the whole historic café was turned into a drafty wreck.
“This is what they call the domino effect. A sudden disaster, and the real damage comes afterward.” Dream Monroe glanced at Jill Young, smirking. “Look at you—an ancient, peaceful city turned upside down by your antics. Look at that heartbroken owner. Can you still drink your coffee?”
“First off, I’m not the one causing trouble. Go blame whoever’s actually stirring things up. Second, all that talk about an ancient, peaceful city is nonsense. If things were really that calm, everyone would be working together to fix the mess, not looting and shooting. Disaster may strike suddenly, but the tension’s been building for ages.” Jill Young snapped out of her daze, picked up her cup, and took a noisy sip. “Yep, British black cuisine—its reputation is well-deserved.”
Dream Monroe frowned. “But you have the power to stop things from getting out of hand before they do.”
Jill Young shrugged. “I didn’t stash the dynamite, I didn’t light the fuse. Now it’s blown up and you’re blaming me?”
“Don’t forget: with great power comes great responsibility.” Dream Monroe looked dead serious. “If you know there’s a powder keg sitting there and you just let it explode, then you’re not totally off the hook. Like with that shooting just now—if you sit back and let innocent people get gunned down, what’s the point of all your world-class kung fu?”
“Oh wow, you think I’m Spider-Man now? Save the lectures. Everyone wants to be a superhero, but there are two things you gotta check first.” Jill Young raised a finger. “One: is there another trap behind this powder keg? If you just charge in and kick this one out of the way, but trigger a bigger crisis, wouldn’t that make you just a reckless idiot?”
If the tricks behind it are shallow, fine—take that shooting just now, for example. Sure, it was an MI5 agent’s staged drama—yeah, I love that look on your face when you’re caught off guard. That’s right: the shooter was real, the owner, staff, and customers were all real, but the fact that the gunman showed up right here, right now, was no accident. But MI5’s nothing special, just a bunch of pond turtles—I can handle them if I want. But what if the tricks run deep, the secrets are thick, the stakes are huge, and the consequences are serious?
This chapter isn’t over yet ^.^ Click next page to keep reading!
She bent her finger and tapped on the window. Outside, there was a small river; in the Memory Realm, right at the spot Jill Young pointed to, a door to the Void was wide open. Jill Young’s gaze was deep. “What do you think—is the secret behind that door shallow or deep? When it comes to gods, I bet you know more than I do.”
Dream Monroe immediately shook her head. “When it comes to this, I can’t help you.”
“Ha!” Jill Young squinted and grinned. “Here we go again—preaching, rambling, acting all wise, but when it’s crunch time, suddenly it’s ‘no comment.’ Honestly, you should just go get a job at the PR department! You can’t help me with this? I’ll just laugh and ask: what exactly can you help with?”
Dream Monroe bit her lip, chest heaving with frustration. After a moment, she took a deep breath. “Fine. About the gods—”
“Forget it, forget it, don’t say anymore. When the oracle speaks, the effects last forever, and some secrets are better left untold. I get it, I get it.” Jill Young suddenly pulled off her best impression of her aunt’s dramatic mood swings—impatient one second, then all sentimental the next. She reached for Dream Monroe’s face: “I tease you because I want to know your doubts. I want to know what’s bothering you. I want to know your inner conflict. I want to know, what is it that—pfft, nope, can’t do it, can’t hold it in, I’m just not cut out for my aunt’s goofy style!”
“Get your hands off me!” Dream Monroe snapped, batting away the hand reaching for her face. Then she turned serious. “I can’t reveal too much, but I suppose there are some things I can tell you. About the gods—I really don’t know much. Sure, I’ve got a non-limited Level One Divine License, but when it comes to those truly transcendent deities, you’ve met more than I have. I haven’t even seen the one in the Pacific with my own eyes. What I can say is, we’re on the right track. As Aunt Joan channels more memories, the twin resonance grows stronger, which means we’re closing in on the Void Coordinates for the Heart of Tiberius.”
“That part I’m clear on. What’s got me confused is something else.” Jill Young scratched her head, looking troubled. “What do you think about Adam?”
“No opinion.” Dream Monroe shrugged. “It’s way too early to say anything. From that era to this one, too much time has passed, too many things have changed—it’s all way too complicated. But I do think that once we finally figure out the whole story, that’ll be the moment of truth. And it’ll be the moment we pinpoint the Heart of Tiberius for good.”
“Couldn’t agree more!” Jill Young downed her coffee like it was a shot, then stood up. “Let’s go. Mom should be rested by now. If we don’t leave soon, the little monsters will really start biting, and I’m not looking to rack up a body count today!”
“Alright.” Dream Monroe picked up her cup, blew on it, and asked casually, “So, what’s the second thing?”
“Second thing?”
“The second prerequisite for playing hero.”
“Isn’t it obvious? It’s your mood. If I’m calm, I can think everything through and make sense of it all. But if I’m worked up—ha!” Jill Young grabbed Dream Monroe’s cup and knocked back another sip of the infamous British cuisine. “Live or die, bring it on! When push comes to shove, who has time to overthink? Let’s get out of here!”
“Sounds like peace of mind is pretty rare for you. So, where to next?”
“First, we leave London. The boys back home are still working on the coordinates. Thirty years have passed—we need some time to find the right target.” Just then, her wrist computer buzzed with a new message. Jill Young glanced down and grinned. “Looks like we’ve got another hot spot!”
Dream Monroe glanced at the screen, and there it was: another famous location.
United Arab Emirates, Dubai.