Sixteen hours after the Great Event.
The Earth kept spinning, west to east, like it always does—never taking a break. After sixteen hours of dead silence, media outlets everywhere finally got their marching orders from upstairs.
Report it, just report it—no other choice. The whole Pacific Fleet? Gone. The White House? Flattened. The President’s last words? Broadcast around the globe. There’s no way to sweep this mess under the rug.
Since they’re reporting, they’ve got to spill the beans about the causes, the fallout, the timeline, and all the main players.
So, no matter how you spin it, you can’t dodge the Black Death Emperor, or those “Chosen Ones.”
After the Great Event, there’s just no hiding the Chosen Ones anymore. The White Night came outta nowhere—Earth didn’t even get a second to digest new powers, reshuffle the deck, or figure out the new balance. So, the whole Chosen One idea spread across the globe with America’s fall, and it’s guaranteed to clash head-on with the old guard, old order, and old balance. The President biting the dust? That’s just the opening act.
Sunrise in the East, blackout in America.
Across the pitch-black wilds, a streak of blazing fire ripped through the darkness. The sonic boom thundered like muffled drums, and a renegade motorcycle tore through the pre-dawn gloom, totally unbothered by rules. It blasted past cities, villages, even military bases out in the sticks—and not a soul dared stop that wild, speeding machine.
Everywhere you looked, it was chaos. Fights, smash-and-grabs, arson, violent crime—you name it, it was happening. The Black Death Emperor had rocked America’s whole system, and society just went off the rails. Gunshots never stopped. The so-called land of the free? It dropped from paradise to hell in a heartbeat. People were boiling with resentment—against the President who fired off the nukes, against the Black Death Emperor who wrecked everything, against anything they could blame.
Fueled by all that anger, folks started doing stuff they’d never dream of—like they didn’t care if they lived or died. But when they saw that hellfire stretching on and on, even the wildest mobs quit their rampage and scattered in terror.
Because even the craziest mob knows better than to mess with that kind of authority.
Inside the hellfire-wrapped motorcycle, Jonathan Black sat on the back seat, his six-layer Dragon Elephant body barely holding up against the insane wind resistance. Jill Young was up front, throttle maxed, her face set in stone as she stared at the endless road ahead. Her lips were tight, radiating pure menace—the hellish pressure spread out with every mile they tore through.
A few hours ago, Eternal Night Holdings Group pulled every string to evacuate everyone who needed saving. That included Li Yuncong, drifting on a board in the Pacific, and Luo Yuxi, shivering in Antarctica—they both got tracked down and rescued in record time. As for Jill’s crew, they were whisked out of America and sent straight to top-tier hospitals. Even a bunch of world leaders ditched their own government flights to hitch a ride with Eternal Night’s planes.
Right now, official titles don’t hold a candle to being one of the new top eight on the Heavenly Rankings, or waving the Eternal Night Queen’s banner. Once aboard, Jill Young was instantly mobbed by politicians—this plain old schoolteacher suddenly became besties with every big shot around.
Su Muwah came along too, clutching a fancy, understated porcelain urn. Inside were Susan Morrow’s ashes. No cremation needed—Susan Morrow burned up every last drop of her life force, and after nearly thirty years of quiet rest, her remains turned to dust at a touch. Su Muwah brought her sister’s ashes home; it was time for a wandering soul to finally come back to its roots.
Of course, there was one last thing left to do.
“Jon—no, Xiuxiu.” After fully experiencing Auntie’s memories, Jill Young didn’t turn, but her voice softened as she spoke to Jonathan: “Starting today, you can go back to your real name.”
Jonathan shook his head. “No, call me Jonathan. I can’t use the name my mother gave me until I’ve avenged her death. Not until then.”
“Fair enough,” Jill replied, not pushing it. She just stared ahead, voice firm: “Almost there.”
Mountain after mountain, river after river.
Out of the darkness, a vast stretch of mountains appeared. They were deep in the northern Americas now, where cold ridges were blanketed in pine forests—gorgeous, under normal circumstances. And nestled in the prettiest part of those mountains was a castle straight out of a fairy tale: huge, grand, and almost surreal.
This was the Zade Scion Training Camp from Jonathan’s memories, where he spent his whole childhood. But what stuck with him even more than those bleak years was that this was also where the Tomb of Sophia lay.
The old priest insisted on putting up a symbolic grave for Susan Morrow here. No epitaph, no inscription—just a silent, wordless marker frozen in time, tucked away in a forgotten corner. Most folks in the castle had no clue whose grave it was.
Not that anyone here cared. What mattered was clinging to the Zade family’s power, keeping up with the family head, and grabbing whatever riches they could.
Today, though, they had one more thing to worry about—their own necks.
In the pitch-black night, blaring alarms went off as Jill Young and Jonathan Black rolled up to the castle gates. Panic erupted—shouts, horses, the works. Automated defenses locked and loaded, every gun pointed right at the platinum-blonde woman at the door. But Jill didn’t even glance their way, just like the Black Death Emperor ignoring the US Navy.
Jill just stared hard at the castle, her memories overlapping with the building in front of her.
[If I could, I’d build a castle in these mountains too, and live there forever—never mind all the annoying real-world stuff…]
Adam Zade’s words from back then were still fresh in her mind, but now they just seemed ironic. The castle really did look a lot like Neuschwanstein—like Zade was keeping his promise. He’d put Susan Morrow’s symbolic grave here, but who knows what he was thinking.
This chapter’s not done yet~.~ Click next page for more juicy drama!
But right then, Jill Young suddenly laughed—a laugh full of mockery, hatred, and pure resolve: “Adam Zade, I don’t care how many tricks you’ve got, how big your empire is, how clever your schemes, or how deep your roots go. You, your allies, your minions, your servants, your lapdogs, your wild ambitions, your pipe dreams—every last bit of it, I’ll crush. One by one. Completely.”
Crackle, crackle—Jill took a deep breath, her body suddenly swelling up.
Power Burst—Heaven Shaker!
Stacked up.
Shatter Burst—Glassbreaker!
She threw a punch, her body turning into a rainbow streak. The rainbow blast punched right through the giant castle complex—in a split second, Jill had already flashed into the back garden.
The blaring alarms froze, the noisy crowd went silent—like everything was trapped in amber.
“Heaven shields you? I smash heaven.”
“God protects you? I slay gods.”
“You and me? Mortal enemies. No peace till one of us is gone.”
Crack! The sound of shattering echoed and spread—the massive castle crumbled like a popped bubble, collapsing behind Jill into the finest dust.
Wild wind whipped her hair as Jill shrank back to normal, standing before the wordless grave. She knew—even if it was just a symbolic tomb, Auntie wouldn’t want to stay on Zade turf.
Two minutes later, Jonathan Black saw Jill Young. In her hands was a set of clothes—a little red floral jacket, the kind you’d spot in rural China thirty years ago.
“Let’s go, bro.” Jill clapped Jonathan on the shoulder. “Family’s gotta stick together. Come home with me, time to meet your roots.”
“Home…” Jonathan was hit with a wave of emotion.
Touching that little red jacket, Jonathan suddenly thought of that strong, red-haired woman. He didn’t know why, but right then, he couldn’t help imagining her.
No clue where Phyllis Zade was, or if she’d fixed her genetic curse yet.
—————————— Ball Divider Line ——————————
Same dark room as before—Phyllis Zade sat quietly.
On the screen in front of her, a familiar cyborg was coldly reporting: "General Ross is out of danger." The cyborg was none other than Zhu Ming—just a face and a brain, nothing else left.
Back when the Black Death Emperor blasted off into space, the Zade family already had the inside scoop. Phyllis Zade snapped out orders, and Zhu Ming—who’d been lurking outside the Pentagon—gunned it like a souped-up race car, straight through the barricades. Slicing bullets with his bare hands, he tore into the conference room and found General Ross in less than a minute.
General Ross was utterly lost, ready to start yelling questions. But Zhu Ming didn’t waste a word—just grabbed him and bolted.
A general getting snatched in front of everyone? The Pentagon was about to explode. Then, boom—a palm strike from the heavens flattened the whole building. Not a single top brass survived; the Black Death Emperor wiped them all out. Only General Ross, yanked out just in time, managed to keep his sorry hide.
Of course, he was still pretty banged up—but not by the Black Death Emperor. Zhu Ming nearly tore him in half just sprinting out of there. Sixteen hours of Zade black-tech surgery later, General Ross finally made it out alive.
Zhu Ming was now a full-blown man of steel, voice cold as metal: “Control device implanted in his neural system. He’s completely under now.”
“Good.” Phyllis Zade replied, barely blinking, then cut the call.
The room slipped back into silent darkness.
Phyllis Zade waited.
Sixteen hours ago, Phyllis Zade handed something over to the Pantheon.
It was Patrick Zade’s severed head—still sporting a giant chicken feather. Patrick’s head was shriveled and twisted, but that feather was standing tall, a true freak of nature. Even the Pantheon elders, who’d seen it all, were stunned. Especially the ones Patrick had headbutted into bloody submission—they were thrilled.
Cleaning up traitors is always a win.
But that win was nothing compared to the next.
She handed over the gene-repair serum—the one she was supposed to use herself. Instead of going through the usual channels, she sent it straight to the top, untouched, label and all.
The handoff was with a Black-clad Assassin, who vanished without a word after grabbing the goods. But before disappearing, he gave Phyllis Zade one last look—he knew this red-haired woman was about to rocket up the ranks.
Since then, Phyllis Zade had been waiting.
Finally, she got the news.
[Phyllis Zade: Outstanding achievement. Promoted to fourth in line for succession. Granted Pantheon Competition Qualification.]
From sixteenth to fourth place—a rocket-powered leap. And that Pantheon Competition Qualification? It’s worth more than just being fourth in line. It means she’s got a shot at being the real boss of the Zade family. Even just qualifying means you’re guaranteed a cushy spot.
But Phyllis Zade wasn’t waiting for that. All these surface-level perks? Not her style.
She was waiting for a secret order—straight from the Zade Family Head. The real deal, not just some regular succession paperwork.
The secret order arrived quickly.
“I’m in charge of the Nature Project…” Phyllis Zade destroyed the order and stood up. She knew she was one step closer to her goal. “Almost there…”
———————— Nature Project Divider Line ————————
Desolate streets. A broken man, shuffling along like the living dead.
Once a powerhouse, now skin and bones. The warrior who once burned with fighting spirit was just an empty shell. Nobody knew how he survived—not even him. He just kept walking, breathing mechanically, mind blank.
The street was a riot of noise. People were spreading some earth-shaking news, repeating it over and over, arguing nonstop. The whole world seemed to be talking at once.
But for this zombie of a man, none of it mattered.
Spectators and the man himself all figured he was doomed. Maybe one day he’d just collapse in a corner and rot away.
But today, something unexpected happened.
“My brothers and sisters, believe in nature, respect nature! Defy nature’s laws, and you’re doomed! Join us at the Nature Conservancy Association—follow nature’s guidance, uphold its laws, and maybe we can stop these tragedies from repeating!” The shout rang out ahead; a crowd surrounded a man giving a speech.
None of this had anything to do with the big guy. He just wanted to skirt around the crowd and keep trudging down his dead-end road.
But the speaker spotted him right away—spotted this man whose soul seemed already gone.
The speaker walked up to the big man, who didn’t even lift his eyelids.
The speaker studied him for a moment, then, in a gentle tone, said something that caught everyone off guard.
“Is there still hate in your heart?”
Hate?
That was the only word that had gotten through to him in ages. Suddenly, something flickered in his eyes. Dry eyeballs shifted, gaze locking onto the speaker.
Then he gave a small nod.
Oh, he had hate—plenty of it, enough to bury him alive.
“Good.” The speaker had a blue mark on his forehead, a little fierce if you looked close, but his smile was pure healing: “You and I are brothers, fellow travelers. What’s your name?”
The big man thought for a long, long time before he finally remembered.
“Lei…Zhen…”
“Brother Lei Zhen, no more wandering.” The speaker handed him a cup of water—gentle and warm, his presence infectious: “Nature Conservancy Association welcomes you home.”