The ruined city stretched endlessly. Burned cars, shattered glass, flickering lights—all drowned in a suffocating gray haze. I stood in the middle of a broken road, with the old man beside me and madness crawling toward us.
I could hear their footsteps before I saw them. Fast. Uneven. Feral.
Six of them—strangers, or what was left of them—approached from the smoke. Dirty faces, twitching limbs, clutching weapons like animals who forgot how to be human.
"They're everywhere," I muttered.
Wu Xianxi cracked his knuckles, leaning on a rusted van. "The people in this city got infected by an unfamiliar mental health disease. Most are infected, while others are not. We must go get some checkups after this mess."
One screamed. The sound echoed off the buildings—raw, unhinged.
He came at me with a metal pipe, swinging high.
I dropped into Ma Bu, firm as the earth. My left hand caught the pipe. It stung, but I twisted it out of his grip, stepped inside, and drove a Phoenix Eye fist into his chest. He folded.
Another came from behind the van. Before I moved, I saw the adult man blur past me.
Wu Xianxi vaulted over the hood like it was a monk's bench, spun midair, and kicked the guy square in the chest. The thug flew backward, hitting a dented mailbox.
"Still spry for an old bastard," he grumbled.
A shriek from above. I looked up.
A man dropped from the fire escape, crowbar raised.
I didn't flinch.
One spin. Tornado Kick. My foot met his ribs mid-air. The impact sent him crashing into a bus stop, glass shattering like fireworks.
I took a breath. Three more.
Someone crawled out from under a car, lunging at me.
I ran up a wall, flipped behind him, kicked off a truck's side panel, and slammed a side kick into the back of his skull.
Two left.
Wu Xianxi caught one by the wrist as he charged, spun him like cloth in the wind, and slammed his body into the ground. A brutal Tiger Claw strike to the throat followed. Non-lethal, but devastating.
The last one—a woman, face painted in ash, eyes blank—sprinted toward us like a beast.
I moved forward, but the old man raised a hand. "Let me."
He waited. Still as stone.
She closed the distance fast, glass in hand.
At the last second, he turned. Trapped her arm. Twisted. And struck her temple with a clean palm strike.
She collapsed without a word.
---
Silence fell again.
Only the wind through the broken buildings, and the hum of a dying streetlamp above us.
I exhaled. My hands were trembling, not from fear—but purpose.
"This is not the outside world that I thought of." I swayed my head, disappointed.
"Imagination was sweet, reality was bitter." said the adult man.
"Quo Li, without tasting bitter food, you can't appreciate the taste that the sweet, savory food provides."
The orb hovered beside me, dim but steady.
"You need to overcome this in order to become spiritually skilled. Your level of spiritually is developed by your former religion. Since you lefted, you need to start again—get more spiritual skills. You're already spiritually stronger, you only lack skills and forms to express your beliefs in multiple ways. It can be expressed in a painting, in martial arts, in calligraphy, etc. But right now, you can only expressed a belief/skill in a form of Nihilism." it whispered.
"Okay." I nodded.
Minutes after a fight, I heard a buzzing siren afar—a panel of reporters are waving at us.
Four figures stepped out of the black Ford Transit van—a woman wearing a scarlet blouse and a black skirt, a man wearing a classic grey americana suit, and the other two were the cameramen, wearing casual attire.
"Excuse me, can you tell us what happened here? The whole country is concerned about this incident! Come on, come on, tell us the details!" The woman in a scarlet blouse asked questions hastily.
"Sir, what can you say about the conditions of our city? Why are our citizens are behaving strangely? Do you notice some details that are worth checking?" A man wearing a classic grey americana suit asked follow-up questions.
They saw that we were slightly wounded! Can't they provide some bandages for us before the interview?
"I'm sorry but I'm just a wanderer here—I don't know anything much about your city." I humbly replied.
Seeking a better response, the two reporters approached the adult man.
"There are 3 ways to end this world!
-Widespread Outbreak Of Unknown Mental Diseases
-High Rate Of Crimes
-Rise Of Devil Kingdoms." The adult man declared.
"What?" My eyes widened.
What did he just say? I can't believe what I just heard.
Did he know about the scroll? Is he pretending that he can't see nor hear the glowing orb? Does he have the same prophetic dream as me? Just...who is this guy?
It is somehow alike...but it's a little bit different.
Could it be that there are also other messengers like the glowing orb who interpreted the message differently!
Hey! Glowing orb! You're reading my mind right? Explain this!
"I don't know anything! But I'm certain it was indeed made by another messenger." Glowing ball replied.
"Ya sure that he can't hear us?"
"I can sense his messenger, but I can't see nor hear it—same situation with him/her. We can only see each others' true form and hear each others' voices if our apprentices share their mutual trust and reveal their prophetic dreams to one another. Mutual trust, meaning a particular apprentice believes that the person he/she is talking to is also an apprentice." The orb explained eloquently.
"In summary, everything is dependent on the apprentice?"
"That's correct."
"If we have light and dark-wielders (Luminari and Cimmerian), we also have light and dark messengers. We called the light messengers "Cruciati Veritatis". In Latin, it means "Crusaders Of The Truth". The dark messengers, on the other hand, are called "Falsi Prophetae Baal". In Latin, it means "False Prophets Of Baal". This is something that you should be aware of."
"That's why, don't take the risk to share your prophetic dream to anyone."
"I see. But, can't I trust my fellow monk?"
"No, everyone can betray you anytime. It doesn't matter if it's the people you trust. If it's easy for people to break the law, it's easier for them to break trust, promises, whatever you call those things that are meant to be broken."
"Then say—how can I trust you?"
"I didn't tell you to trust me, my apprentice—you just trusted me, without consciously knowing it. If you don't have any trust in me, then you wouldn't be here in the first place."
This ball has a very strong claim—I guess he's right.
I didn't argue back, and it signaled the conclusion of our insightful conversation.
Now back to reality—are the reporters still here?
The adult man is still surrounded by reporters, I think they got intrigued in the idea of "World-End Prophecies".
I looked at him, it seems like he is restrained from spilling the info further—perhaps his messenger told him so?
"I'm sorry, I can no longer say anything...This is a prophecy coming from a Divine creature! I can't just tell you everything!"
"A prophecy? This has to be the cure!"
Narrator: Away from the incident, a group of medicine experts are also watching the news.
"Are you kidding me, Wiljer? That's just made-up stories used to gain attention!"
Narrator: A man, namely Pavlov, objected the idea.
"But we can't do anything even if we already acquired all the most advanced technology in the world! What else can we do?!"
Narrator: The arguments of the two sides started to heat up—tension fills the air and the entire laboratory. The once quiet, formal laboratory is now like a bustling boxing area—a place for punching each other. In this case, we'll use fierce words, not boxing gloves.
"Darn it! Just trust them! They are monks, they know a lot about the anomalies in this world!"
"Shut the fuck up! What if they're just pretending to be monks?! Then we're screwed!"
Narrator: Others joined the rumble. They started to add more coal to the fire.
Narrator: To silence everyone, someone smashed the table.
"Stop the pointless argument, why you all keep acting like a kid? We're professionals—we are highly respected by people in our homeland. How could you show such violent, immature behavior? Do you think everyone will still respect you if they saw this?"
Narrator: Everyone recognized her—the president of the company. She may not have the vibe of a typical authoritative president because of her pale looks. Her dead-looking fuchsia eyes are what makes her intimidating—the saturation of her terracotta hair makes it stunning at the same time because of the perfect color combo. The circle-shaped glasses she wears, tempered with real gold, is the most iconic part of her identity—it symbolizes her unmatched intelligence. She is wearing her ID, white long sleeves, red necktie, cream suit vest, black belt with gold symbol in the middle, and mustard trousers—everything was covered with a long, military green trench coat.
She stomped her high, black heels on the floor to gain everyone's attention.
"As you all know, I'm the president of this company. To those who don't know my name, specifically you amateurs—it's Nebula, no surname, no nickname."
"Attention, everyone. This is the decision the headquarters made—we'll find the monks."