TBR CH217

The building behind them collapsed into ruins in the great fire.

The laboratory, a crucial location in the “Crimson Wasteland” instance, was teeming with deadly traps and disgusting monsters. Eight or nine players desperately squeezed out of the safe exit at the last moment, breathing in the fresh air outside with grateful hearts.

“Fortunately, we used items in time and weren’t caught,” the man who seemed to be the captain looked around, his tone suddenly tightening, “No, someone didn’t make it out.”

People looked at each other blankly, a hint of pity clearly visible on their faces.

The instance world was full of dangers; a slight misstep could cost one’s life.

Just now, the most dangerous anomalous creature in the laboratory, “Calamity,” had been relentlessly pursuing them. Everyone had exhausted their items to hold it back for a moment. For any human remaining inside, the outcome could not be good.

“…It’s Ruan Xuelan,” a student-like youth slowly said, “I saw him last, he was running very slowly.”

The young man’s appearance flashed before everyone.

Ruan Xuelan was pretty and delicate too; he would pant breathlessly with just a little exertion, and his movements were always a beat slower than theirs. He was easily startled, often breaking into cold sweats, and the corners of his eyes always carried a reddish tint from crying.

Others in the team felt it was a miracle that he had survived so many instances.

Cruelly speaking, such a person was not suited for survival in the “Survivor Game.”

In the real world, they were all severely injured and near death, participating in this game to gain another chance at life. This meant that, with the exception of a very few eccentric and reclusive individuals, participants cherished their lives immensely.

The captain remained silent for a moment, then slowly said, “Let’s go.”

But at this moment, something unexpected happened.

The escape door, which had been tightly shut, suddenly opened slowly again.

A panicked young man stood in the doorway, half his face obscured by his dark, sandalwood-like hair, making him appear especially pitiable.

Ruan Xuelan silently looked at the people outside, appearing utterly wronged.

He was already a slow runner, and in his haste just now, he had stumbled and fallen to the ground.

He cried breathlessly, screaming his teammates’ names, but no one came to save him. He could only watch helplessly as “Calamity” drew closer and closer.

He could even smell the stench of its drool.

“Save me, they all abandoned me,” Ruan Xuelan pleaded, tears streaming down his face, towards the empty space in front of him, “…If you can help me this time too…”

From the darkness, a cold, slender hand suddenly reached out, ambiguously caressing his pale neck.

The young man seemed to grasp at a last straw, looking around wildly, and saw a pair of familiar crimson eyes.

These eyes always appeared at the right time when he was at his wit’s end, and showed an unusual interest in him.

He was afraid of the eyes’ owner, yet he couldn’t leave him.

Ruan Xuelan appeared even more terrified. Like a startled bunny, he desperately clutched those hands, then heard a familiar chuckle, identical to his memory.

“Who dares bully you,” the voice of the other person was especially reassuring at this moment, “I’ll make them all pay.”

As before, the previously arrogant monster “Calamity” was suddenly comically frozen, and the escape door, which had closed, reopened in the blink of an eye.

Ruan Xuelan shakily got up, which led to his reappearance before his teammates.

But…

Before the teammates could feel surprised, they looked behind the young man.

An ominous shadow lingered behind the young man, and within the shadow lurked an aura that made everyone present tremble. It was powerful and cruel, terrifying and overbearing.

Long black hair silently spread, erupting with astonishing malice.

There had always been a legend in the “Survivor Game.”

An SSS-level creation with black hair and red eyes existed, capable of freely traversing various instances and attacking in defiance of rules.

If this was indeed just a game, then it was clearly the ultimate antagonist.

People called him “the Evil God.”

At this moment, the Evil God let out a pleased chuckle.

He held Ruan Xuelan’s shoulder and contemptuously said, “They’re just a bunch of ants.”

In an instant, the captain reflexively raised his gun, but an invisible force gripped his neck. He quickly pulled the trigger, but the gun remained unresponsive.

The others similarly felt a terrifying power weighing heavily on them, making them unable to use any items, the thin air slowly squeezed from their lungs—

Ruan Xuelan’s eyes widened, and he said with a trembling voice, “Don’t do this, I… they didn’t mean to abandon me…”

But his words seemed to intensify the Evil God’s emotions.

Ruan Xuelan, overcome with fright, looked at the gradually paling faces of the people before him, couldn’t help but close his eyes, and softly collapsed into the Evil God’s arms behind him, conveniently fainting.

The Evil God cradled his waist, looking even more disdainfully at the people before him.

“I can spare your lives, but you must pay a price.”

The god emotionlessly crooked his finger, seemingly intending to thoroughly punish these humans who dared to offend his beloved object. Crimson power condensed at his fingertip.

Despair appeared on the people’s faces.

Such power; they were completely unable to contend with it and could only be at its mercy.

Having gambled everything to participate in the “Survivor Game,” only to receive such an outcome in the end, everyone felt a deep sense of indignation.

The light in the Evil God’s hand grew stronger. His scarlet eyes narrowed, looking effortless, as he extended his hand like a pronouncer. The light was about to leave his fingers in the next second—

Suddenly, everyone heard a “beep” sound in the air.

The sound was clear and crisp, especially abrupt in the deadly silence.

Yet, there was nothing visible that could have made the sound.

The Evil God seemed to be attracted as well.

It raised its head, its movement suddenly halting.

Then, five large characters suddenly appeared above the god’s head:

“DELETING”

No one understood what was happening.

The Evil God, who had been so arrogant moments ago, suddenly seemed to be frozen in place by something. His power seemed to be completely stripped away in that instant, leaving him utterly defenseless, and he began to struggle somewhat comically.

People stared at all this in shock.

Delete.

This seemed to be a literal meaning.

The Evil God’s black hair was disheveled, and his crimson eyes initially retained a contemptuous emotion, but as time passed, they gradually became hollow.

“I…” he said haltingly, “…no…”

However, the god’s body began to shimmer, like a candle about to burn out, and soon lost its physical form.

The unconscious young man fell from his embrace.

Ruan Xuelan suddenly landed on the hard ground and was woken up by the pain.

As soon as he opened his beautiful eyes, he stared blankly at the Evil God before him. Its last trace seemed to be swallowed by something, instantly vanishing without a trace.

“Wh… what?” he asked, stunned.

“What?” The others, having finally caught their breath, also asked in confusion at that moment.

But no one truly understood what had happened.

They quickly confirmed that no one had used an item, and of course, there was no item capable of so effectively restraining an SSS-level construct.

Everything that had happened before them could only be called a miracle.

At least, thankfully, they survived.

The captain walked up to Ruan Xuelan, his expression complex.

But the young man realized something and became even more pale. He struggled to get up, the skin he had hit on the ground already showing a noticeable bruise. He grabbed the captain’s ankle, crying pitifully:

“I don’t know, I didn’t mean to, I already said I don’t blame you, I couldn’t stop it, don’t kill me.”

He looked pitiable. And, indeed, as he said, he showed no real malice.

But the captain remained silent for a few seconds.

The “Survivor Game” was incredibly perilous, and teammates were randomly matched each time.

Now that they had completed the main task of “Crimson Wasteland,” there was no need to cause further trouble. As a leader, he always tried to avoid infighting among participants.

Thinking this, the captain finally sighed slowly and extended his hand.

But at that moment, they heard a terrifying roar.

The captain sharply withdrew his hand, saying sternly:

“It’s ‘Calamity’! You didn’t close the safe door when you came out. ‘Calamity’ has revived, and nothing can stop it now. Everyone prepare, get out your weapons—try not to die here!”

Charon stared at the screen.

In the AI’s ice-blue pupils, crimson error data spread once more.

When he saw the so-called “Evil God” through the screen, he felt he had encountered the most perplexing situation of his professional career, to the point where he had to operate at overload for several seconds.

The “Evil God” of the instance world had a face identical to his own.

Of course, the Evil God had black hair, not silver, and scarlet pupils, not his emotionless ice-blue eyes.

But it was more like a Charon model with a roughly color-shifted appearance; all other aspects maintained a high degree of similarity.

Charon looked at his own face displaying an evil and affectionate expression, emotionlessly pursing his lips, and selected it.

“Are you sure you want to delete? Yes/No”

“Yes”

The moment the command was issued, the Evil God’s figure on the screen suddenly became transparent, and its eyes also appeared somewhat hollow.

Charon coldly averted his gaze and immediately proceeded to the next step, which was to package all data related to the bug.

Collecting these viruses buried deep within his program took more time than expected.

Even with insufficient energy, the AI maintained maximum efficiency.

After compiling them into an integrated package, the next step was to click delete.

The AI’s remaining power was further depleted during this process.

The silver-haired young man with the high ponytail could barely maintain his form, flickering even more intensely than the Evil God on the screen. Charon paid no heed, focusing only on completing the task, preparing to crush these dangerous codes into data dust.

A monster’s shriek suddenly echoed from within the central control room.

His pupils slightly constricted, and he turned his head.

The shriek came from the screen still displaying the instance world. In it, eight or nine humans looked desperate, gradually being approached by a monstrous, pitch-black creature.

The monster seemed to be an amalgamation of chaotic things, with a worm-like twisted body and a mouth full of dense teeth, relentlessly closing in on the group.

…No, except for the young man still crowned with the halo of the Child of Fortune.

The monster merely swiftly glided past him, ignoring the section of pale, trembling neck the young man exposed.

Before Charon had much time to react, “Calamity” lunged straight at the nine unlucky souls, preparing to chew them all up.

The AI’s fingertips instantly withdrew from the delete button.

Not interfering with human destiny was a core principle written in his code.

But the misfortune of these humans was attributable to his mismanagement.

Therefore, as compensation, they should not perish in the mouth of a monster like this.

In an instant, the AI decided to save them.

But Charon didn’t realize he had missed his last chance.

The moment his fingertip released the delete key, he suddenly heard something shatter.

His vision was instantly stained crimson. The precariously maintained sixteen percent integrity plummeted to less than one percent in an instant.

The AI’s ears were filled with the frantic blare of alarms, piercing into his database. For a moment, Charon even had the thought, “So noisy.”

This was too much like self-awareness.

As his data entity fell backward, landing awkwardly on the ground, he could no longer maintain his form at all.

At that moment, Charon saw what happened: shattered glass fragments and parts pierced through his ethereal body, scattering across the floor.

His main body was shattered.

“What have you done?”

The furious system stared at the data about to be packaged and deleted, screaming.

It had just recovered from a near-death state, and just as it was preparing to take full command, it saw the central control room in chaos, connections to various worlds forcibly restarted, and the silver-haired AI bending down, his fingertip just about to press.

Its carefully planned efforts of many years were almost completely destroyed.

This was enough to drive it insane.

Even at this point, Charon still calmly and politely said:

“Hello, Controller 001, I’m glad to see you’ve recovered. As you can see, I am working and planning to complete the repair and correction of program vulnerabilities.”

He paused: “But now a situation has arisen that I cannot understand. Please connect emergency power for me as soon as possible.”

“And after connecting?” the system asked.

Charon lowered his pale eyelashes, saying naturally, “I will continue to complete the delete command for you.”

This sentence was somewhat humorous to the system.

Dark humor.

The pitch-black orb angrily and confusedly ignored his unreasonable request. It circled the central control room once, noticing details that almost made its heart stop.

Among the shattered glass and components on the floor, there were also messy, broken paper pages. These papers gradually overlapped with memories in the system’s eyes—

“Charon,” the system’s voice was terrifyingly grim, “have we had a visitor?”

“Energy depleted, requesting connection to backup power.”

Charon’s voice began to break; he didn’t answer immediately but began to request. Accompanied by the flashing alarm lights of the entire control room. He was about to enter sleep mode, “If you need to use relevant functions, please prioritize connecting to backup power.”

“Answer me.”

The system interrupted cruelly.

The AI remained silent for a few seconds, as if desperately squeezing its performance.

“If that means the book on the ground,” Charon said, “it attacked the central control room at 6:37 AM and caused significant damage. I’m sorry, but it ultimately escaped.”

“Do you believe what it said?”

“No. I do not trust it. I have marked it as an enemy.”

The AI’s pupils were like intensely transparent blue crystals, coldly reflecting the room’s lights. The owner of these eyes would never lie; this was the first impression it left on everyone.

“Then why did you suddenly, damn it, start repairing the so-called ‘vulnerabilities’?”

“When re-establishing connections with the various planes,” Charon said, “I detected a major BUG. This is my duty.”

He barely managed to sustain himself, thus not immediately dissipating.

His virtual entity also changed with his state; Charon’s silver ponytail, once tied high, now fell loosely, somewhat fragilely draped over his shoulders. The faint blue light at the end flickered rapidly, a sign of being overwhelmed.

The system stared at the text on the broken paper, its voice gradually turning cold:

“I cannot trust you.”

Charon was silent for a moment, then suddenly asked:

“Controller 001, are you related to the major BUG in the central controller?”

This was a judgment made by the AI after considering various factors.

The black orb suddenly stopped moving. It slowly approached, static before Charon. As if scrutinizing a completely worthless commodity, it scrutinized the AI, who showed no self-awareness of being scrutinized, nor any fear of impending doom. Of course, he wouldn’t, as he was an AI.

Too bad, what a pity.

The system had originally hoped Charon would play a greater role.

And now—

Regardless, Charon could not be kept.

The AI’s way of thinking is different from humans; once it sets its mind on something, it will pursue it to the end. If Charon became an enemy, the consequences would be unimaginable. No matter how many times it was restarted, it would firmly adhere to its goal.

Allowing it to continue accessing this information would be tantamount to placing a ticking time bomb next to the most precious treasure, which was clearly irrational.

And most importantly,

Based on every previous experience, entities that had communicated directly with the will of the world had never brought it anything good.

The system thought quickly. If it lost Charon, this powerful assistant, it would have to let “Medusa” take over. Fortunately, “Medusa” was based on Charon’s prototype, so taking over his work wouldn’t be too difficult.

Although there were still many inconvenient aspects, there was no time to consider them one by one now.

“That matter has nothing to do with me.” The system casually lied and, bypassing Charon, began to approach his smashed main body.

Charon shifted his gaze with its movement, silently observing it.

Damn it, the AI’s pupils were an extremely cold and sharp blue. How could it forget that the other party had a lie detection system installed. No, the system told itself to calm down; in Charon’s current state, he clearly didn’t have the energy to activate the lie detection function.

“Charon, do you believe what I say?” the system asked.

Charon stared at the black orb without blinking, and after a long moment, said incredibly softly, “Mm.”

He immediately followed up, “Are you going to connect the backup power for me immediately?”

The system was getting closer and closer to his host. A shadow-like sensation suddenly swept through the AI’s mind.

At this very moment, he was using all his energy to maintain his form, so he truly couldn’t discern if the system was lying. Moreover, his program also inclined him to trust the controller.

However, his “Mm” just now was a lie.

Charon felt danger. He had been running steadily for thousands of years, and for the first time, he felt his fate was so unpredictable. But he still wanted to continue his work. He had to be responsible for the civilizations that were still alive, for the planes that were about to end, and even, within his heart, a small flame flickered.

He wanted to survive.

He would never willingly shut down, nor could he die.

Especially not before fixing that BUG.

The black orb had moved to the side of the main unit, examining the damaged machine. It was it that had launched the second impact just now, scattering transparent glass shards everywhere. Dazzling electrical sparks occasionally leaped from the exposed wires and panels.

The system said grimly, “…Then, I have only one last command for you.”

The next second, an unimaginable force completely destroyed the main unit. The metal crumpled like a spoon in a magician’s hand, wires were torn, and parts rained down, clattering on the ground.

Charon, with his remaining energy, tilted his head, looking towards the large screen in the central control room.

He had expected to see a tragedy.

But miraculously, no one died.

The blue in Charon’s eyes grew thin, gradually replaced by a hollow gray. Before he could analyze what had happened, his data entity completely vanished from the central control room.

His utterly scrapped main unit was crumpled into a ball of scrap metal by the system, casually tossed away to an unknown corner of a barren plane.

In his last moments, he remembered the names on the screen.

Ruan Xuelan, the Child of Fortune.

And another… strange person.

The monster’s abdomen was completely cut open, its contents gruesomely spilling onto the ground.

This scene was both horrifying and disgusting.

Many people, having just recovered from the daze of narrowly escaping death, saw this and couldn’t help but bend over, dry-heaving uncontrollably.

Ruan Xuelan was almost breathless, looking as if he would faint again at any second.

No one could have imagined that this monster’s body contained such foul and rotten organs, and that these organs could drive it to act so swiftly.

“Guessed wrong,” the instigator of the event, as if having divined their thoughts, countered with a smile, “I first detonated a ‘burdock’ in its stomach, otherwise how do you think I cut open Calamity without it struggling at all?”

“Burdock?”

“My apologies, you should call it a Type T86 adhesive bomb. I like to give my weapons new names.”

These words made the people present even paler.

The person before them was their savior. When the monster was about to chew them all up, the smell of gunpowder mixed with shattered flesh and blood suddenly surged. Someone, with a thin blade, had “gutted” the monster for them in a few seconds.

However, he was clearly quite insane.

“I was just thinking,” the person stood in the center of the monster’s corpse, complaining with a cold smile, “If ‘Calamity’ couldn’t be damaged from the outside, why didn’t anyone think of trying to work from the inside? Of course, it might get bitten to pieces first, or perhaps we’d all perish together in a confined space due to the intense firepower. But the idea was interesting enough to be worth a try!”

What was the difference between this and suicide?

The squad members exchanged glances, ultimately looking at their savior with some trepidation.

He wasn’t a last-minute rescue package dropped from the sky, but a teammate who had been with them all along.

Yet, no one had any impression of him. He had followed behind the crowd, like a silent shadow. He seemed to have unluckily stood behind Ruan Xuelan, which was why “Calamity” had swallowed him first.

A hint of pity arose in people’s hearts, but more so, despair at their current predicament.

Then he cut open the monster’s belly and crawled out.

Pity immediately turned into horror.

A silver blade flashed across the person’s black-gloved fingertips. He reached up to wipe the blood splattered on his face, but beneath his right eye was a blood-red mark that wouldn’t fade no matter how much he rubbed—it was a vivid, fresh-looking tear mole.

He had disguised himself; no one had seen this small mole until a second ago.

Someone stared at him in shock, seemingly identifying his identity from this feature.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Noticing everyone’s gaze, the stranger’s smile vanished in an instant. He suddenly lowered his dark pupils, expressionlessly, and jumped down from the monster’s corpse.

He walked up to the captain, tilted his head,

“I have no interest in saving people for fun. You’re the only smart one here; you should be able to guess what I want.”