Apocalypse: I Can Upgrade Everything

Chapter 139: How to Simulate a Death God

No one expected Chen Ye’s collision to carry such kinetic force.

Perhaps even the Abyssal Blood Eye hadn’t anticipated it.

The massive, fleshy sphere smashed through the exterior wall of the fourth floor, obliterating the teacher’s office and shattering every pane of glass in the vicinity.

Wu Jianshan stood amidst the debris. He clasped his hands together, raising them high above his forehead. His face was a mask of absolute stillness, devoid of joy or sorrow, like a wooden idol in a temple.

His lips moved in a silent, rapid chant.

Instantly, a miraculous power rippled around him.

A graceful, seductive figure in blood-red robes materialized before him.

She didn’t descend; she simply was, as if she had always been standing there, invisible to the mortal eye.

The Death God.

She extended a slender, pale left hand toward the cannonball-like Blood Eye hurtling toward her master.

Her eyes remained closed. Her expression was frozen ice.

Thud.

With terrifying ease, that delicate hand caught the three-meter-wide eyeball, halting its momentum instantly. The destruction of the building ceased.

The scene was jarringly discordant.

Wu Jianshan cowered behind the woman like a child. The woman, elegant and frail-looking, held a giant, writhing monstrosity in one hand as if it were a basketball.

The pupil of the Abyssal Blood Eye vibrated wildly, radiating shock.

“That is…”

Chen Ye, watching from below, felt his own right eye tremble in resonance.

This was the third time he had seen the Death God manifest. It was still breathtaking.

The presence of the Death God sent a shockwave through the battlefield. The white Crawlers, sensing a predator far above their station, recoiled in terror, retreating into the shadows.

The Doomsday Pickup skidded through the school gate, brakes screaming.

Behind it, the rest of the convoy seized the opening. They punched through the faltering white tide and roared into the sanctuary of the courtyard.

Boss Gao, panic seizing his hands, clipped the gate with the bus, denting the side, but he made it through. Zhou Xiaoxiao’s sedan limped in last, steam billowing from a cracked radiator, the chassis groaning in protest.

Except for two unlucky souls lost to the horde, they had survived.

But as the survivors spilled out of their vehicles, they froze. The scene in the courtyard silenced them.

The cultists stared at the red-robed figure with eyes full of fanaticism.

This was their goddess. Their reason for existing.

“When the old world sinks in ruin…”

“We beseech Your merciful harvest…”

“Bestow upon us the ultimate salvation…”

One by one, the cultists dropped to their knees, ignoring the snow and the cold, chanting their prayers. The sound gathered in the air, creating a palpable, eerie resonance.

The convoy survivors looked at each other, bewildered. But fear is contagious. A few of them, swept up in the awe, dropped to their knees and joined the chanting, mimicking the cultists.

The Abyssal Blood Eye detached itself from the wall, floating back out to hover over the playground.

The fourth-floor office was a ruin, a concave crater left in the brickwork.

The Death God drifted down from the fourth floor, her bare feet hovering inches above the slush and gore of the playground. She remained pristine.

Snow fell around her, a curtain of white framing the red goddess.

Wu Jianshan emerged from the wreckage of his office. He walked down the stairs—third floor, second floor, first floor.

Compared to the Death God’s ethereal descent, his trek down the stairs felt clumsy and mortal.

He ignored Chen Ye. His gaze was locked on the massive, floating eye.

The Abyssal Blood Eye swiveled, its pupil darting left and right, occasionally fixing a hateful stare on Chen Ye. Though it lacked a mouth, its malice was loud.

“Blood Eye,” Wu Jianshan said, his voice cold. “You’ve gone too far.”

He stood beside his goddess, a small man in the shadow of a titan.

The Blood Eye didn’t speak. But a voice rasped from the air nearby.

“Hehe… Wu Jianshan. Your church has so many living souls. Can you eat them all? Why not share a hundred with us? We’ll leave right now.”

“Otherwise… hehe…”

It was the Eight-Limbed Human Face. The voice belonged to the old woman’s face, sounding like someone speaking while being strangled.

The cultists seemed deaf to the threat, lost in their trance. But the survivors turned pale.

Zhou Xiaoxiao limped over to stand behind Chen Ye. Xu Lina quietly edged away from the kneeling cultists.

“A hundred! Just a hundred! Hehe… Grandma, I want to eat him!”

The face of the seven-year-old girl on the monster’s tentacle screamed, pointing a pseudopod at Chen Ye.

“Good grandson, you can have him, you can have him…” the old woman cooed, as if Chen Ye were a piece of candy already in their pocket.

Chen Ye glanced at the Brat. He lit a cigarette, leaned against his truck, and blew smoke rings, completely ignoring the monster.

Then, an idea struck him. He ducked into Iron Lion’s school bus and started rummaging.

“Grandma… he… he’s ignoring me!” the girl-face whined.

“Sister… hee hee… he looks down on you!” the boy-face jeered.

Wu Jianshan’s eyes narrowed. “Old Man Qian. Has the wound from that day healed yet?”

He was referring to their last skirmish, where the Death God had sliced the monster in half.

At the mention of the injury, all eight faces twisted in venomous rage.

“Wu Jianshan! We aren’t alone this time! Do you think we’re afraid of you?”

“The Snow Woman is here. The brothers are here. We want to weigh your soul, Bishop. If your goddess is weak…”

The threat hung in the air. This was a probe. They were testing the Death God’s strength. If she showed weakness, the feast would begin.

Inside the bus, Chen Ye found what he was looking for.

A brand-new, unopened box for a Fruit Phone.

He tore off the shrink wrap, booted up the device, and opened the camera app.

He had always wanted to simulate the Death God. But his exposure to her had been too brief, too distant.

Phones were useless bricks in the apocalypse. They couldn’t be eaten or burned for warmth. Survivors stepped over expensive electronics without a second glance.

But Iron Lion had hoarded a few.

Chen Ye grinned. Opportunity.

If he could record the Death God in combat—capture her movements, her aura, her power on video—he could study it later. He could analyze the frames.

Maybe, just maybe, he could build a simulation from the footage.

Damn it, why didn’t I think of this sooner? My brain must be frozen.

He had been too focused on survival to think creatively.

And so, in the middle of a standoff between eldritch horrors, a young man with a cigarette dangling from his lips stood by the playground, holding up a smartphone like a tourist at a zoo.

It was, to say the least, discordant.