Apocalypse: I Can Upgrade Everything

Chapter 174: The Apocalypse Only Gave Three Minutes

The colossal snake head filled Chen Ye’s entire field of vision, a wall of ancient scales so vast it blotted out the world.

The Resentment-Binding Willow branches wrapped around his arm tightened their grip, pulsing with a low, frantic vibration. Thick gray smoke billowed from Chen Ye’s nose and mouth as he forced the Abyssal Blood Eye to its absolute limit. Deep within his left socket, the crimson pupil flared, and the jagged runes began to spin with such violent intensity that his eye began to swell. A thin trickle of blood leaked from the corner of his eyelid, staining his cheek.

Even though Chu Che couldn’t see the titan through the smoke, the sheer, soul-crushing Pressure was unmistakable. It was a weight that felt heavy enough to flatten the steel roof of his SUV.

Chen Ye’s Absolute Aura Shielding was designed to erase his existence from the sensory world. But he was only a Sequence 2. The entity before them was a legendary creature that defied the laws of the known world, and its presence alone was enough to punch holes in Chen Ye’s concealment.

The pressure seeped through the cracks. Trapped in a void of total silence and blindness, Chu Che felt his heart rate skyrocket. His hand reached into his inner coat pocket, his fingers brushing against his final, most desperate trump card—an Artifact he had vowed never to use in front of witnesses.

He had kept it hidden during the siege at the primary school, unwilling to burn such a precious resource. He never expected to be forced into a corner this quickly.

Forgive me, Iron Lion, Chu Che thought grimly. Without me, you won’t last a day.

As for Chen Ye… he’s a survivor. If we all go down, he’ll find a way to be the last one standing.

Suddenly, the air pressure shifted violently. A massive shockwave stirred the smoke as the snake head lunged, passing inches over the roofs of the two vehicles. The displacement of air was so intense that the smoke barrier was momentarily torn open.

Through his windshield, Chu Che caught a fleeting, terrifying glimpse of a pale, vast underbelly—the scale of it was like looking at the hull of an aircraft carrier.

My God… it’s a snake. A snake the size of a mountain!

Before he could process the scale, the smoke surged back into place, sealing the hole and clamping down on their spiritual signatures once more.

The Giant Snake surged past the vehicles. Its massive, forked tongue flicked out like a wet whip, effortlessly coiling around the middle-aged man Chen Ye had dumped on the asphalt minutes earlier.

The man stared up, his mouth wide in a silent scream. He was so paralyzed by the supernatural terror that he couldn’t even twitch. He watched, helpless, as the tongue yanked him into the pitch-black abyss of the creature’s maw. Only as he crossed the threshold of the snake’s jaws did his vocal cords finally break through the shock, emitting a series of garbled, meaningless shrieks.

As the beast swallowed, it paused. Its car-sized eye swiveled, seemingly sensing a faint, lingering trace of living aura—the wisp that had escaped through the tear in the smoke.

Chen Ye’s eyes bulged, his breath hitching. He sat perfectly still, not daring to let a single molecule of carbon dioxide leave his lungs.

Please don’t see us. Please don’t see us…

Chu Che mirrored his stillness, his hand frozen in his coat.

The enormous eye scanned the bridge deck for an agonizing minute. Finding nothing but cold steel and abandoned cars, the creature slowly began to coil back into the depths. With a thunderous SPLASH that sent a wall of river water cascading over the bridge railing, the titan vanished into the Fog River.

Only then did the two men allow themselves to exhale, the stale air leaving their lungs in a shaky, careful hiss. Even now, they didn’t dare take a full, deep breath.

The two cars remained parked in the middle of the bridge, dead and silent, as the light of day officially surrendered to the dark.

Between the toxic fog and the falling night, the bridge had become a sensory deprivation tank. Chu Che, trapped in the mist, finally realized the true, terrifying potency of Chen Ye’s shielding. If Chen Ye hadn’t been making periodic, subtle tapping noises on the radio to signal his presence, Chu Che feared he would have lost his mind in that silent void.

Chen Ye kept his ears pricked, tracking the sound of the churning water as it receded into the distance. Only when the river returned to its natural, quiet flow did he finally relax his grip on the machete.

The Absolute Aura Shielding blocked sound for everyone except Chen Ye, allowing him to navigate the silence. He still hadn’t figured out how to extend that sensory freedom to others—perhaps that was a power reserved for a higher Sequence.

After thirty minutes of absolute stillness, Chen Ye cautiously withdrew the mist.

As the gray smoke dissipated, Chu Che’s ears were flooded with the ambient sounds of the world once more. His eyes adjusted to the dim, foggy reality of the bridge, and his nose caught the heavy, cloying scent of damp rot and rusted iron.

For the first time, the “Old Fox” felt the simple beauty of being part of the living world. Even in the apocalypse, the ability to see and hear was a luxury he would never take for granted again.

Chu Che closed his eyes, focusing his Pathfinder radar. “It’s gone,” he whispered over the radio.

Chen Ye let out a massive, jagged sigh of relief.

In the back of the pickup, the two survivors lay sprawled in the bed, having fainted from the sheer spiritual pressure of the giant snake.

Visibility was now effectively zero. Even with Chu Che’s specialized yellow fog lights cutting through the gloom, they could barely see the asphalt ten feet ahead. Fortunately, the bridge was a straight shot. They just had to keep the wheels between the railings.

The drive was a slow, grinding process. The bridge was a graveyard of rusted sedans and jackknifed semi-trucks. Occasionally, the Doomsday Pickup would lurch with a sickening metallic crunch as it plowed through an abandoned car.

Chen Ye looked longingly at the wrecks. In a perfect world, he’d stop and strip them for spare parts. But the bridge felt like the throat of a monster; he wasn’t staying here a second longer than necessary.

The girl in the truck bed finally groaned and sat up. Chen Ye signaled her to return to the passenger seat to help Chu Che navigate the upcoming off-ramp.

Xiao Hua climbed in, her face twisting in immediate disgust. She shifted her weight, sniffing the air. The fabric seat was soaked. The middle-aged man’s terror had left a permanent, foul-smelling legacy in the upholstery.

Chen Ye saw her expression but offered no apology. He’d have burned the seat if he had the time.

“Bzzzt… Yezi,” Chu Che’s voice crackled, but it wasn’t commanding. It was small. Trembling. “Xiao Wang and Uncle Bao… they’re gone.”

The SUV, which had been tracking Chen Ye’s bumper, suddenly swerved and came to a dead stop.

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” Chen Ye asked, his brow furrowing.

“They’re just… not here,” Chu Che stammered. “I saw them in their seats five minutes ago. Uncle Bao was unconscious, and Xiao Wang was… he was struggling. But the doors never opened. How could they just leave?”

Chen Ye felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Two grown men don’t just evaporate from a moving vehicle.

“Captain… I’m so sorry,” Xiao Hua whispered into the radio, her voice heavy with a grim, local certainty. “Uncle Bao and Xiao Wang are dead.”

Chu Che didn’t lash out. He didn’t scream. “Dead? How? Why are they gone?”

“I told you about the city’s rules,” she said softly. “In the Great Fog, the dead don’t stay in their graves. They become Mist Thralls the moment the heart stops. They don’t need doors. They belong to the fog now.”

“Mist Thralls…” Chu Che’s voice was a hollow echo. Then the radio went dead.

Chen Ye’s eyelids twitched. So the bastard WAS eavesdropping on my cab earlier, he realized. The girl had told him about the Mist Thralls, yet Chu Che didn’t seem surprised by the term. The “Old Fox” had been listening to every word, even while pretending to be blind and deaf.

He wanted to scream at the captain for the deception and demand the Mechanic’s guns, but the raw grief in Chu Che’s silence stopped him. Chu Che had just lost his oldest friend and his most loyal assistant in a single breath.

The SUV sat motionless on the bridge for exactly three minutes.

Then, the engine roared back to life.

Two lives. Three minutes. The apocalypse didn’t permit a longer funeral.

They continued the descent. The radio occasionally hummed with short, clinical bursts of navigation from Xiao Hua to Chu Che, mapping the route beyond the bridge.

Chu Che focused on the faint, pulsing Marking of Iron Lion in the distance. He gripped the wheel until his knuckles were white, using the mission to bury the grief.

Xiao Hua sat in the passenger seat of the pickup, the stench of urine a constant reminder of their mortality. She looked at Chen Ye, his face mostly hidden by a black mask, his eyes fixed on the road with a terrifying, singular focus.

“Once we’re clear of Dawu City,” she whispered, her voice hauntingly quiet. “Is that when I have to die, too?”