Chen Ye stomped the accelerator to the floor.

The Doomsday Pickup was facing its ultimate test.

Like a bolt fired from a heavy crossbow, the truck shot forward, screaming against the howling void chasing it.

Sand lashed against the windows and scoured the chassis, a relentless hiss that sounded like the cold, mocking laughter of Death.

Visibility plummeted. The world was being erased by yellow dust.

Fortunately, the vehicles ahead had activated their hazard lights. Chen Ye kept his eyes glued to the rhythmic flashing, clinging to the convoy’s tail like a lifeline.

When he had upgraded his truck, he had stripped out the hazard lights to save Slaughter Points. Only a single, dim headlight guided him now.

The convoy raced ahead of the storm, teetering on the edge of being swallowed whole.

Spectral willow branches instinctively coiled around Chen Ye’s arm, bracing for impact.

He stared intently at the red taillights flickering in the gloom.

No. This is wrong.

Running like this is no different from courting death.

He had never been to a desert before, let alone driven through a sandstorm. He had zero experience. When he saw the others run, herd mentality took over, and he floored it.

Most people in the convoy were likely in the same boat—blind panic leading the blind.

Now that the adrenaline was cooling, the stupidity of it washed over him.

How long can we keep this up?

How can a truck outrun a force of nature?

Visibility was nearing zero. Driving blind at these speeds meant that hitting a rock, a dune, or a patch of soft sand would be fatal.

Getting separated meant death.

Running out of fuel meant death.

Every variable pointed to a dead end.

I can’t keep running.

The only sliver of hope lies in stopping and weathering the storm!

Cold sweat slicked Chen Ye’s forehead. He wanted to signal Captain Chu, but it was too late. There were no walkie-talkies. Even if he rolled down the window and screamed, the wind would tear his voice away before it reached the lead car.

What do I do?

Damn it!

Just as panic began to set in, the red lights ahead rapidly expanded.

Chen Ye slammed the steering wheel over. The pickup lurched violently, tires digging into the sand as he narrowly drifted past the rear bumper of the car in front.

Through the haze, he saw them. Chu Che and Nana had stopped.

Iron Lion’s yellow school bus was parked in the center, acting as an anchor.

All the vehicles sat stationary, hazard lights blinking in unison.

Chen Ye exhaled. Captain Chu had realized it too.

As expected of Captain Chu.

It had only been ten minutes, but the Pathfinder had made the hard call.

Through the dust, Chen Ye saw a figure waving from Chu Che’s vehicle, directing the two SUVs to tuck in close to Iron Lion’s heavy bus.

Chen Ye understood the formation immediately. He wrestled the pickup into position, completing the defensive circle around the bus.

Sitting in the cab, the roar of the wind was deafening. He could feel the makeshift canopy on the truck bed shuddering violently. It was stitched together from women’s clothing and reinforced with bicycle parts—hardly military grade.

He wasn’t optimistic about the canopy surviving this. He just prayed he wouldn’t lose too many Supplies.

The formation was set: Iron Lion’s bus in the center, flanked by the smaller vehicles to break the wind.

The howling intensified. The sand grew denser, slamming against the glass like buckshot. The windows were rapidly frosting over from the abrasion.

The sandstorm wasn’t just weather anymore. It was a giant beast roaring in their ears, opening its maw to swallow this cluster of ants.

“Ahhh—!”

A scream tore through the gale, fading in and out with the gusts.

Through the frosted glass, Chen Ye saw a motorcycle lift off the ground. It tumbled through the air like a toy, disappearing into the murky yellow abyss.

Trailing behind the bike was a human figure, flailing helplessly as they were swept away.

Chen Ye couldn’t see the face, but he knew it was the lone rider from the convoy.

The sun was gone. The world plunged into a suffocating twilight.

Inside the pickup, Chen Ye was tossed left and right. The heavy truck rocked on its suspension like a boat in a hurricane.

Is this normal? This storm is insane.

BANG!

The driver-side window imploded.

The violent gale rushed into the cab, whipping Chen Ye’s hair into a frenzy. He barely had time to react before the pressure shift hit.

He shoved his sunglasses into his pocket and grabbed a cushion to block the hole.

BANG!

The passenger window shattered.

Shards of glass flew inward, slicing a thin cut across Chen Ye’s cheek.

“No! Help!”

Another scream, drifting closer, then further away.

Chen Ye squinted against the stinging grit. Through the haze, he saw a massive silhouette emerge from the school bus.

Iron Lion.

The moment the big lug stepped out, his body swelled. Muscles coiled and expanded, bones cracked and lengthened.

In seconds, a three-meter-tall giant stood in the storm.

The Titan Sequence.

The giant held a thick coil of rope in his massive hands. He began looping it around the vehicles, trying to lash the convoy together into a single, immovable mass.

But the wind was monstrous. Even with his Titan strength, Iron Lion struggled to keep his footing.

“Chen! Help me!”

The roar cut through the wind, clear and desperate.

Damn it…

Chen Ye cursed internally, unbuckled, and shoved his door open.

He didn’t want to go out there, but he had no choice. If the formation broke, his Doomsday Pickup would be flipped like a pancake.

Teachers always preached about unity in kindergarten.

Guess they were right.

The flying motorcycle was a grim warning. In this chaos, only Sequence Beyonders stood a chance.

Chen Ye leaped from the cab and sprinted toward the giant.

Together, they fought the wind, wrestling the heavy rope around the bumpers and tow hooks of the circled vehicles.

They managed two full loops.

Iron Lion tied a massive knot and wrapped the loose end around his own waist.

With a primal roar, the giant stomped down. His legs drove deep into the sand like pile drivers, burying him up to his waist.

He was using himself as a living anchor.

Crazy bastard.

But looking at the three-meter mountain of muscle—weighing at least five or six hundred kilograms in this form—it was the best counterweight they had.

“Chen! Get… back! I’ve got… this!” Iron Lion bellowed, his voice shredded by the gale.

“Big dummy! I’m helping!”

A flash of pink pierced the gloom.

Nana.

The girl strode forward, her long legs steady against the blast. The drunken haze was gone from her eyes, replaced by a razor-sharp focus.

She grabbed the rope behind Iron Lion, muttering an incantation. Her longsword flashed, driving a two-meter beam of sword aura deep into the bedrock beneath the sand.

“Chen! What are you staring at? Do something!”

The pink-haired girl shot him a challenging look.

“Fine. Everyone has their tricks. Watch this.”

Chen Ye flicked his wrist.

Green spectral willow branches shot out, coiling tight around the arm-thick rope.

In his other hand, the Heavy Machete spun once before he hurled it downward.

“Go!”

The blade hummed with a dark resonance. It punched a deep hole into the earth, burying itself to the hilt before the sand instantly covered it.

The willow branches snapped taut, anchoring the rope to the buried weapon.

The Blood Resentment Machete’s first combat trial wasn’t against an Anomaly. It was being used as a glorified tent peg.

“Not bad, Chen!” Nana winked at him, unbothered by the chaos.

Chen Ye’s expression remained cold. The storm was peaking.

Through the vibrations in the willow branches, he felt the terrifying lift of the wind. Even his boots were starting to lose traction. He gripped the branches with white knuckles.

Around them, the lashed vehicles groaned, metal screeching against metal as the storm tried to tear them apart.