Famine 236: Final Selection

　　Dong—
　　Dong—
　　Dong—

　　The mournful toll of the alarm bell echoed in the oppressive sky.
　　Three long peals signaled an S-grade enemy incursion.

　　Along the coastline, countless players who had just completed their missions lingered, sandwiches still in their mouths, heading uphill. Puzzled, they turned back—only to see, mere dozens of meters away, a colossal wall of surging waves as far as the eye could see.

　　Crash!

　　Atop the watchtower, before the sentry’s shout could even ring out, a jet-black bolt of lightning, like a shadow, shot forth from the waves, pinning one of the players to the ground.

　　The player could not utter a single cry before his chest caved in abruptly. He convulsed once, then lay still.

　　”What in the world is that?!” Screams erupted everywhere.

　　Reality allowed no time for debate.

　　In mere moments, darkness fell.

　　Countless shadows, fused with the ocean, crept upwards—spreading, multiplying. They were like twisted, drawn-out silhouettes, as though newly learning to walk; they staggered even as they advanced at terrifying speed, flickering like lightning.

　　Almost no one could make out their movements; only the sliver of blood-red light at their heart was visible—a crimson glimmer, like a drop of blood.

　　Guards rushed across the battlements, several dashing toward the turrets as they roared, “Get inside! Into the city!!”

　　Crash! Crash! Crash!

　　More warped shadows poured in with the tide, surging up the city wall like a black flood.

　　How many shadows were there?

　　Thousands? Tens of thousands? Even more?

　　These things were deadlier and faster than any known anomaly.
　　So powerful, so innumerable, swarming like storm clouds—dense, impenetrable, endless.

　　A black mass blotted out the world.

　　This was but a small, remote watchtower, guarded by only thirty to fifty men; the bulk of the farm’s defenders were stationed elsewhere.

　　Yet, the farm’s training now showed its worth. These few dozen sentries moved swiftly into position, working in concert, leveraging the advantage of the walls to just barely hold the line.

　　And yet…

　　In the face of this sudden calamity, the players outside the wall fell like so much straw.

　　Shi He swiftly cut down the largest shadow, but he could not stem the rising tide—all the faster and deadlier shadows surged forward one after another.

　　In the blink of an eye, the off-duty female soldiers below were swallowed by the darkness.

　　”Xiao Lin!!” The sentries on duty, their own sisters, shrieked with desperation, their cries tearing through the din.

　　One woman’s hands shook violently as, with frantic fury, she raked the shadows with turret fire, desperate to carve a path for her sisters to escape. But this was not the Farm; the turrets were mere standard-issue purchases—bullets were spent in the span of seconds.

　　Her voice broke:

　　”Please, Mr. Shi…please!”

　　Shi He closed his eyes.

　　They all knew—the chances of those girls surviving were next to none.

　　Still, Shi He turned his weapon. The range of his ability, [Time’s Cinders, Reaper of Souls], was pushed to the limit. He pulled the trigger.

　　Bang!

　　A breach opened in the tide of shadows.

　　Suddenly—

　　Crash!

　　In his scope, instead of a jumble of corpses, an enormous bubble composed of flesh and bone appeared—a crystalline sphere.

　　The female soldiers were safe inside. Clueless and terrified, they gazed out at their surroundings.

　　Splash!

　　Water sounded again. A bone-and-flesh mermaid cradled the bubble. A massive pink tailfin flicked gently, as she swam across Shi He’s sight.

　　In her skeletal jaws, she held half a piece of salted duck yolk cake, soaked through with seawater—plainly, she was savoring each precious bite and hadn’t finished.

　　They were the merfolk—!

　　One, three, five, a dozen…

　　The shadows seemed not to attack these merfolk. They leapt amid the tide, lifting the bubble together.

　　With the gap Shi He had made, the merfolk tossed the bubble onto the wall.

　　Pop!
　　The bubble landed atop the battlements—and burst.

　　The drenched women, waving quickly back at the sea, gave Shi He a hasty bow before racing away, rejoining their comrades and melding into the line of defense.

　　Outside, shadows surged like an unceasing tidal wave.

　　”What, exactly, are these things?”

　　Amid the relentless gunfire, Shi He clenched his jaw and pressed his temples, fighting the exhaustion that pressed at his mind—and activated [Eye of Insight].

　　Buzz.

　　”……!”

　　The moment his vision expanded, Shi He’s pupils contracted to pinpricks, robbed of all words.

　　In those pale gray eyes, a single term appeared.
　　Unlike all previous identifications, there was no description—nothing but four cold, blood-red characters—

　　[Incarnation of the Godhead]

　　…………
　　……

　　【Current worlds collected: 560】
　】

　　【

　　In a late autumn without warning, a long night descended.

　　The Godhead War’s assault began.

　　Clouds choked the sky, shrouding sun and rain. Soon, the drizzle became a deluge.

　　In the damp air, countless shadows surged from the sea, crept from street corners, sprouted from the earth—stumbling and swaying.

　　No one knew what had created them, or what these things were. Their forms varied: sometimes tall, gaunt shadows; sometimes a great black face twisted in a monstrous smile; sometimes a swarm of inky insects, able to slip through any gap—inescapable, unstoppable.

　　But they shared a single trait—

　　In the depths of every shadow, a scarlet glow flickered and pulsed.

　　Fortunately, the Farm’s Overseer, Si Zhiyan, showed himself so rarely that almost no one recognized that ember of light—identical to Si Zhiyan’s own eyes.

　　These beings swept through the world; life withered in their wake.

　　Cities, prairies, oceans…

　　In a single night, every inch of the Hunger Game’s world was crowded with these lethal shadows.

　　At this moment, one thought bloomed in everyone’s mind—

　　Apocalypse.

　　If the Hunger Game had ever seemed a mere worldly calamity, then now—these shadows marked its true doomsday.

　　Just as it had nine years before, when the Hunger Game first arrived—when the Godhead’s hand came down upon ants, the ants could do nothing.

　　Yet…something was different.

　　When the assault began, Si Zhiyan stepped from the small house on the Farm and gazed up at the sky.

　　It was midday, yet outside, one couldn’t see a hand before their face—it was as black as midnight.
　　Above, clouds pressed down in suffocating shrouds, as on the day the Godhead had unleashed its vengeance—sky dark as lead.

　　Only a single beam of silver light split the clouds, carving a gash in the darkness.

　　That was no mercy from the gods, but the Farm’s signal beacon
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　　—its solitary marker, piercing the blackened world and pinpointing the Farm’s location.

　　From the distant city wall, came Sha Tong’s desperate shout—

　　“To the walls! Back to the Farm!! To the Farm, quick!!”

　　Boom! The light of the [Starship Cola Railgun] lanced down in a thunderous burst—it was Anderson, clearing the swarms. Countless carnivorous plants stormed from the jungle, howling “Eat! Eat!”, rushing the shadows. The green tide slammed into black, and, for a moment, the invasion was actually held at bay.

　　In the window of this brief respite, thousands of players scrambled forward, tumbling and crawling through the gates.

　　The [Yogurt Moat]’s recognition protocols came online, swirling with the rich aroma of cheese and yogurt, welcoming the returnees and whisking away all filth and corruption clinging to them.

　　Thanks to Si Zhiyan’s vigilance since the first [Eye] battle, the Farm’s defenses—strengthened relentlessly—held firm: the shadows could not breach them.

　　In this never-ending night, the Farm stood as a sanctuary, offering every player a final safe haven.

　　In Utopia Town, lights flickered on, one after another—candles against the storm, the last embers of civilization wavering on the verge of extinction.

　　“It’s all too soon!!”

　　Aiko, pale and ashen, hurried in from the Paradise of Plenty. There was terror in her blanching face.

　　“How many worlds are there now? How many? Five hundred and sixty?!”

　　Si Zhiyan turned, his tone unexpectedly placid: “Five hundred and seventy-four.”
　　“There are fourteen more Seeds of Hunger already on their way. They’re close, just outside the suburbs. I’ve sent people to collect them.”

　　Thunderous lightning crashed.

　　Aiko gripped her long sleeves tight, her face bleak: “Still not enough…”

　　“Why? Why is the assault happening now? Wasn’t the War of the Godhead supposed to last ten years? Aren’t there over three hundred days left?”

　　Si Zhiyan sighed: “It’s easy to say, after the fact. But I think I know why…come.”

　　He led Aiko to the storeroom behind the cafeteria and pushed open the steel door.

　　Creak.

　　Inside, food was stacked as far as the eye could see: slabs of pork, hundreds of pounds of beef, crates upon crates of luncheon meat and sausages, boxes of watermelons, cantaloupes and grapes, sacks of rice and flour, butter and more—an abundance beyond measure.

　　Even as the world descended into disaster, the sight of their own storeroom, bulging with supplies, put Aiko slightly at ease.

　　Si Zhiyan pointed to an inconspicuous corner.

　　There, a half-rusted iron barrel sat alone—waist-high, and now completely empty.

　　Si Zhiyan’s voice cut clear through the downpour:
　　“There used to be a barrel of nutrient solution here.”

　　Once the final battle began, the Godhead reclaimed all of its nutrient solution.
　　What the players had once battled and bled for, in the face of real calamity, turned to dust in an instant.

　　Thunder crashed again.

　　Aiko’s pupils shrank ever so slightly.

　　“I can only speculate, but the [nutrient solution] was more than a survival aid. The Godhead could manipulate its state at will and, therefore, must have been watching it all along.”

　　In the rain, Si Zhiyan shook his head.

　　“As the Farm grew in influence, less and less nutrient solution was used.”

　　Aiko blurted out: “It doesn’t have eyes!”
　　“It doesn’t know people eat the Farm’s food instead—it lost interest in providing nutrient solution…It thinks fewer and fewer humans are surviving the Hunger Game.”

　　“So…it must trigger the final selection while players are still alive.”

　　Si Zhiyan nodded.

　　Aiko fell completely silent.

　　No one could have foreseen such a turn.

　　Sometimes, this cruel world likes to play its own bitter jokes.

　　Her voice trembled: “Six hundred…that’s our minimum. If it comes to a head-on war, with less than six hundred worlds, we’ll barely have anything to fight back with…”

　　Si Zhiyan patted her head: “It’s alright. We’re not far off. We may not be fully prepared, but we’ve done our best.”

　　“Besides, there’s still hope.”

　　Through the torrents of night, with rain pouring down around him, Si Zhiyan stood unflinching. Hands clasped behind him, his red eyes focused on Aiko.

　　“Trust me.”

　　“After all, we have no other choice.”

　　Aiko gazed up at him, slightly stunned, her pupils reflecting the figure before her.

　　For a brief instant, it seemed she glimpsed, in him, the same fire she’d once seen in the Godhead.

　　Si Zhiyan’s voice, calm and wise even amidst the storm, anchored her heart against the surging anxiety.

　　“We’ve heard this before…but please, just one more time—explain the process of the [Final Selection].”

　　“……”

　　“…Alright.”

　　Aiko wiped her face, took a deep breath, and nodded firmly.
　　By now, the girl was soaked through, black hair streaming into puddles by her feet. Brushing aside her bangs, she revealed the eyes that belonged to Wako.

　　The voices of both girls overlapped.

　　“The [Final Selection] has two phases.”

　　“Phase One: [Preliminary Selection]. The incarnations of the Godhead descend upon the world and carry out one last purge—any player unfit to survive is eliminated, leaving only the elite.”

　　“This phase lasts about thirty days.”

　　“Phase Two: the [Godhead] itself descends.”

　　“When the purge is complete, and only a handful of elite, chosen challengers remain, it will appear in full, unshackled by any restraints, to face its enemies in the final battle.”

　　“……”

　　Aiko said, “Today is the mildest it will be. With each day that follows, the incarnations will grow more powerful.”

　　Wako added, “This is a high-stakes elimination; every day, countless more will die.”

　　Aiko said, “Thanks to everyone’s efforts and the Farm’s current strength, we should be able to get through the preliminary selection.”

　　Wako continued, “That was our original plan—to clear out the outer settlements and shelter here, bracing for thirty days…”

　　Aiko sighed, “But now, we’re almost out of time. We need to count all permanent combatants in the Farm. This is all the strength we have left. As for the rest…”
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　　The rest of her words were swallowed by the rain.

　　“This is the final selection.”

　　—“Sir, give the order.”

　　Si Zhiyan lifted his head and let out a long breath.

　　Thunder and lightning crashed as one.

　　…………
　　……

　　A thousand miles away, Shi He stood at the front lines, braving the torrents, teeth clenched hard, gray eyes aflame.

　　Before him, the movement of every shadow seemed to slow —as if some invisible hand had pressed a key on the world’s remote, dragging each moment to a crawl.

　　[Time’s Cinders—Frozen Clock]!

　　From atop the walls behind, turret fire blazed, alternating bursts flooding out of the barrels.

　　Thanks to the recent drills, every player of the Farm had taken up arms. Thousands had rallied in moments, lining up under command.

　　This was a desolate and distant outpost, far from the main forces. Those stationed here had hoped only for an easy time, a low-risk world, a way to get by. They were not strong—before the Farm, many could barely fill their stomachs.

　　By rights, they should have been wiped out in minutes, devoured by the shadows, leaving clear ground for the final battle.

　　But not one person retreated.

　　They stood firm, following every order, their voices ragged with effort.

　　Teeth shattered, blood and shattered bone flew. Those who should have been crushed like ants, by drawing on the camaraderie forged by the Farm and Shi He’s [Frozen Clock], managed to claw a breach in hell itself.

　　Shi He stood at the fore, one man barring the flood.

　　As a sniper, Shi He was not suited for such battles.

　　Of course, had he chosen to flee alone, no shadow could have stopped him.
　　But if he left, what of these thousands of ordinary players?

　　So he stood his ground upon the wall.

　　With the support of anomalies and the strength of the players, they could likely hold through the night.

　　But their ammunition would run out. Shi He would grow exhausted.

　　…What about tomorrow?
　　…And how were the other outposts faring tonight?

　　Everyone was busy, shouting, fighting—trying not to think about such things, as if not thinking might make it all go away. Like trying not to remember those left outside the walls.

　　Thunder crashed, white light split the darkness.

　　It revealed Si Zhiyan, red eyes burning in the storm.

　　He said, “The first step—bring my wandering children safely home.”

　　“We…will not abandon a single one.”