Chapter 81: First Fortress 33 Part 1

An He heard the cry for help and immediately Lock-On to Wen Yewang’s precise position.

Wen Yewang was wrapped layer upon layer in roots, tightening around her. From afar, she looked like a massive cocoon, half bathed in light, half shrouded in shadow.

The roots rubbed and squeezed with a creaking sound that set teeth on edge. These weren’t soft ropes—the roots had rigidity. Being bound and crushed like this would dislocate joints.

The flashlight’s beam had limited range. An He could only see a faint blood mist within the circle of light, where thorns on the roots had hardened and pierced Wen Yewang’s skin.

Wen Yewang was already injured. Where? Was it fatal? Would cardiac arrest trigger an explosion in Babel Tower?

“Save me!”

Another shout. Professor Wen, who always wore a mad grin, now showed a face twisted in terror from behind the roots—utterly undignified, like a dying soul flailing in desperation.

Such a plea stabbed at the nerves, the raw image of the powerless before absolute might. Only then did An He remember: Wen Yewang was an ordinary person without an Innate Talent.

Throughout history, countless unarmed ordinary folk had perished just like this in cataclysmic disasters.

An urgent impulse surged in An He—she had to do something. Wen Yewang couldn’t die yet, at least not here. She and Gu Xianqing couldn’t just die alongside her for nothing.

An He glanced at Gu Xianqing again. They’d approached from opposite directions, separated by a vast distance, but their gazes locked. An He couldn’t make out Gu Xianqing’s expression, but she was certain Gu Xianqing was watching her too.

She could even picture it: Gu Xianqing rapidly assessing the situation, ready to act.

Familiarity bred invisible rapport, amplified in the lightless void.

Neither spoke. Almost simultaneously, they charged toward Wen Yewang.

Just as An He was about to touch her, a black shadow flashed from the side, eyes slightly open, nearly brushing An He’s face.

The sudden scare stopped An He’s heart. She recoiled instinctively, only to trip over the uneven roots beneath her feet and crash to the ground.

The hazmat suit buffered some pain, but that instant of fluster was deadly. As An He fell, her flashlight flew from her hand, plunging everything into darkness.

At the same moment, countless roots climbed her suit, trying to envelop her just like Wen Yewang.

An He’s eyes narrowed. She swung her sword to sever the roots while scrambling to her feet, steadying herself. The heavy suit made her movements clumsy, but she couldn’t ditch it yet.

She noticed spores in the air. Something blood-like raced toward her—that was the Divine Blood. An He finally saw its true form.

The shadow flashed in the light, then vanished into darkness. An He caught only pale pink pupils.

Someone else was here. Just one? Or many?

Darkness turned treacherous in a heartbeat. The fear of the unknown was an invisible assault.

An He’s muscles tensed. She turned to grab the fallen flashlight, but roots had already coiled around her ankle.

Somehow, the roots had spread everywhere—no safe footing left.

An He had some night vision, but losing the light source was fatal in combat. She couldn’t spot incoming attacks, dodge them, let alone counter precisely.

No matter what, get the flashlight back.

An He whipped around, slicing the roots creeping up her calf. Cut one, and countless new shoots sprouted. The trees’ regenerative power was pushed to its limit.

She couldn’t budge.

Just then, the flashlight on the ground flickered, as if kicked. Its tail end flipped up, arcing through the dark and smashing toward An He’s head.

An He freed a hand and snatched it midair, clipping it to the buckle on her suit’s waist. A quick glance left—sure enough, Gu Xianqing.

Gu Xianqing had somehow reached her side without getting too close. As An He looked over, Gu Xianqing frowned at the bloodstains on An He’s suit and pinched her nose.

An He rolled her eyes. Hmph, soiling her eyes again.

No words exchanged. Wen Yewang was still breathing—they couldn’t show untimely familiarity. To outsiders, they looked like bitter enemies who despised each other.

An He adjusted her position swiftly, shuffling to avoid entanglement while sweeping the flashlight toward Wen Yewang.

The shadow had vanished into the dark, but several wide-open Sealed Boxes behind Wen Yewang made An He gasp.

She quickly pieced it together: Wen Yewang’s “good deed.” These Cabin Cocoons had been injected with Divine Blood, spores everywhere—likely under the God’s control now. Her experiment had backfired. She’d toiled to plant the trees, only for the God to harvest the fruit.

No wonder the mycelium acted so abnormally. Each empty Sealed Box meant extra danger.

This is bad.

An He counted: seven in total.

The beam swept the rightmost Cabin Cocoon—just a corpse on the ground, roots-wrapped and dismembered into shapeless muck.

A failure, then. Six left. An He reeled—six live Cabin Cocoons hidden here!

And she’d only just learned!

As a Cabin Cocoon herself, An He knew how dangerous they were. Untrained, unskilled in combat, but born with potent Innate Talents and unknown Nestsouls.

Now under the God’s command, even their tactical weaknesses were patched. They were perfect tools—six of them, six talents, six Nestsouls.

And the God could grant them more!

The realization drained the color from An He’s face. The severity hit her—if these six escaped with the vines and roots, not even Sekhmet’s army could hold them back.

Worse than she’d imagined. Beyond her league.

Beside her, Gu Xianqing’s face soured to the extreme upon seeing the empty Cabin Cocoons. Like An He, she hadn’t known. These were screened, transferred, and nurtured after the Mental Shield Device activated in the First Fortress—she’d been out of the loop.

Had she known, she never would’ve come underground!

An He blinked, and Gu Xianqing had already turned, sprinting back the way she’d come—retreating without a fight.

Gu Xianqing rarely fled outright; this meant total loss of control. Crushing pressure descended. An He stole a final glance at Wen Yewang.

Before she could decide save or abandon, the roots underfoot erupted, spiderwebbing outward.

In an instant, thicker roots burst from the earth like pythons, writhing and extending at terrifying speed. Stone shattered in their path, sealing An He’s escape route.

Her footing vanished, forcing her onto the bumpy roots. Far off, Gu Xianqing slowed, struggling for purchase.

Then moss spread massively, filling root crevices and blooming with eerie tiny flowers. Petals glowed brilliant purple, like cave flora.

But their beauty masked a nauseating stench. Unguarded, Gu Xianqing soon felt dizzy.

By the glow, An He saw the underground shaft was vast and towering—diameter immense, ceiling thirty meters up.

Now, centered on their perch, the space was overtaken by brown roots, woven into an airtight cage.

They were trapped, no escape.

An He’s heart jolted. The shift happened in ten seconds—power too horrifying for mere mycelium.

Sweeping her light, she spotted a barefoot black-haired Cabin Cocoon in the corner, calmly stroking a root with one hand. It swelled violently under her palm.

A plant-based Innate Talent!

Intentional by the God or coincidence? Indistinguishable now.

Bone-deep dread gripped An He. First time facing the God’s power head-on, she suddenly understood why it craved her body.

Alone, the God’s mycelium couldn’t wreak such havoc—hallucinations were intangible.

But controlling evolved humans maximized Innate Talents, with limitless impact.

True Parasite—common in plants and fungi, perfected by the God. It drained hosts’ nutrients to expand territory.

Worse, one Cabin Cocoon already dominated utterly. More lurked unseen in the dark.

Then, thorns sprouted on the roots like living tentacles, snaring everything in reach.

An He’s suit tore easily; sharp pain exploded through her.

She tried to move, but each step yanked barbs through her skin, pinning her.

Roots multiplied, space compressed. Gu Xianqing was forced back, facing An He, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“It’s over,” An He rasped. “We’ve become the prey.”

Wen Yewang was bait; they were fish swimming into the trap.

They’d spotted the anomaly first, couldn’t ignore it—doomed to be ensnared.

The God had anticipated, prepared.

But if they hadn’t come, the damage would’ve been worse.

Up top, the First Fortress lay serene. None knew the unfathomable underbelly churned.

An He couldn’t move, as if the next second she’d be devoured, merged into the roots, lost forever in endless dark silence.

Checkmate.

Gu Xianqing’s faint voice carried: “Don’t die.”

Speaking to the void—like self-admonishment, or to An He.

“Don’t resist,” Gu Xianqing added softly, emotionless.

Wen Yewang was obscured, only eyes visible. Blood trickled from some wound, along the roots.

No more pleas. A spark of sanity returned to her gaze, fixed on Gu Xianqing—silent.

The shaft fell quiet. In the stillness, wet squish-splat footsteps echoed from the dark—bare feet on stone.

No one moved rashly; roots halted growth.

An He caught on: Killing them would’ve been easy for the God.

They lived because all three were useful. So Gu Xianqing urged no resistance.

Useful ones weren’t killed quickly.

Pathetic, really. Her, Gu Xianqing, Wen Yewang—three defiant, twisted women, all prospects for the God’s roster.

Gritting through ankle agony, An He raised her eyes. The flashlight shifted in the jostle, beaming toward the sound.

Footsteps neared. Dead ahead, six shadows of varying heights emerged, outlines sharpening.

Cabin Cocoons mixed genes—diverse faces.

Yet identical expressions: blank, half-lidded eyes, mouths downturned in precise unison.

Batch-produced molds—more chilling than identical twins.

This was God-controlled?

All true puppets now.

Leading was 707. She blinked, pink pupils reflecting the beam, locked on An He. “Meet again.”

——Their first meeting in human form wasn’t inside An He’s mind, but in the completely real world. Now, 707 held absolute control.

An He’s pupils contracted sharply. The motion of her swallowing was blatantly timid, and she fell silent, her back tensing until it ached.

At this moment, no one had summoned a Nestsoul. Yet in An He’s precognition, countless massive jackals, wolves, tigers, and leopards had already filled the entire underground space. The people before her actually possessed innumerable Nestsouls, just like she did.

An He desperately wanted to figure out the Innate Talents of the six Cabin Cocoons, but the fleeting visions were too brief. The information she gleaned was limited, and the high-frequency use of her ability left her scalp throbbing with pain.

She had tried it out. Once battle erupted, survival would be nearly impossible.

An He decided to hold her ground and resorted to her final tactic: talking her down.

“Is your goal in controlling the Cabin Cocoons to seize the human fortress?” An He asked.

“Seize?” 707 lifted her gaze slightly. “I have no such intention. ‘Seize’ carries heavy moral judgment, which I don’t need to consider. I’m merely expanding the territory of my survival.”

Like an invasive plant, it would scatter its Seeds across every inch of soil possible. This was etched into its genes—they never preached morality.

An He fell silent for a long while. Only by stripping the God of its anthropomorphic lens did she grasp what 707 meant. The God always appears in human form, she realized. The God is not human.

The controlled 707 was utterly different from a newborn Cabin Cocoon. She used advanced vocabulary, which meant the God had already made contact with—and comprehended—human civilization.

But she couldn’t empathize with humans.

Just as humans couldn’t empathize with her.

An He couldn’t lecture such a being on morality or humanity, couldn’t persuade her to show mercy. It wouldn’t work.

Her prepared verbal barrage died in her chest, leaving her at a loss.

Instead, 707 began to tempt her: “See? Accept me, and your power can be utilized to its maximum.”

An He looked up at the ceiling. The tree roots that had exploded in growth moments ago were still writhing faintly, while the black-haired wood-controller before her showed no signs of fatigue.

An He put herself in those shoes. If it were her using an Innate Talent, she could never achieve such a staggering feat.

707 wasn’t lying. She truly could help An He push her Innate Talent to its peak.

But An He refused: “What’s the point?”

“Don’t you want to survive?”

“I do!” An He answered loudly.

“But not by clinging to life under your control,” An He added.

707’s tone shifted subtly: “Humans are so strange. You clearly crave survival, crave power. I offer a way to enhance your abilities and live on, yet you refuse. Why? For some so-called ‘meaning’?”

“For me,” An He raised her eyes, “power without freedom isn’t power.”

Without self-awareness, reduced to a tool—no matter how sharp the blade, it was just a blade, not a person.

Even the Saint Lord allowed her soldiers their desires.

707 fell subtly silent for a moment. The surroundings quieted, and An He heard a faint sigh from Gu Xianqing behind her. She glanced back, catching Gu Xianqing’s upright back trembling slightly.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t see Gu Xianqing’s face, couldn’t judge her thoughts from her expression.

When An He turned back, 707 suddenly stepped forward over the tree roots, her eyes devoid of emotion. An He’s instincts screamed a warning—707 was about to strike.

“You know, in nature, we immediately discard useless parts, lest they harm the whole,” 707 said.