Zugabe Day Becomes Night

Foreword:

Living organisms are flesh-and-blood machines created by genes.

Life is short, but genes are immortal.

--Richard Dawkins | The Selfish Gene

[Part 1: Raging Flames]

Four hours later, in front of a Western-style pub called "Tianya Haijiao Club" in East Horse Port Huacheng Bay, a manhole cover made of cast iron was pried open by a bloody arm.

His naked, sticky body slid out of the manhole cover, seemingly experiencing several strange changes in gravity, appearing as if he had "fallen naturally" from directly below to directly above—as he burst out of the manhole, the blood, mud, and flesh scraps on his body bounced into the air with this special gravity, only to be firmly held by the Earth.

Wood Plark has once again crawled back from the brink of death.

The thermonuclear reaction of the MK-28 airburst hydrogen bomb did not kill him, or rather—he was already dead.

In that strange Spirit Realm, in the strata shrouded by the nuclear fireball, no spirit or monster could survive. Whether it was Fret Caesar or Lamastu's apostle children, they all turned to ashes.

Perhaps the wicked banshee can reshape her physical body through the power of faith in the material plane; such legendary monsters, which have had a profound influence on human history, have a much stronger vitality.

But for Wood Plark, he died more than two hundred times in just four hours.

A wisp of demonic wind and evil energy gathered tiny dust particles, which converged into a surging stream. The water vapor condensed and transformed into a blood and flesh structure with a genetic blueprint, allowing the man to return to human form.

Like the Chosen of Amon described in the local Shambhala epics—he can indeed live, and this physical form is even more domineering and savage than the blessing brought by the Immortal Lune.

However, this also brought unimaginable pain and unbearable torment to ordinary people.

Several times, before his bones and internal organs could regenerate, his rough body lay sprawled on the scorching slope, killed by the intense heat of the nuclear bomb remnants, quickly turning into a piece of roasted meat.

Later, as the ambient temperature gradually dropped, from the scorching heat of 1400 degrees Celsius to the slow roasting of 300 degrees Celsius, this body of bones and muscles could not last more than ten seconds. It could only make a slight sideways roll before turning back into steaming white minced meat.

He died and came back to life repeatedly in the sixth level of the heretical prison where Lamastu was located, without ever growing his precious eyes, otherwise he would have been able to see his withered and charred corpses scattered all over the ground.

In the latter half of the death game, he had lost most of his sanity and only hoped that the blessing of the god Amon would spare him once, allowing him to die forever and escape the persecution of this blood and flesh curse—just like the elves of the Radiant Heaven, who only possessed a physical body after consuming the earth's bounty, and only then could they experience joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness, and feel pain and pleasure. He no longer wanted to live.

He no longer wanted to be human; suffering had broken his mind.

For Wood Plark, the arrival of the Sabbath was not a good thing. He seemed to possess the blessing of an immortal god, but the responsibility that came with this power was equally heavy—to live a life of pleasure and die a life of agony.

After 102 death rolls, we can tentatively understand it as this living corpse struggling to crawl and writhe through the Sixth Hell, exhausting all 102 lives (in the previous 100+ times, even moving a finger was a luxury) -- finally maintaining a relatively moist state, it returned to the material plane from this funnel-shaped strange Spirit Realm.

He had many fragmented organs of demons from the Netherworld hanging on his body. Any roadblocks that dared to get in his way were blown to smithereens by [Sexy Bomb]. Most of the smarter demons heard the roar of the nuclear bomb and hid back in the demon caves and palaces below the cliffs of the third ring of the seventh level of hell.

He fell all the way down, out of the manhole cover—though only four hours had passed, it felt like centuries to him.

The children at Galahad Magic Academy all thought Professor Wood's personality was eccentric, perhaps related to his frequent experiences of voluntarily facing death. His body left no physical scars, but his heart bore countless invisible wounds.

Awakening from his mental breakdown, Wood, naked, struggled to his feet. He first used all his strength to close the heavy manhole cover, then opened it again to double-check—to make sure this temporary gate to hell wouldn't open again and that no evil spirits or demons would escape from inside.

He climbed up to the bar's reception area, and right under the bar owner's nose, wiped the filth off his body with the carpet. He then opened a cheap beer keg in the "Haven" (a temporary shelter for the homeless), turned on the tap, and drank his fill.

"Hey! Sir! Are you alright?" The shop owner was a Westerner named Gregory, a native of the Shambhala continent. He looked like a kind-faced uncle and was very curious about Wood's experiences.

What on earth happened? Why did fate send this blood-covered blond man to the bar entrance?

Wood did not answer. He was hungry and thirsty, and the pain he had suffered in Netherworld still lingered in his body, causing his muscles and nerves to tremble slightly involuntarily.

His physical essence had been replaced almost two hundred times, making it impossible for him to adapt to this new limb.

Despite this, he remained steadfast and determined, exhausting all his energy to slowly carve the morpho butterfly tattoo onto his neck.

[Sexy Bomb] continues to work on the right hand. As the left Thumb gently presses the detonation switch again and again, the fingertips press against the skin of the neck, and the nails explode little by little with faint sparks, leaving patches of charred carbon stains on the dermis, gradually turning into the pattern of a butterfly flapping its wings.

"Amon, God Amon!" the bar owner exclaimed, covering his face in surprise.

--This is the Amon acknowledged chosen one of the gods of the Western Continent, much like Jesus the Savior, the son of God.

To the Westerners of Shambhala, and to believers in the sun god, Wood Plark's morpho tattoo and superpowers were considered characteristics of a divine messenger.

The boss quickly picked up Wood, wanting to take good care of this "divine child," thinking that perhaps the Tianya Haijiao Club would one day become the new Church of Dionysus, a top tourist attraction in East Horse Port!

"I hit the jackpot! Hahahaha!~"

Thinking this, Wood Plark slammed his head against the door frame, breaking his fragile neck and dying instantly.

"Holy crap!" Boss Gregory, his face pale with fright, whispered to the messenger in his arms, "Are you... are you alright?"

These seemingly minor but fatal wounds are all too common for Wood Plark on Saturday.

With a snap, Mr. Wood's swollen neck joint snapped back into place, and he exhaled a breath of relief, having just left his body, and came back to life.

"It's okay. Just be gentler next time."

"Of course." The hospitable Boss Gregory continued walking inside, where he saw the little maid Ollie, carrying a plate of roasted bell peppers, with a sharp knife and fork between her fingers.

The boss scolded, "Ollie! How can you handle the cutlery like that?! It's dangerous!"

Miss Ollie came from the West to work in East Malaysia, but she still hasn't recovered from the measles caused by the change in environment. She doesn't even have time to rest on the Sabbath, so she was already in a bad mood. When she saw her boss carrying this homeless man into the door, she immediately started yelling.

"What's wrong with me delivering food with a knife and fork like this?! Working at 4 a. m. is giving you face! Don't push your luck!"

She was so angry she lost her temper, tore up the delivery order number, and flung it away violently.

--The cutlery slipped through his fingers turned into a deadly weapon, flying towards Boss Gregory's chest.

The boss, not one to stand on ceremony, immediately put his arm around Mr. Wood as a human shield.

Ms. Ollie turned pale with fright, and by the time she realized she had lost control of her emotions, it was too late.

"Ha!--"

She gasped, immediately regretting her impulsiveness and the control she had given to anger.

"Ya ya ya ya! Ya!"

Wood was stabbed in the back with a knife. It wouldn't have hurt his heart, but when Mr. Gregory lifted and hugged the messenger to protect his face, the knife slipped through the gap in the lower half of his ribs and into his heart ventricle.

Are you alright?

"Mr. Wood."

Wood's expression remained unchanged. He awkwardly put his hands behind his back, first pulling the steel fork out of his buttocks, then, holding his breath, slowly pulled the small knife from his backside.

He casually replied, "When will I die at your hands a third time? I'm even a little looking forward to it."

When Ms. Ollie met Mr. Wood and saw the tattoo on the messenger's neck, she was both surprised and delighted.

"Boss! This one..."

Gregory nodded. "Yes, it's Mr. Wood! Mr. Wood Plark!"

"Oh! I grew up listening to his stories! Good heavens!" Ms. Ollie quickly put down her plate and looked expectantly at the frail man's handsome face. "He looks exactly like the one depicted in religious art paintings."

The myths and legends of the Western Continent depict this chosen one of Amon as an ordinary person.

He will feel pain, he will be afraid, and he will die, but he will be resurrected on Saturday.

In addition, he knows some psychic magic and is an alchemist with exceptional talent in sorcery.

Like most Lennon natives, he had a high-bridged nose, fair skin, and the reddish cheeks of a highlander. He grew sorghum year-round and had a strong smell of sweat.

He had a pair of deep blue eyes, like optics and the ocean, and he liked to tell tasteless jokes.

Most importantly, wherever this divine messenger went, he always kept the farmers and workers in his heart, and always tried to find ways to get some seeds and some machinery—just like the divine duty of Amon, the sun always brings a bountiful harvest, the sun always drives away disease, and the sun makes life flourish.

"It really is!" Ms. Ollie picked up the knife and stabbed Wood in the heart.

Wood: "No"

He spoke too slowly.

"It seems like the blood isn't flowing anymore, it's healing right away!" Ollie exclaimed excitedly.

Wood: "Please."

With another cut, the skin split open and squeezed outwards, forcing the blade out of the flesh. Then it closed up like jelly, the muscles biting together, and healed without any medicine.

Gregory laughed excitedly, "That's right! This is the Chosen One of Amon! We're going to be rich! Ollie! You know what? He's a living advertisement for the whole world!"

"Wow!" Ms. Ollie finally stopped the torture, tossed aside the knife, and cheered, "Yay!~"

Wood regained his senses and whispered to the shop owner, "Your employee just killed me seven times, and now you're planning to use me as an advertising exhibit customer? I feel like I need to cast a beast communication spell on myself before I can even communicate with you."

In this subtle and idiotic story atmosphere--

--It must be said that Wood's work on the Shambhala continent has yielded some results.

At least these natives from the West did not regard him as a reward bestowed upon mortals by the great god Amon, nor did they skin him, dismember him, cook him, and eat him on the spot.

They became more civilized, able to read and write, and dared to venture out to the more barbaric Eastern Continent to make a living.

"Boss! Barbecue!" A Dragon Cavalry Corps entered through the door, holding up the cat-shaped coins in his hand. "Where's my barbecue!?"

And so, Mr. Wood escaped from his fellow countrymen, took a long detour, and returned to the temporary outpost, where he lay down in a hospital bed with Jason Megan.

This story also has many little episodes and unexpected twists and turns that are both funny and sad.

The soldiers of the corps went to great lengths to buy back this "flesh and blood of the gods" from Mr. Gregory. The big boss was not satisfied after receiving the money, so he invited the best painter and photographer in East Horse Port to take a picture with Mr. Wood and draw a sketch of the copy. Finally, he reluctantly let go of Mr. Wood.

Ms. Ollie made a special mark and affixed a label to the spring door frame.

[The door frame snapped Wood Plark's neck.]

The oak barrels in the sheltered area also have labels.

[The messenger of the gods drank wine here to survive; this barrel of wine is the sacred wine from the ends of the earth.]

New price tags and descriptions were added to the cutlery.

[The knife killed the divine messenger seven times and sold 56,000 ear-shaped coins.]

[After tasting the divine messenger's buttocks, the fork sold for 125,000 ear of grain.]

[Part 2: Taking them home]

After returning to the supply depot, Wood regained some strength and completed a detailed mission log with the scout regiment, leaving behind audio recordings of his close-up observation of the nuclear explosion.

After regaining feeling in his legs, he had no intention of resting and immediately climbed out of bed; there was other work waiting for him.

The first priority is to confirm the safety of General of Tears and the physical and mental state of Ming De.

Upon arriving at the makeshift command post set up at the outpost, Wood happened to see the BOSS receiving oxygen and the dejected-looking General of Tears.

"Plark" BOSS didn't look too happy. He was limp and collapsed on the General of Tears's lap, onto a soft goose-feather pillow.

Wood: "My Little Kitty, how dare you come to a place like this?"

Boss: "Could you please put on some clothes before you talk to me?"

Wood looked down and saw that he was wearing a cool surgical gown, with only two strips of cloth covering his body.

About ten minutes later, he changed into a new set of clothes and hurriedly returned to the military post from the civilian house. Ming De's condition had improved a lot, and he seemed to be gradually adapting to this unfamiliar land.

"You seem to be in such a hurry, are you going to the magic pool again?" The BOSS raised its paw, asking Wood to help it up.

Wood quickly pulled the oxygen tank and the BOSS back into his arms.

"Phoenix (Su Ling's code name) wasn't with you?"

The boss replied weakly, "The Southeast Theater Command needs her. After confirming the successful detonation of the MK-28, she left overnight—she had to rush back to the front lines."

Wood continued, "I'm going to get my things back; these weird things need to be dealt with properly."

"Let's go together." The BOSS insisted on traveling with Wood.

Back to the embankment of Siyao Shop, back to the sewer outlet.

Under the protection of two groups of soldiers, Wood carried the BOSS and stumbled his way into Fret Caesar's lair.

They arrived at the courtyard where the Spirit Cloud Squad had driven away the night beasts. Climbing up the courtyard and walking more than 700 meters towards the Church of Dionysus, they found an underground palace cave similar to the Queshan Ruins.

Wood used his Soul Power to grab the nuclear bomb and jump into the Demon Pool last time, so he didn't have time to take a closer look. This time, he finally has time to properly sort through his adopted son's belongings.

"The Soul Artifact Dad." The BOSS was full of curiosity and wanted to know more about this think tank advisor, "The Iron Bow was also your teaching material. It seems that this sorcerer, this adopted son, attaches great importance to you in the construction of Horcruxes."

Upon arriving at the breeding pool and transformation room, one finds many cooled, foul-smelling pieces of flesh hanging on shelves, intended as mediums for the apostle creatures.

"What are these numb steel nails?" The BOSS had reviewed Jason Megan's mission log.

Among the four Horcruxes is a terrifying butcher with a bloated face and a spiked helmet, whom the dead spirits call Numb Steel Nail.

"I wanted Hope to stand up, to stand up like a normal person." Wood's expression became complicated as he recalled this past event, and sadness filled his eyes. "He had twelve screws in his twenty-sixth vertebra and his left knee."

"I don't have Universal Elixir. If we want to cure his deformed joints and enable him to walk and stand like a normal person, facing life with his head held high, we must add steel plates and nails."

I love him.

"I love this adopted son deeply. He should be my successor and the hope for the future."

"His talent for magic is superb, and his talent for sorcery is not bad either."

These twelve steel nails robbed Hope of most of the pain sensation in his lower body and enabled him to stand up. However, while his physical deformity was cured, the deformity in his heart was incurable.

The boss gently patted his beloved minister's shoulder and stood up with a slight sway.

I understand how that feels.

At this moment, no matter how strong Plark was, he couldn't help but shed tears.

Hope Plark came from humble beginnings, but Mr. Wood never believed in the power of bloodlines.

He wondered if there was a possibility of liberating people from the enslavement of their genes.

The bloody history of Shambhala mostly stems from selfish genes. People live in the image of their parents and live according to the expectations of their families, going through endless cycles of cannibalism.

Perhaps Hope can break free from these constraints and become a role model.

His genetic disease can be gradually cured with medication over a period of 25 to 35 years.

His crippled body can be rebuilt with steel, allowing him to truly forget the pain inflicted upon him by his biological parents.

Genes are selfish, yet humans are able to engage in social activities with pure altruism, creating one miracle after another. This is what distinguishes animals from the most intelligent of all beings.

"The Dragon Cavalry Corps suffered twenty-seven wounded and four dead." The BOSS lowered its head, speaking of its children, "I will take them back, back to the Nine Realms."

"Do you have a way?" Wood pulled the steel nails out of the butcher's head, separated the steel plates from the helmet, and took the mediums away.

The Goddess Aio will not let these spirits go unpunished.

--Once these warriors die in Shambhala, it will be very difficult for their spirits to return to their homeland.

"The sun in the sky can't beat me."

The BOSS took the bones of the six scout leaders from the junior soldier.

It was a piece of jawbone, found at the explosion site, a relatively intact body.

Almost heartbroken, it picked up the remains, removed its oxygen mask, slowly put the bones into its mouth, chewed them up, and swallowed them.

According to the general rules of the blood donation method, all living beings who have drunk the Universal Elixir are blood slaves of the Ming De, and are all subject to the control of Taowu, the blood master. However, Taowu has lost his mind and become a mindless, rotting corpse.

The BOSS can use the method of consuming the remains to bring these fallen children back to the Nine Realms.

"He's with me, and they're with me."

Wood wiped away his tears, then looked at the rotting corpse of the "Terrifying Mother," and at the dark Nun's habit.

BOSS: "Is this outfit also a Soul Weapon?"

Wood: "That's right."

The BOSS sighed, "It seems Hope has a lot of complaints about your wife, creating this thing to raise a freakish medium for him, so that the Apostle God can descend into the material plane."

Wood hesitated to tell the truth.

According to legend, the Nun chosen by the pope of the Amon Sun God Cult are to become brides of the gods and remain virgins who will never marry or have children.

"Uh..." The BOSS was knowledgeable and could guess the origin of the Soul Weapon to some extent.

"Hmm," Wood simply grabbed a kettle, used the water as an explosive, and sprinkled it on the horrible old woman's corpse. "Just what you think."

Hope Plark also had a slight cross-dressing fetish; she willingly wore this outfit before her death, wanting to be "Dad's bride."

The chaotic origins of the Soul Weapon caused Ming De, giving him a look of utter astonishment.

"Oh wow oh"

Back to the streets of the Fire Station, back to the coast.

It was exactly 5:10 a. m., the instant the sun had just risen above the horizon.

A low rumble echoed through the tunnel, marking the end of the Sex Sexy Bomb. This wasn't the first, and for Wood, it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Everything revolves around the cycle of day and night; everything goes on in a cyclical pattern.

The BOSS's eyes once again transformed into a pair of green tourmalines, and surrounded by soldiers, he received box after box of ashes.

It evenly smears the remains of the warriors onto its barbed tongue, creating a unique flavor. It feels a thousand regrets and ten thousand helplessness towards the living, and all sorts of expectations for the dead souls—perhaps they will become a painting on the walls of Galahad Magic Academy, a poem, a joyful song, or a worried spirit sighing and lamenting within the clubs, caring for new passengers; perhaps they will become good teachers and helpful friends to later students, or guardian spirits on people's long journeys.

Until its teeth shattered, until it bit into the crystal skull of the Old Bones, bit into the catalyst of the old hunter king's remains, even though there was no longer any psionic reaction in these bones, and all its aura had dissipated—it was precisely this hard crystal skull that took away its invincible fangs.

Until the humid sea breeze carried a circle of low-flying waterbirds, until all the bitter memories spanning half a century fell into my stomach along with this tooth.

All the colors blended together, all the laughter and tears were contained in that brief moment.

Layer upon layer of waves crashed against the reefs, and in the warm glow of the setting sun, they illuminated the shaded areas with layers of deep blue and light green, as well as the constantly rolling, struggling lines that resembled weeds, a wild growth of light and shadow.

The waves came and went with the tide, scattering foam on the sea surface amidst the dazzling light of the Lord of Cinder. Looking closer, one could see deep, dark, strange rocks and hot springs that kept bubbling.

Until it remained motionless, its linear pupils suddenly became round and unfocused, tasting a familiar flavor as it gnawed open the hard, bitter crystal.

It felt like being tormented in raging flames, at the moment the sun completely rose above the horizon.

--The boss can no longer see anything.