The tremor caught up with the Trieste.
The safety-lock chains shook violently, as if they could snap at any moment. Like a fallen leaf in a gale, the Trieste rolled helplessly through the dark currents.
The Deep-sea Submersible's metal hull let out a teeth-grinding groan, as though something were tearing apart its bones and sinews.
Lu Mingfei felt his head buzz, and the world before his eyes began to spin.
He tried to grab something to steady himself, but his outstretched hand found nothing—or rather, he had grabbed hold of something, but his hand no longer obeyed him.
It felt as though someone had squeezed his internal organs tight, then suddenly let go. A metallic sweetness surged up from the depths of his throat, impossible to suppress.
He spat out a mouthful of blood.
A mist of blood spread through the cockpit, splattering the instrument panel, the seats, and Chu Zihang's sleeve.
Chu Zihang was no better off. He knelt on one knee, one hand braced against the cabin wall and the other clutching his chest. He had not coughed up blood, but his face was frighteningly pale. The veins at his temples throbbed fiercely, as if he were enduring immense pain. His breathing was rapid and ragged, each breath like the wheeze of bellows.
Yet he did not make a sound.
Caesar lay sprawled back in his seat, his ice-blue eyes wide open and fixed straight on the ceiling. His lips were slightly parted, and a thread of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth, sliding down his jaw and dripping onto his collar.
After a long time—perhaps only a few seconds, though it felt like a century to them—he finally said in a low voice, "—A Nuclear Bomb."
His voice was so hoarse it sounded like someone