Quicksilver

Boom! Amid the deafening blast, a mutilated corpse tumbled backward, blood pouring like rain. With both sides suffering steady casualties, the bitter skirmish between the two squads was on the verge of its conclusion. Crushing the corpse beneath his boot, a bronze-skinned, scar-faced man stood crackling with electric arcs, coldly eyeing the remaining resistance. "Hand it over, and I'll spare your lives." "Dream the fuck on!" The badly wounded squad leader sneered, hugging a backpack tightly against his chest while raising a bundle of explosives in his other hand. "Take one more step, and we'll all go together!" "Is that so?" The scarred man stared at him indifferently, taking an unhesitating step forward. "I don't buy it." A flicker of hesitation surfaced in the leader's eyes. Instantly catching it, the scarred man's smile turned smug and mocking. "Relax, I keep my word. Just hand the stuff—" BOOM!!! Another thunderous roar erupted right above their heads, sounding like something rocketing past. From a rift that tore open without warning, a vehicle shot out, defying gravity as it tore across the ceiling with a shrill whine, trailing an ecstatic shout: "Woohoo, liftoff!" It vanished behind another fissure that abruptly materialized. The fissure snapped shut. Only dead silence remained. The leader and the scarred man froze in astonishment, their squad members exchanging bewildered glances, completely at a loss. Did something just fly past? Immediately after, the roar of an engine surged once more. As if it had taken a wrong turn, it rocketed out from a rift in the ceiling from another direction, plunging straight down the wall toward the floor, and darted into another rapidly opening fissure. "Woohoo, flying again!" Gone. "..." In that momentary daze, everyone stood frozen where they stood. Amid the dead silence, the squad leader holding the explosives suddenly felt his arms lighten. In a blur, he seemed to glimpse a rope darting out of nowhere, hooking onto his backpack and yanking it away. A mortifying, awkward silence hung in the air. "Uh, so..." The leader swallowed hard. "Since there's no problem now... can we, uh... head out first?" ... Far away, the faint rumble of an explosion seemed to echo. Yet it was too distant to make out clearly. Streaking ahead at breakneck speed, Ji Jue heard Xiao An's cheer from the backseat: "Brother Ji Jue, I snagged something!" Ji Jue glanced back in bewilderment. Seeing the open backpack in Xiao An's hands and the brilliant radiance shining from within, his eyes went wide. "Holy shit!" A Chrono-Sand crystal, what the hell?! Ever seen a Chrono-Sand crystal the size of a human head?! He had now! Wait, no—it really was a human head... He could faintly make out the carved portrait. It seemed to be Quicksilver's face? As expected of a Sage: even carving an image of herself required Chrono-Sand worth millions an ounce, and in an intact chunk this massive?! Put this out in the outside world, and the craftsmen of the Embers branch would beat each other's brains out just to get their hands on it! "What do you mean, 'snagged'?" He gave Xiao An's noggin a light swat and said sternly, "You found it, understand?" "Huh?" Xiao An blinked blankly. "Someone clearly abandoned it, so it was lying on the ground waiting for us to come along." Ji Jue shoved the Chrono-Sand crystal back into the pack and had Xiao An secure it. "We're keeping it in our bag to hold it safe for them. If no one comes to claim it, we can just keep it for ourselves, right?" "Oh, right!" Xiao An nodded as if grasping the logic. Though he didn't quite understand, whatever Brother Ji Jue said was definitely right. "I found it fair and square!" Ji Jue nodded in satisfaction. A teachable kid! The items they had "found" along the way had already piled high in Little Niuma's trailer bed, mounding over the rim. It was fortunate Xiao An was nimble with ropes and packed things swiftly, or countless treasures would have tumbled off. A Sage's workshop truly lived up to its name; anything pryable from the walls and corners was a rare find. Whenever they encountered something Ji Jue didn't recognize, the Prophet would chime in to remind them not to leave it behind. Learning, eating, and collecting local souvenirs—if this weren't still inside the Border Realm, Ji Jue would have thought this trip was an utter delight! Another roar echoed. Faint light emerged at the end of a rapidly morphing narrow corridor. Passing through another wall, they emerged into an enormous hall. Within the cavernous space, only dust settled in soft murmurs; there wasn't a soul in sight. A desolate, piercing chill pervaded the air. A solitary armchair stood amid the dust, while a dignified white robe, once laden with glory, lay discarded on the floor like worn-out rags. For a fleeting second, Ji Jue seemed to glimpse that meditating, downcast figure in a daze, but everything quickly dissolved and fell behind him. Next, after traversing another wall and tunnel, they arrived at what looked like an unfamiliar boiler room. Massive furnaces sat choked with ash, devoid of their past heat and bustle. Gigantic pipes ran across the ceiling and floor. Moving among them felt like being an ant crawling through dust. After passing through this section, Ji Jue found himself returning to a place he had visited earlier. Amid the shambles, signs of other people having passed through were clear, yet no one was around. He felt lost, yet somehow still on the right path. Just like that, he shuttled through the nexus, completely unsure of where he would head next. He was steadily drawing closer to the inner layers, but a momentary lapse could throw him off course. Perhaps exploring a workshop was always like this: those who couldn't navigate simply had to throw themselves forward blindly and clear the mines by brute force. But Ji Jue had far too many things to consider. For instance, where the hell was Non-Offensive? He could feel that the deeper inward he went, the harder the path became. Any slip in concentration risked being flung outward by the workshop's violent churning, landing back at an earlier spot. In fact, on several occasions, had the Prophet not intervened with a timely warning, a wrong turn would have seen him mercilessly crushed to death by the churning machinery... At this moment, as they drove forward, Ji Jue's head buzzed ceaselessly. It felt as though his consciousness were being split in two! One part belonged to Ji Jue's own perception, while the other seemed to have genuinely transformed into machinery, morphing into an entirely different state and form. One part held his personal joys, anger, and sorrows, while the other remained cold, calm, and utterly devoid of ripple, like a machine. Through the resonance of Deus Ex Machina, Ji Jue felt like a component incorporated into the nexus's grand operation. By constantly fine-tuning his spiritus and controlling Fluid Alchemy, he adapted to the nexus's shifts, hitching a ride deeper into its core. Nearer at times, farther at others. Now, he had truly become part of the workshop, experiencing firsthand the pulse of the entire Border Realm and the magnificent tremors permeating the complex. Vast, profound, yet... so hollow. Like an empty shell. Though functioning with staggering intricacy, its interior was barren... Even Deus Ex Machina could not endow it with a spirit, nor could it detect any lingering memories or traces. It was bizarre. If the creations here possessed their own intellect, why was the workshop itself like a vegetative body, running purely on preset underlying commands? Ji Jue received no answer. He was far too insignificant. The mere echo of its hollow operation was enough to shatter his soul completely. Fortunately, he wasn't alone. He also had the skeleton key left to him by the professor—the puzzle ball, a master of lockpicking. After continuous analysis and exploration along the way, it had fully mapped the workshop's structure and shifts, providing him with critical guidance. The Central Furnace, Blessing Chamber, Storehouse, and various other locations were already marked in Ji Jue's vision. In any workshop, these three areas were vital hubs. The Central Furnace served as the conventional core, granting the craftsman a creative domain; all arrangements and fixtures existed to serve it, functioning as the workshop's soul. The Blessing Chamber was where blessings obtained by the craftsman were collected and preserved, akin to vital organs, entirely indispensable. The Storehouse was far simpler: the repository for all precious raw materials... Yet here lay the puzzle: all of these were distributed around the outer rim of the nexus. What, then, was at the core? Where on earth was he heading? Ji Jue couldn't help drifting into thought. In just a brief lapse, passing through a slammed-shut rift cast him into an interstitial space filled with countless churning gears. It was like stepping inside a machine's guts, where colossal modules rose beside him with thunderous force, stirring up howling gales. "Ahead, take a left," the Prophet directed calmly. "Don't fixate on details. The essence of 'looking down' is to grasp the whole board—a momentary misstep is inconsequential. "Fluid Alchemy is like splashing ink into water, or extracting marrow from stone. Once the artistic spirit takes form, Purification follows naturally. As long as your overall thinking and the grand scheme remain intact, the outcome will not deviate. "I believe participating in the nexus's operation this time is a rare opportunity for you to refine your Fluid Alchemy." Along the journey, the Prophet had never been stingy with guidance. Whenever Ji Jue found himself bewildered, a few pithy remarks would strike the heart of the matter, unraveling his confusion over fine details or offering overarching instructions and suggestions. Ji Jue couldn't help but sigh. "...Prophet, are you not even going to keep up the act anymore?" "Where does that come from?" The Prophet seemed to chuckle from inside the basket. "I already made my promise, Mr. Ji Jue. Whatever I know, I will speak without reservation, and without falsehood." She continued, "I told you, I am the Prophet. Within the Border Realm, I know all." "And?" Ji Jue asked bluntly, "Are you Quicksilver?" "..." The Prophet fell silent. Straining, she turned her head back and glanced at Ji Jue with a complicated, helpless expression. Translated, it roughly meant: *Do you even hear the utter pig-headed nonsense coming out of your mouth?* "I roughly understand what you're worried about, Mr. Ji Jue. Rest assured." She answered plainly, "I am not. "To put it bluntly—if I were Quicksilver and harbored some hidden agenda, would I really need you?" She paused, letting out a self-deprecating sigh. "Besides, isn't that thing called 'Quicksilver' everywhere around here?" In that split second, amid the roar of the engine and the rumble of the turning nexus, Ji Jue froze. He seemed to hear singing. Faint and distant, drifting through the air. "Longing for home... home is so sweet... clear skies, cool breeze, waves of homesickness come..." A voice so familiar, as if heard thousands of times in dreams, yet so hollow and hoarse that it sent chills down Ji Jue's spine. When a rift opened once more, what met his eyes was a sea of crimson blood. From the walls, the ceiling, the floor, it spread outward, dyeing everything in sight a violent red. Mangled limbs lay scattered across the ground. Gleams of blessings and spiritus slowly dispersed and rose, yet Ji Jue no longer felt any pity or greed. Only a bone-chilling horror and dread. Torn to shreds and crushed between grasping hands, bodies lay mangled as blood churned to the rhythm of the song. Standing amid the gruesome remains of the intruders, a bizarre figure over several meters tall, with five legs and a deer's head, stood in the pool of blood, singing softly: "Longing for home... longing for home... how fare the folks at home... ever on my mind..." The motorcycle's roar cut out instantly. Ji Jue instinctively wanted to reverse, but it was already too late. It turned its head... Upon that shattered visage, twisted facial features were arranged without rhyme or reason, utterly chaotic and displaced. Yet the brows and eyes were agonizingly familiar, carrying an eternal melancholy and desolation. From the corner of a crooked eye upon its forehead, a tear slowly slid down. The moment Ji Jue came back to his senses, the singing was already right before him! He hadn't even caught how or when that figure had arrived in front of him. It looked down. Ji Jue held his breath, his pupils dilating. Instinctively reaching out, he pinned Xiao An down, forbidding the boy from making the slightest movement. Then, with all his might, he maintained his connection and resonance with the nexus, praying that the creature would dismiss them as ordinary fixtures scattered throughout the workshop and leave them alone. A slender arm wound out from beneath the ragged robe. It stroked Ji Jue's face. Slowly, ever so gently. The fingertip brushed past the corner of his eye, retreating the moment it touched. As if puzzled, it soon pulled its gaze away. Amid long hair cascading downward, the weeping eyes closed. It turned slowly, stirring a faint breeze as it stepped through the pool of blood and walked toward the darkness further ahead, carrying along that seemingly endless, hoarse song. Only dead silence remained. And amid that silence, Ji Jue sat drenched in a river of cold sweat, scarcely having the strength left to draw breath. Xiao An's tense body relaxed as well. Sensing his state, the boy pulled out a water flask and handed it over, finally allowing Ji Jue to catch his breath. Yet he still couldn't suppress his trembling. "Prophet, what on earth was that?" "That is Quicksilver." The Prophet leaned against the basket, gazing in the direction the creature had vanished. "One of the embers remaining to this day after the furnace named Quicksilver grew cold..." Compared to the Sage of old, it was like a single drop in the sea. Pitifully small, beyond reach.