The Creature Keeper - chapter 23

In recent decades, rainwater has transformed from a blessing that nourished the earth into a disaster that people dread.

From the initial desire to conquer nature to being punished by it, everything seems to be heading toward some uncontrollable unknown. No one knows what awaits humanity in the future.

Is it the judgment of a new species, or the triumph of a race against fate?

On a pitch-black, torrential night, someone gazed at the latest data from meteorological and hydrological sensors, sighing incessantly.

“The average sea level has risen again.”

“Who knows how much longer this rain will last.”

It was as if the sky had been torn open by human hands, letting in a flood from another world, far exceeding the rainfall this blue planet could bear.

Along the continuous coastline stretching over eighteen thousand kilometers, scattered piles of marine life remains accumulated.

They died in various ways-bitten to death, rotted away, with missing organs, and some even perished from suffocation and extreme heat.

On the offshore patrol fleet, a crew member holding binoculars spotted a figure calling for help, floating on the waves.

Tossed about like a piece of duckweed, at any moment they could be swallowed by the dark sea.

“Stop! There’s someone out there!”

“Quick, lower the lifeboat!”

At three in the morning, the Biological Research Base was brightly lit, its lights never extinguished. A young scholar who had just arrived home hadn’t even taken off his coat before receiving another call from the Base.

“Colonel, another ‘Expunged One’ has been found in the area five hundred nautical miles off the continent.”

The man pinched the bridge of his nose, reopened his door, and stepped back into the darkness of the night.

The silent room seemed as if no one had ever returned.

Those found at sea, previously declared dead, were collectively referred to as “Expunged Ones.”

These people appeared normal, but after spending some time ashore, they would go mad, undergo varying degrees of mutation, and attack ordinary humans.

The Military had no choice but to isolate these people.

In the silver-white corridor, Colonel Yamada of the Hotdan Virus Research Center walked under the moonlight, as someone promptly handed him the reports on these individuals.

“Tonight, a total of thirteen ‘Expunged Ones’ were found in six sea areas. Preliminary checks show that their death declarations all stem from maritime disasters at the same location over the past sixty years.”

“Currently, these people are behaving normally and have not shown any signs of aggression.”

Inside the high-density, one-way tempered glass enclosure, every ten meters or so, solid metal walls separated individual rooms. Those brought back from the sea sat alone-some wrapped in blankets, staring into space, others muttering to themselves.

Yamada asked, “What is that person saying?”

The Researcher activated the audio equipment and said, “He says he’s hungry.”

“Did you give him food?”

“As before, they refuse to eat.”

At the end of the corridor, Yamada stopped in front of a particular room.

Inside sat a young woman, her features delicate and gentle, dressed in a classical long dress.

The woman was staring directly at Yamada.

Yamada asked, “Is this one-way glass?”

“Yes, you can’t see out from inside.”

Yet Yamada had a feeling that the woman inside could see him.

To test this, he smiled. Immediately, the woman responded with a gentle smile of her own.

Yamada’s smile faded.

“What about their medical examination results? Any mutations in the sensory system?”

“Everything appears normal.”

But the woman in the room could clearly see him.
The Researcher was clearly aware of the issue as well, saying, “We’ll focus on checking it again later.”

Stepping out of the observation area, the torrential storm nearly crushed the ornamental plants, and the nearby sea roared and surged, as if hiding some terrifying monster beneath its surface.

Suddenly, Yamada asked, “When did this rainfall begin?”

The Researcher slid her micro-computer, replying, “About seven hours ago.”

“Seven hours…” He continued, “When were these people discovered?”

“The earliest report was six hours ago.”

Six hours ago-the timing was very close.

The cumulonimbus clouds pressed down, shrouding the sky and dyeing the heavens a fearsome dark gray. The dense clouds allowed no moonlight to penetrate; the only illumination in the darkness was the artificial light from the Base.

“Aside from these, have there been any other anomalies on the continent?”

“No.”

The assistant seemed to recall something and reminded, “This afternoon, the Babel Tower biological Base issued a lockdown order and requested support from the nearby Noah Base.”

Yamada turned his head and asked, “What time this afternoon?”

The Researcher glanced at the screen, her expression shifting slightly. “Seven hours ago.”

Coincidence-people often attribute unexpectedly matching events to this word.

Seven hours ago was when the storm began.

Some inexplicable, low-probability events happened to occur at the same time, and people would often say, “What a coincidence.”

But are there really so many coincidences in the world?

A butterfly in South America gently flaps its wings, bringing about a catastrophic hurricane on a distant shore. Seemingly unrelated events may still be causally linked; even the tiniest, most unbelievable things can have traceable causes and effects.

High above, the sky was oppressed by dark clouds and ravaged by rain.

In the unseen realm, the judge opened the eyes of the Third World, gazing down upon the earth like a cold, indifferent evil god.

Watching humanity struggle, fighting for survival, watching them rejoice over the faintest clues, and feel smug over some seemingly logical deduction.

As if watching an amusing yet utterly indifferent game.

A bolt of lightning split the clouds, bathing the earth in a silvery glow.

In that brief moment of brightness, Tang Rou saw the scales at the wounded end of the Mermaid’s tail slightly lifted, exposing pale, tender flesh. The thick Chain had violently pierced through, tearing a bloodied hole that hurt to look at.

Tang Rou remembered that the last time she saw this Mermaid, her tail had been brutally torn apart in the middle.

Why was she always treated so violently?

Tang Rou reached out, her fingertips carefully tracing the Chain. The black, patterned substance flowed along with her touch; she had no idea what it was made of, but even a mere touch brought a cold, sharp pain.

With Tang Rou’s abilities, she could not remove it from the Mermaid.

The Mermaid seemed to understand, lying listlessly, like a flower past its prime.

Tang Rou felt a bit afraid of the bottomless water beneath her feet. She gripped the edge of the pool, trying to find something to help her climb out, but as soon as she moved, someone grabbed her-their cold fingers wrapped around her wrist, and Tang Rou was pulled back into the Mermaid’s embrace.

He whispered “shh” in her ear.

Tang Rou instinctively looked at him. Water droplets slid down his hair, rolled over his slender, beautiful shoulder blades, and merged into the sea along his waist.

Strangely alluring, breathtakingly beautiful.

In that moment of distraction, a shout rang out from nearby.

No, to be precise, it was a cry of alarm.

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