Chapter Fifty-Three: A Hymn of Blood and Corpses

The appearance of fire was an event of world-shaking significance for the ancient ape tribe, rivaling the very creation of heaven and earth. Beyond warmth and illumination, some formidable ancestral elders even developed dazzling, terrifying fire-based abilities by studying the flame’s shape, color, potency, and unique properties. They wove the nature of fire into their martial techniques, giving rise to a more distinct division within the supernatural order, thus forming three entirely different energy structures: wind, fire, and earth.

Most importantly, fire planted a precious seed in the soil of the ancient apes’ technology—a seed that would take root, blossom, and multiply. Upon the branches of this tree of technology, there would soon appear the firing of goods—simple household wares like pots and bowls, the baking of bricks, the carving of mountains, the creation of canals, and so on. Even metalworking, the use of gunpowder, steam engines, combustion engines, and even rocket propulsion were all inseparable from fire.

Of course, this is not to say that fire alone would inevitably lead the ancient apes’ civilization to such heights. After all, in Fang Zhuowei’s design, the main path for the ancient apes was to illuminate the way of the supernatural. Yet, if technological and supernatural civilizations could coexist, Fang Zhuowei thought this would not be a bad outcome either; in that case, he might well harvest the fruits of two utterly different civilizations.

…

The advent of fire brought flourishing vitality to the ancient ape civilization. In the not-so-distant future, there was a high probability of witnessing a scene reminiscent of the splendor of ancient Huaguo society. But at the same time, atop the craggy rocks, in the long night, the spores fused with unknown creatures began to evolve at breakneck speed.

Their current rate of evolution was the highest; half an hour in the real world equaled ten thousand years for them, so their transformation was the swiftest of all. In the first ten thousand years of their evolution, these spore cells, merged with unknown life, underwent little change, floating calmly atop the water, drifting with the currents like fish eggs scattered upon the sea, passively awaiting the catalyst of time’s yeast.

The real transformation began at year thirty thousand. On the water’s surface, hundreds of spore cells quivered violently, sending visible ripples across the otherwise still surface. All the spores began to break from their shells.

With the naked eye, one could see twisted, newly formed fleshy masses surging from the cellular walls of the spores. These masses intertwined, forming the most primitive limbs and trunks of life. Over tens of thousands of years, to adapt to aquatic living, they developed gill-like organs akin to those of fish. Furthermore, to move more swiftly, the spore creatures evolved webbed feet resembling those of frogs, along with smooth, slippery skin.

Yet this was only the beginning.

By the fortieth millennium, their forms changed once more. Their evolution was bizarre: their shapes somewhat resembled black bears, but they were entirely hairless, as if stripped bare after being scalded with boiling water, their bodies ghostly pale and cold. Their faces, meanwhile, bore a resemblance to certain alien hybrids spliced with human DNA.

The most grotesque feature was their abdomen. Not only had it split into two lip-like halves, but inside, it was lined with sharp fangs. These fangs seemed to have evolved from ribs, densely packed throughout their abdomens. The base resembled human gums, but the further up one looked, the sharper and more irregular the teeth became, like rows of sickles, ceaselessly writhing with each heartbeat.

From afar, these terrifying creatures looked like white phantoms from the underworld, drifting and lurking just beneath the lake’s surface, evil and sinister.

The phenomenon of reproduction appeared among their kind. These strange beings reproduced sexually, but unlike the ancient apes, their reproductive capacity was extremely low—even worse than that of giant pandas. Each birth yielded no more than two offspring at most, and even so, less than half survived. The vast majority of embryos perished within ten days. Their genes bore extreme mutations which, while granting them unfathomable strength, also rendered them highly unstable—a trait most pronounced in the early stages of life.

Moreover, even those that managed to survive faced brutal struggles with their peers. Bloodthirst and cruelty had clearly seeped into their very bones. Their claws were exceedingly sharp, capable of leaving deep gouges in solid rock. To claim living space, they would unhesitatingly bite their siblings to death and devour them, even as juveniles.

This was not unlike certain bird species—for instance, many eagles and falcons display such behavior. The bald eagle, for example, lays two eggs a few days apart, and when food is scarce, the first chick to hatch will push its sibling from the nest. Yet the spore creatures enacted this ruthless law even more completely. Their conflicts were frequent and almost always to the death.

Within their bloodline was an inherited hymn to slaughter and blood. They were destined to ascend to their iron throne upon a mountain of white bones.

Over tens of thousands of years, the population of these spore beings fused with the unknown never surpassed ten thousand. Though their numbers fluctuated, they hovered around that mark. Their numbers may have been few, but their bodies were immense—four or five times the size of an ancient ape. Their pale forms squatted atop the highest crags, claiming the stone pits as their domain.

Notably, compared to any other race, these spore creatures seemed far better suited to darkness, moving with uncanny ease. Over millennia, their vision gradually degenerated, but in its place, their senses of smell and hearing became highly developed. Their forms changed again, sprouting short, dense white fur, and they evolved dual respiratory organs for both water and land—gills and lungs.

Fully mature individuals began to appear.

At the same time, the time-dilation settings Fang Zhuowei had arranged in advance now took effect. The evolutionary tempo slowed instantly, matching that of the ancient ape tribe and the primordial race.

After another period of development, the spore creatures’ population at last broke the ten-thousand mark, but this brought a new problem: food scarcity. In the earliest stages of evolution, the spores themselves provided energy, but this did not last; as the creatures matured, that supply faded until, as fully developed beings, they had none.

To be safe, Fang Zhuowei had provided a small reserve of food—a tiny pinch of powdered soy milk. Yet it was clear these spore creatures had no interest in such sustenance.

On this day, atop the highest peak of the Blacksoil Continent, countless terrifying figures suddenly erupted from their lairs… They were in desperate need of food—real, living flesh.