Necromancer, summoning 055? What the heck?

Chapter 381 The Emergency of the Fall and Spread of Blue Star

Chen Mo on the Starry Continent was preparing for war, while Dongxia on the Blue Star World watched coldly from the sidelines.

Faced with a predicament, the Four-Clawed Sea Serpent resorted to a final, desperate act. On one hand, it consciously guided the undead to attack the Bald Eagle base; on the other hand, it deliberately spread the lich's possession of the life casket overseas. This two-pronged approach quickly yielded "remarkable" results.

Domestically, as people flocked to the Bald Eagle's military base seeking refuge, more and more undead mutants were attracted to the area around the base, firmly surrounding the steel walls.

Abroad, those memorial tablets and fragments of ritual implements, carefully disguised as "works of art," "folk ritual objects," or "family mementos," quietly flow to various parts of the world through smuggling networks, diplomatic mail, and even the personal belongings of refugees.

The chaos caused by these primal evil spirits spread rapidly across the azure planet like spilled ink.

The first to succumb were the bald eagles' several small and medium-sized bases on Snake Island.

White Eagle Base Serpent Nine, an air force fortress that once symbolized absolute military power, has a reinforced concrete wall six meters high and is densely fortified inside. It also houses a seemingly powerful Imperial force.

However, with the rapid fall of surrounding cities, the massive influx of refugees, and the relentless attacks of undead creatures day and night, the base is already teetering on the brink of collapse.

The Eagles' soldiers were once a force capable of fighting tough battles, but that was a long, long time ago.

Just like the dynasties recorded in the history books of the Eastern Xia Dynasty, the fierce and powerful armies that initially expanded their territory and dominated the world eventually turned into a pile of outwardly strong but inwardly weak and dilapidated garbage after a long period of peace, corruption of interests and imbalance of distribution.

Base Nine is now in a state of heightened anxiety and nervous tension. Any slight movement, even the slightest bird or breeze, could trigger a frenzied barrage of fire from the White Eagle soldiers.

Especially at night, thermal imaging can't capture these cold, lifeless creatures.

Searchlights cast pale beams of light, cutting through the thick night, only to be quickly filled back in as soon as they moved away. High on the watchtower, Private Tom yawned, a few tired tears welling in his eyes.

It's not that I'm tired, it's just that I'm starting to get a little addicted.

Eighty percent of the soldiers in the base are fond of "that stuff," which they call "morale booster."

In the good old days, smuggling goods was an open business, taking advantage of the White Eagle soldiers' exemption from baggage inspection when traveling between the mainland and Sea Serpent Island. They supported their own addiction by selling drugs, not only satisfying their own needs and "helping" their colleagues, but also earning a considerable "extra income" to meet other needs in the local area.

The bigwigs at headquarters made a fortune through various military procurement contracts and went to James Island, while the soldiers at the base made a little money through smuggling and reselling, and went to bubble baths. Everyone was happy and living a fulfilling life.

Therefore, periodically stirring up trouble here, creating regional tensions, and maintaining a "presence" has become a common need for the overseas military forces from top to bottom—the more chaotic the situation, the more funding they have, and the better their business is.

But now, things have gone wrong.

Private Tom's salary was decent, but after buying clothes, paying for food, lodging, and other living expenses, what was left was barely enough for a drink. He relied entirely on smuggling to meet his basic needs, and he had no savings whatsoever.

Now that land routes around Base Nine are completely cut off, only air transport, which is under strict control, is left. Under these circumstances, there is naturally no room for smuggling, which has caused the price of drugs in the base to skyrocket.

He can't afford the medicine anymore!

"Damn weather...damn job...damn everything!"

Tom muttered to himself, shifted the rifle over his shoulder, and continued to listlessly gaze at the world outside the outpost.

The base's walls have been repeatedly reinforced and are sturdy enough. There are multiple firing positions inside the walls, equipped with a full range of light and heavy weapons. Several military experts have confirmed that those foolish guys cannot break in.

Tom, however, felt uneasy; he instinctively felt that he couldn't trust those military experts.

Then, right under Tom's nose, he witnessed the base fall.

It is indeed difficult for the current undead to forcibly breach a fully armed White Eagle base from the outside, but it is much easier to open it from the inside.

Just as his yawns grew more frequent and his tears and snot mingled together, he heard his teammates' heart-wrenching screams coming from the public communication channel.

"Log, the log has escaped!"

"Oh, God!"

The logs refer to the research subjects, namely those sea serpent civilians.

This code name was not original to White Eagle, but rather a "professional term" "borrowed" by officials of its "Andrew Comprehensive Research Institute" from human experimentation records of the former "Special Epidemic Prevention and Water Supply Unit" involving four-clawed sea snakes that were seized.

Now, applying it to the Sea Serpent People themselves is, in a way, completing a dark "inheritance" that transcends time and factions.

Some of the "logs" were turned into undead by liches, some were resurrected after death, and some were actively infected by bald eagles. A large number of experimental subjects were piled up in a separate warehouse area of ​​the base. No one knows what happened during the repeated accumulation and experimentation. In short, the "logs" went out of control.

Because a soldier of the Bald Eagle suddenly mutated and attacked the guarding troops, it triggered a chain reaction. Agile individuals who broke free from the undead slaughtered the laboratory in a very short time, and then broke through the wall and spread to the nearby storage area.

Disorder is like an avalanche, rolling down unstoppable.

"Alert! Observation zone lost!" came an urgent shout from the command channel.

"Fire! Fire! Stop them!"

However, no matter how much they shouted, it was no use.

In just a few breaths, stumbling, contorted figures poured out from all parts of the building, quickly infiltrating the nearby supply warehouses and barracks areas.

Tom watched helplessly as a colleague, who was firing a machine gun wildly, was pinned to the ground by several zombies that pounced from the shadows on the side. Bullets pierced the monsters, leaving a row of holes, but could not stop their attack. In the end, all Tom could see was his colleague's legs kicking violently.

Panic spread like wildfire, and chaos reigned within the base. More and more fresh "logs" simply poured out in droves.

Those who were originally imprisoned and had already mutated; those who were recently infected and were still in the incubation period; and even some soldiers who should not and had no reason to appear on the infection list... all sorts of "people" emerged from every corner and joined this carnival feast.

Some of them were naked, some were wearing prison uniforms, and others were wearing camouflage military uniforms...

Tom even saw his comrades who had been on duty with him just yesterday.

Yesterday, that guy was complaining to himself that he couldn't stand the craving anymore and was going to the infirmary to "think of a way" to get some painkillers. Now, his skin was a deathly pale, fish-belly-like color, and he was chasing after a panicked clerk with an uncoordinated, rapid pace.

Fortunately, he will never suffer from addiction again!

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Inside the concrete building housing the base command post, General Wilson stared at the monitor screen with a grim expression.

"How could this happen? Isn't the 'observation zone' supposed to have triple protection?"

"It's...it's an internal infection, General." The adjutant's voice trembled violently. "Previously, the SP inducing agent only worked on the Sea Serpent race. We even specifically removed Aisha-descended soldiers from the test area to ensure absolute safety. We never expected that the soldiers would suddenly mutate!"

"enough!"

Wilson slammed his fist on the control panel. "Tell me now, how many safe zones are left in the base? Can we take them back?"

"Reporting to the General, the command building, hangar, and eastern fuel depot are still under control, but... but the barracks and logistics area have fallen. The mutation is spreading too quickly, and the outer defenses will likely be breached soon. If the wall is breached..."

If the wall is breached, thousands upon thousands, an uncountable number, of mutants will rush in...

Wilson couldn't help but shiver.

Just then, on the main monitoring screen directly in front of them, a shot suddenly zoomed in on a young, freckled, terrified face. It was a soldier guarding the entrance to the ground floor of the command building.

He was facing the surveillance camera with his mouth agape in despair, seemingly shouting something. The next second, several arms suddenly reached in from outside the camera, grabbed his helmet and tactical vest, and roughly dragged him out of the frame.

On the monitor screen, more and more green figures appeared—the undead seen through the night vision goggles—surging towards the building from all directions.

The command room was deathly silent. Wilson took a deep breath.

"Guards, escort me to the helipad. I will transfer to a warship to establish a maritime command hub for better coordination of the rescue efforts."

"What about the soldiers who are still outside?"

"Order all remaining personnel to retreat to the command building and hold it. I will arrange rescue operations as soon as possible!"

"God bless the bald eagle!"

"God bless the bald eagle!" Several officers repeated in a low voice unconsciously, their voices dry, harsh, and weak.

Minutes later, adjutants, accompanied by fully armed guards, escorted General Wilson quickly through the enclosed corridor connecting the command building and the tarmac. Heavy blast doors closed and locked behind them, shutting out further chaos and cries for help.

Tom, all alone on the watchtower, watched as helicopters from the base took off one after another, speeding away from the harbor, while the camp was filled with "corpses" running around everywhere.

Inside the camp, the last lights of resistance were dying out one by one, replaced by more staggering, wandering shadows and sporadic bursts of gunfire that quickly subsided. His watchtower was a freestanding steel frame structure, vertical and straight, its smooth metal supports gleaming coldly in the moonlight. After the ladders were retracted, the undead below huddled futilely at the base, arms outstretched like a group of drowning people desperate to reach shore, attempting to climb but failing time and again.

This left him with a final bit of time to curse, despair, and reminisce.

"F...K! F...K YOU ALL!"

Tom roared at the departing helicopter formation with all his might, the veins on his neck bulging.

Raising his rifle, the young private fired his first burst of bullets in vain at the monster below the tower, and then emptied his second burst of bullets at the departing helicopters.

Below the watchtower, the number of undead piled up, trampling and squeezing each other, beginning to form a slowly rising slope. Some exceptionally "clever" or "lucky" individuals had already begun to try to reach the first maintenance platform by using the bodies of their companions.

Tom trembled slightly as he removed the empty magazine, took out the last magazine from his tactical vest, and loaded it.

The cold, metallic sound was so clear.

He pressed the scorching hot barrel against his chin, his skin able to feel the burning heat from the recent continuous firing.

"mom!"

"boom!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The dramatic events that occurred at Base Nine were indeed an extremely low-probability event.

Having learned a painful lesson from its previous attempt to poison others, which backfired on itself, the bald eagle has meticulously developed the SP-017 synthetic agent and inducer. After countless laboratory simulations and human trials, it is certain that the agent will only be recognized and activated by the receptor protein carried by a specific "O-type gene".

This type O gene, strictly speaking, only exists in the regions of East Aixia and North Aixia, and is limited to males of the yellow population. Therefore, this infection mechanism, as a "white eagle's carefully selected" method, could be said to be foolproof.

However, there are always unexpected events.

A male sea serpent had some unprotected close contact with a female sea serpent, and soon after, a dark-skinned soldier of the white eagle also had some friendly interaction with the girl in a short period of time.

There were no protective measures taken either, because this white eagle soldier already suffered from acquired immunodeficiency syndrome and had long since given up on himself, even with a kind of distorted "sense of mission," and was very happy to spread this "blessing" to others.

Thus, in the microscopic world, an absurd scene unfolded: a sufficient dose of O-type genetic material from a male sea serpent, which had penetrated deeply due to intense physical friction, was unexpectedly "mixed" into the body of the white eagle soldier, causing a "misjudgment" by the infection system.

The soldiers, who had suddenly mutated, sprang into action within the observation area, using their undead power and speed to wipe out the unsuspecting guards and researchers.

The isolation was broken from within, and the imprisoned "logs" surged out... What remained was the disaster that Tom and General Wilson witnessed.

Of course, the undead cannot explain such a complex cause and effect to the bald eagle, and the bald eagle is currently unable to trace the source of the incident to find out the truth.

They only knew one horrifying fact: this undead mutation, which was thought to target only the yellow race, had now undeniably infected a soldier from the black race.

This group accounts for as much as a quarter of the soldiers at the grassroots level in Baidiao.

How to do?
Should we take the risk and continue to maintain the base inside the sea serpent, or...?

"Retreat!"

"Our good lads cannot die on this filthy land!"

"Leave the headquarters, Port Perry, and bases three through six. Withdraw all other bases. We must reduce the area we need to defend."

"Let the Sea Serpents' guards deal with their own problems. Only when they are safe will the Empire step in to protect them!"

The proposal from the White Eagle West Tranquil Sea Command was quickly approved by the Grand Commander.

As for the "mutant" experiments originally conducted on the four-clawed sea snake? No problem, there are already enough samples, and the bald eagle has encountered some minor internal problems. Now, the great bald eagle must devote more of its energy to its homeland.

Just two days ago, an unusual event occurred in China involving bald eagles.

Kenichiro Kishi's desperate attack, "Heaven and Earth Together," was successful. It was secretly delivered to the evil spirit artifact in the eagle's homeland, completing the first case of "undead infection."

The infected undead staggered along the way, "knocking on doors," only to have their heads blown off by a large shotgun.

You know what, when it comes to the prevalence of high-powered firearms, the bald eagle reigns supreme. From bulletproof backpacks for toddlers that claim to be "safe" to children's AK rifle kits painted with pink Hello Kitty patterns, it can definitely be described as having abundant martial spirit.

But once this precedent is set, it immediately means that the bald eagle's homeland is no longer safe.

In light of the recent black colony infection incident at the Sea Serpent base, the Bald Eagle's strategic department put forward a terrifying scenario: if this thing were to spread widely across Bald Eagle's homeland, given Bald Eagle's organizational capabilities, they would truly have no choice but to rely on the people's self-defense and leave everything to fate.

It's fine if they're all mutated zombies, but what if a giant of flesh and blood appears, or a highly agile undead that has already appeared on Sea Serpent Island...?

"We must act immediately! Take all necessary measures!"

After swiftly completing several short-term stock trades involving defense contractors, biopharmaceutical companies, and private prison management groups, the wise and shrewd president signed and issued Federal Emergency Order No. 77 on his favorite social media platform, using all caps and a string of exclamation marks.

All individuals of Ashford descent who may carry the type O gene must be sent to the eagle's "immigrant detention center" for strict supervision to prevent uncontrolled infections from causing enormous and uncontrollable harm to the white eagles.

The new “immigrant detention center” is surrounded by barbed wire, watchtowers, and armed guards.

At the command of the leader, burly, fully armed law enforcement officers were mobilized. The first place to be swept up was the infamous "newbie village" and "Runren Community".

This is the starting point of Bai Diao's dream, the first stop of "free and sweet air", where a large number of new and old Runren people, mostly engaged in low-level jobs, gather. They are the most likely dangerous targets covered by the emergency order for "carrying type O genes".

They work hard to make a living, pay their taxes carefully, and yearn to integrate. They have just finished a long day of hard work when a loud announcement comes from outside the window.

"Everyone stay indoors! Do not go out, await inspection!"

"This is not a drill! Repeat, this is not a drill!"

Armored vehicles rolled through the streets, loudspeakers blaring furious warnings. National Guard members in hazmat suits were knocking on doors—no, smashing them—and ruthlessly tearing down small advertisements for "immigration lawyers," "asylum applications," and "restaurant jobs" hanging on the walls.

"In accordance with the Federal Emergency Act and the Commander's Executive Order, all residents of Ascha descent must immediately bring their identification documents and assemble at the designated area for quarantine and protective isolation! Those who refuse to cooperate, conceal information, or attempt to resist will face federal felony charges and severe sanctions!"

People, still half-asleep, were jolted awake by the loud banging on doors and dragged out into the street in their pajamas. A cacophony of men arguing, women shouting, and children crying erupted instantly.

The soldiers were on high alert, pointing their guns at the terrified people and herding them like livestock into a makeshift open area enclosed by barbed wire.

Luggage? Not allowed. You can only wear a few extra layers of clothing.

Pets? Shoot them dead or abandon them on the spot.

Pets belonging to contaminated groups can also be sources of infection. Bald eagles' cat or dog lovers love the cats kept by bald eagle people, not these lowly, domesticated cats.

The house was sealed off, the car keys were confiscated, and the interior was thoroughly inspected and cleaned by the guards, leaving only a mess.

"My luggage! My medicine!" A middle-aged man tried to rush back.

"Step back!" The butt of the rifle slammed into his shoulder, and the old man staggered and fell to the ground.

A young man shielded his wife and daughter behind him, shouting excitedly in heavily accented English, "We have green cards! We work here! We pay our taxes on time every year! You can't do this!"

His answer was a merciless blow with the butt of a gun; the sound of his nose breaking was clearly audible, and blood gushed out instantly. The man groaned and fell backward to the ground. His wife and daughter behind him let out short screams, which were immediately swallowed back by fear.

Of course, these were Xia descendants who dared not resist.

In several areas inhabited by the notoriously fierce Nam Muk Tho ethnic group, angry people attempted to block intersections with vehicles, brandish baseball bats and homemade Molotov cocktails, and shout insults in their language in protest.

However, such resistance appears so fragile in the face of a well-organized machine of violence.

High-pressure water cannons sprayed jets of water powerful enough to knock down elephants, tear gas canisters flew in arcs into the crowd, police batons were waved, stun guns crackled, and warning shots of live ammunition were fired in succession.

At certain times, the people in the front row tacitly turned off the body cameras on their chests...

The crowd was divided and dispersed, then roughly crammed into box trucks welded with barbed wire. Faced with the violent apparatus of a country, this group of people were like lambs to the slaughter, being transported one truckload after another to immigration detention centers.

Of course, perhaps a more fitting name could be chosen.

Many of them relish online the cruel and inhumane "forced labor" imposed by Dongxia, regarding it as a symbol of a hostile ideology, and taking pride in the fact that such a thing is impossible in their "free country."

Now, the real concentration camp is right in front of them!
(End of this chapter)