He said to the still-dazed Nicole,
"I've got a lot on my plate over there, so I'll head back first."
"Once you're settled, if you want to sight-see anywhere in the capital or buy anything, just have Fred arrange someone to go with you."
"Mm, good, good—go take care of your important work; don't worry about us."
Nicole answered repeatedly.
Steve nodded, stopped lingering, turned around, and together with Fred Jones returned once more to Fortress.
When Steve stepped back into the Command Center of Fortress, the scene on the huge curved screen had changed beyond recognition.
Above the charred, dead ruins, a construction army so vast it made one's scalp tingle was expanding at a speed that defied imagination.
This time, it was no longer the few-hundred-player sideshow from before.
A full ten thousand Endermen poured out of the Outpost Base; their mission was no longer clearance but, with the base as the center, to carry out blanket exploration and vigilance in every direction of the city.
Behind them, construction materials streamed through the matter-transfer corridor, piling into mountains.
Following in the tens of thousands came engineering-department Endermen, Zombies, Skeletons, and other Overworld Bio, forming the true backbone of construction.
Thus, a miracle that would make any earthly civil engineer question their life unfolded upon this dead wasteland.
An engineering Enderman hefted a stack of heavy iron blocks, flashed, and instantly appeared a hundred metres away at the designated foundation, set the blocks down with pinpoint precision, then vanished again, returning to the material pile for the next load.
Tens of thousands of Endermen worked like the most efficient 3-D Printers, raising towering walls, erecting sturdy Watch-towers, and laying broad roads at a speed visible to the naked eye.
No tower cranes, no haul trucks, no conventional construction machinery were needed at all.
With their cheat-level teleportation and the tireless constitutions of Overworld Biology, their building efficiency had broken the fetters of physics.
A colossal war fortress of steel and stone was madly expanding at a genesis-like speed.
world's infrastructure-maniac soul, fused with Overworld's transcendent power, now erupted with a terrifying energy far greater than the sum of its parts... Meanwhile—
Several dozen kilometres from Steve's base, inside a survivor enclave converted from an abandoned factory and steeped in apocalyptic grit, several hundred humans clung to life.
They were ragged, gaunt, eyes numb yet watchful—like lone wolves on the wasteland, struggling to survive in this post-apocalyptic world.
Moments ago, the heaven-shaking blast of the Thermobaric Bomb had sent tremors that made their very souls shudder.
Deep inside the enclave, in a crude conference room converted from the Factory Manager's Office, smoke curled thickly.
Seven or eight burly men sat around a battered table, faces grave.
"All right—speak up. What the hell was that commotion just now?"
At the head sat a hulking one-eyed man with a hideous scar across his face; they called him Brother Garry, leader of this base and a strength-type Awakened One.
"That didn't feel like an ordinary explosion."
A skinny man nicknamed Monkey, still shaken, spoke up.
"I was in the Watch-tower and saw the whole sky over there light up—like the sun had fallen to the ground."
"My guess: a new Awakened One's entered our area—and a powerful one at that."
A mild-looking man in glasses, eyes cold and sharp, analysed unhurriedly.
At his words, the room's atmosphere tightened instantly.
"A new Awakened One?"
A fat, thuggish man licked cracked lips, greed and violence flickering in his eyes.
"Boss, should we go over and take a look?"
He stressed the words take a look; the implication was obvious.
"The supplies in the base won't last much longer."
"Anyone who can make that kind of noise must have plenty of good stuff. If we rob them, we can hold out at least two more months."
"Exactly."
Others chimed in.
This was the apocalypse—who cared about damn conscience? Kill or be killed.
"We're not one of those big official shelters backed by armies and scientists with their own production systems."
"If our little base doesn't go out and raid, do we just sit here and starve?"
For a moment, the room brimmed with bloodlust and murder.
Every gaze converged on the one-eyed Garry, waiting for his decision.
Garry was silent a moment, then swept the room with his single eye and finally curled his lips in a cruel smile.
He nodded slowly.
"Monkey, take a few fast brothers and scout it out first."
"Find out how many they are, what firepower they've got, whether they're hard targets."
His voice turned icy.
"If they're just a few clueless fat sheep—slaughter them."
Inside the Command Center, on the huge screen the obsidian-founded war fortress was expanding at a frenzied pace, devouring the surrounding scorched earth like a living thing.
Just then, the portal flared again.
This time, what rolled slowly out of the light-curtain was no building material but one Main Battle Tank after another with thick gun barrels.
These were the magic-modified kings of land warfare, tailor-made overnight by world's military-industrial system for the Overworld-world Bio.
Their cockpits had been completely rebuilt to fit the tall, sturdy steel bodies.
One Iron Golem after another strode forward, sat into the driver's seats with practiced precision.
Under their control, the steel torrent of several hundred tanks roared deafeningly as it assembled inside the Outpost Base.
Right then, an old man in a white coat hurried in from outside, unable to hide excitement on his face.
It was Doctor George, whom General Randy had roused from the World Zeta.
He threaded past busy staff, walked straight to Steve, and handed him a freshly printed report.