Simultaneous traversal: All Abyss difficulty.

Chapter 789 Marvel: Zombies

The cold wind whipped up the heavy snow, turning it into grayish-white, cold salt particles that pelted down on us.

Between heaven and earth, all that remained was this monotonous whiteness and the brittle, frozen air; taking a breath, even your lungs felt a chill.

Stephen Fang braved the wind, trudging through the ankle-deep snow.

He was wearing a thin trench coat, his shoulders covered in snow, his hair was torn and messy by the wind, and his face was even paler than the snow, exuding the weariness of someone who had just climbed out of the eighteenth level of hell and then been thrown into an ice cellar.

His eyelids were drooping, as if he could fall asleep standing up at any moment, but he stubbornly held on with his inner strength.

look up.

A temple.

The walls were gray and dusty, the tiles were covered with a thick layer of snow, and a few icicles hung from the eaves, gleaming coldly in the dim light.

The door panels are old and faded, with peeling paint, exuding a simple charm that comes with the passage of time, as if the boundless snowfield has worn away all its edges and colors.

There was no ethereal aura or flashing magical light.

It just sat there, quiet, simple, even a little shabby.

Like an old monk who has seen through the ways of the world and is too lazy to bother with worldly affairs, he stands in a corner of time, taking a nap.

Stephen Fang dragged his leaden steps to the door.

He didn't raise his hand, nor did he knock on the door.

squeak-

The weathered wooden door opened by itself.

It was as if she had been waiting for him for a very long time, and finally this moment had arrived, silently inviting him in.

Behind the door was a small path paved with bluestone slabs, the snow swept clean.

He stepped inside, and the wind, snow, and cold air behind him were gently shut out with a "click" as the door closed again.

Warm, dry, with a blend of aged wood and incense aromas, it hits you right away.

The taut nerves seemed to be soothed by the warmth, and relaxed a little.

In the small courtyard directly opposite the gate, a person was sitting by a stone table.

He was bald, wearing a plain yellow monk's robe that had faded slightly from washing.

It is Gu Yi.

She was slowly pouring tea, her movements fluid and graceful, with an almost Zen-like rhythm.

The wisps of tea smoke curled around her calm and composed expression.

There were only two rough earthenware teacups on the table, so simple and unadorned.

She looked up and her gaze fell on Stephen Fang.

His gaze was deep, like two bottomless ancient wells, reflecting the candlelight and his weary, travel-worn shadow.

"You've finally arrived." Gu Yi's voice was calm and even, yet it was like a pebble falling into a lake, stirring up invisible ripples.

Stephen Fang did not respond.

He didn't even look at Gu Yi's face. He dragged his feet to the stone table, plopped down on the cold stone stool, feeling utterly exhausted, so tired that all he wanted to do was clear his mind.

Without any hesitation, he reached out and picked up the bowl of tea closest to him.

The movements were a bit rushed, with a hint of recklessness.

"Let me have some tea first." His voice was a little hoarse, as if it had been cut by a cold wind. "I'm a bit tired."

Gu Yi looked at his hand holding the teacup, but she didn't stop him. Instead, she picked up the small, rough pottery teapot and steadily and silently filled the teacup in front of him to about eight-tenths full.

Amber-colored tea poured into the bowl, making a soft gurgling sound. "I see so much in you," the Ancient One spoke slowly, her voice carrying a knowing sigh, "The flickering starlight, the collapsing dimensions, the tightly clenched and then crushed threads of fate... and the chaotic tide that nearly devoured everything."

She paused, her gaze seemingly piercing through his body, staring directly at the battle marks and temporal scars etched deep into his soul.

"Thanks for your hard work."

The two words that came out of her mouth carried an unnatural weight, imbued with a profound understanding and respect.

"Without you, this world would surely face destruction."

Stephen Fang didn't look at her.

He held the warm, rough earthenware bowl in both hands, as if absorbing that meager warmth.

The rim of the bowl was a bit rough, rubbing against my fingertips.

He lowered his head, brought the bowl close to his mouth, blew on the non-existent heat, and then slurped it up with a "slurp".

The tea leaves, with a slightly bitter aftertaste, slid down my throat, causing a slight tightness in my esophagus, yet strangely dispelling a chill that had seeped deep into my bones.

He put down the bowl, and the bottom of the bowl tapped on the stone table, making a slight crisp sound.

Looking up at the snow-covered sky, or perhaps not looking at anything at all, my gaze went blank for a moment.

"Ah"

He twitched the corner of his mouth, as if he were smiling, or as if he had choked on his tea, his voice hoarse with a hint of nonchalance.

"It's just a little bit of hardship."

Deep within the New York base's laboratory, only Bruce Banner and the Space Stone's eerie blue fluorescence remain as companions.

It was just past midnight, and the monotonous hum of the instruments was the only background noise.

The data stream on the screen gradually blurred and doubled in Banner's tired eyes. He took off his thick glasses, rubbed his sore eye sockets hard, and pressed his knuckles on his brow bone, leaving two deep red marks.

"what"

A heavy, weary yawn tugged at his chest, his very bones aching from being overworked.

He got up and walked unsteadily toward the makeshift washbasin in the corner of the laboratory.

The cold tap water splashed on my face, barely dispelling some of the haze.

He picked up his toothbrush, squeezed out cheap mint toothpaste, and white foam quickly filled the corners of his mouth.

Just as the stiff bristles mechanically scraped against the molars, making a rustling sound—

A sharp, bone-deep pain suddenly shot through the right side of my neck, near my shoulder blade!

The feeling was nothing like a mosquito bite; it was more like a red-hot steel needle, carrying a high-voltage current, piercing deep into the flesh with a fierce and brute force that seemed to tear the tendons off!

“Ouch——!!!”

An uncontrollable scream, a mixture of horror and excruciating pain, burst from Banner's throat, splattering toothpaste foam onto the mirror in front of him, leaving mottled white spots.

Instinctively, almost with a furious sense of being violated, he swiftly covered the source of the excruciating pain with his left hand, while his right hand instinctively and forcefully slapped the back of his neck!
Snapped!
A sensation like striking a tiny, hard object came from my palm, accompanied by an extremely faint, teeth-grinding cracking sound.

Banner suddenly turned around, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the foam-covered mirror on the sink.

The mirror was cold and smooth, clearly reflecting his distorted face and a tiny, thumb-sized figure that was still kicking wildly, its thin legs tightly biting the edge of the web between his left thumb and forefinger's hand as he clutched his neck!

A miniature Ant-Man suit!

"Fuck! Scott! What are you doing! Don't joke like that!"

However, just as his palm was about to cover him, the Ant-Man that was biting his flesh suddenly released his grip!
Its small body burst forth with unimaginable agility. With the help of the airflow generated by Banner's slap and the elasticity of the skin on its left hand, it shot out like a slingshot!
Swoosh!

The gray figure vanished instantly into the deep, dark crevice, so fast that it left no afterimage.

(End of this chapter)