Fate's Choice: Livestream at the Start Summoning Billions of Ravens

Insert all three keys into the control panel at the same time.

The mechanical linkage device is triggered step by step, and the coded pulse is transmitted layer by layer along the pre-buried hard wire physical link without passing through any digital switching nodes. Each relay segment is triggered purely mechanically: the lever returns to its position, the cam rotates, and the next hard wire is connected. This process is like a tight mechanical chain, extending from the control panel on the B-7 floor all the way to the antenna array on the roof.

Finally, a narrow-band directional microwave pulse pierced the sky, reaching an altitude of 420 kilometers in near-Earth orbit.

Port of Cusco, Peru.

González stood below the boom of berth number three.

The third batch of golden corn is being loaded into the cargo hold of an ocean-going bulk carrier along the conveyor belt, the golden grains refracting tiny spots of light under the sunlight.

The loading and unloading supervisor ran over with the electronic receipt board and asked him to sign it.

He took the pen, and just as he made his second stroke, his phone rang.

The caller ID shows an encrypted line from the Air Force Joint Air Defense Command.

"Sir, look up!"

González instinctively tilted his head back.

The sky was perfectly normal, a clear blue without a single cloud.

But his hand involuntarily stopped on the receipt board.

Because the sound came.

The sound did not originate from the sky; it came from the depths of the earth beneath our feet.

In the two-square-kilometer golden cornfield on the east side of the port, all the golden stalks were trembling.

It wasn't due to the wind; there was no wind in the port of Cusco today, and the air was so still that you could hear the creaking of the cables rubbing against the metal piles on the dock.

But those golden stalks were vibrating at an unsettling frequency.

A dense rustling sound surged from the depths of the fields, like waves crashing towards the harbor.

González stayed in that field for three months.

He had seen them unfurl their golden leaves under the scorching sun, seen them grow silently in the dead of night, and seen their roots penetrate the asphalt road surface, transforming gene-edited fungi into fast-acting nitrogen fertilizer.

But he had never heard such a sound before.

This sound is not a sign of life growing; it foreshadows danger.

China, Qinling underground base.

The incandescent light bulbs in the medical intensive care unit emitted a continuous hum.

Zhou Dazhuang lay on the hospital bed with two thick needles inserted into his right arm, and clear glucose liquid dripped slowly along the infusion tube.

The cardiac monitor by the bedside showed a stable sinus rhythm.

The numbers on the screen jumped silently; eleven hours had passed since he fell into a coma due to exhaustion.

On the bedside table, a palm-sized military talisman lay quietly on a gray anti-static velvet cloth.

Everything happened without any warning.

A reddish-gold glint seeped from the gold-inlaid patterns on the surface of the tiger tally.

At first, it was extremely faint, like the lingering warmth of a dying ember in the dead of night.

But in just two seconds, the light rapidly rose to a dazzling level, and the intricate ancient map on the surface of the tiger tally was illuminated by the light in every detail.

On the map, the dot representing the Qinling base began to flash rapidly.

It was not the stable and steady pulse rhythm that had been observed in previous tests; instead, it flickered with a rapid, almost hysterical high-frequency pulse.

It's like a heart imprisoned in amber, desperately trying to send out a distress signal.

In the deepest part of the map, in those areas that had never been touched by any light before, a dark pattern hidden at the bottom of the mountain range quietly emerged, its shape blurred, resembling folded wings.

It didn't light up completely; it went from being completely invisible to being barely discernible.

It's as if that map from two thousand years ago is gradually revealing its previously undisclosed depths.

The nurse on duty abruptly stood up from her chair as the alarm on the cardiac monitor suddenly became shrill.

Zhou Dazhuang's heart rate jumped from 58 beats per minute when he was asleep to 97 beats per minute in an instant.

His eyes darted wildly beneath his tightly closed eyelids, his brows furrowed into a deep knot.

He was still asleep, but his right fist was clenched into a fist.

Restoration hall of the National Museum in Cairo, Egypt.

The hole in the dome that was pierced by the Greyback Falcon drone has not been repaired to this day.

A temporary waterproof tarpaulin hung down from the edge of the hole and was secured to the remaining limestone dome with wire and expansion bolts.

The canvas billowed occasionally in the night wind, and the moonlight filtering through the gaps cast an irregular silver line on the floor.

Seventy-two-year-old Hassan sat on a low stool.

Parkinson's disease caused his hands to constantly tremble slightly and uncontrollably. He held a magnifying glass in his right hand and used a pencil in his left hand to record a set of hieroglyphs newly discovered on the base of the scales in his notebook.

The pencil tip drew crooked lines on the paper, but the structure of each symbol was accurately copied.

Fourteen T-90 tanks and six anti-aircraft missile launchers were deployed outside.

Following the Grey Falcon incident, the Egyptian Third Army raised the museum's defense level to wartime standards.

The windows of the restoration hall were all sealed with sandbags, and the only entrance was guarded by two armed soldiers.

Hassan did not notice the change.

Libra moved first.

Without any items being placed on it, the left tray of the scale sank by half a centimeter on its own.

A very faint metallic hum came from the hinge between the copper tray and the support, so faint that it was almost drowned out by the sound of the canvas slapping against the dome.

But Hassan heard it.

His magnifying glass stopped in mid-air.

The compound eyes of the scarab statue on the Libra base glowed with a dark red light.

The light was not dazzling; in fact, it was quite faint.

But in the restoration room late at night, it illuminates every engraved line on the scarab beetle's elytra with crystal clarity.

Hassan slowly put down the magnifying glass and pencil.

He didn't touch the scales. Parkinson's patients have lived with uncontrollable muscles for many years, which has instilled in him an instinct: he always removes his hands from all delicate objects before figuring out the situation.

He raised his head.

My gaze pierced through the gaps in the canvas, looking up at the night sky above.

The moon is still there, the stars are still there.

But Hassan had a strange feeling that a corner of that sky was collapsing.

Near Earth orbit, at an altitude of 420 kilometers.

A platform that looks exactly like a retired communications satellite received that narrowband directional pulse.

The decoding module verified the physical key sequence, and the system, which had been silent for thirty-seven years, began to wake up item by item.

The solar panels slowly unfolded.

The electromagnetic acceleration track, which had been folded for thirty-seven years, was extended to its full length, and three tungsten alloy rods, each six meters long and thirty centimeters in diameter, were pushed into the launch position.

Coordinate calibration took nine seconds.

Three sets of target parameters have been locked: Cusco, Peru; Qinling underground base; Cairo museum.

The three electromagnetic pulses complete the acceleration within 0.1 to 0.2 seconds.

The ten-ton tungsten rod detached from the platform, leaving no flame or trail at the end, only a dull vibration as the metal separated from the vacuum.

Three tungsten rods cut into the edge of the atmosphere at an initial velocity of six kilometers per second. The temperature of the rods, which were subjected to intense friction with the dense air, exceeded three thousand degrees. The tungsten alloy on the surface of the rods began to emit an incandescent light.

Looking up from the ground, this scene resembles three doomsday meteors.