Mexico, Chiapas, a small town on the edge of the rainforest.
The afternoon sun baked the main street, permeated with a mixed scent of damp earth, cheap sunscreen, and some kind of spicy seasoning.
Zinc roofs reflected dazzling white light under the scorching sun.
Several ruffled roosters scratched for food at the corner of a faded, colorful wooden house.
Across the street, an Old Woman wrapped in a bright red headscarf slowly strung dried chilies, a drowsy, tongue-lolling mongrel dog sprawled beside her.
Serie was also immersed in the same languid stupor.
However, she was curled up in a plastic chair outside a shabby street-side water bar, her entire body sprawled bonelessly over a small white round table, partly because of the heat, and partly because... the Erosion-Spawned Garrison's flesh made her stomach feel a bit uncomfortable.
Chloe's canvas jacket, which she had lent her, hung loosely on her, the hood pulled low, barely covering her overly conspicuous white long hair and eyes that occasionally leaked a hint of eerie green light even in the shadows.
Only her bare feet, which couldn't reach the ground, and the grayish-white bandages wrapped halfway up her calves from beneath her skirt, still occasionally drew quick, startled glances from passing townspeople.
She rested her chin on one hand, her gaze fixed on the pinkish, dark-spotted 'radiator' in the dog's mouth.
One second, two seconds...
Her slightly pale lips parted, very slowly, with a hint of experimental intent, forming a thin slit.
Immediately after, a scarlet tongue tip, like a newborn beast, emerged from the slit between her lips.
It didn't hang wantonly like a dog's tongue, but rather hovered demurely half a centimeter from her lower lip, sensing the equally scorching air.
Apparently finding the heat dissipation inefficient, the tender pink tongue tip imitated the frequency of a panting dog's tongue.
It seemed to cool down a bit.
After completing this great heat dissipation experiment, her gaze finally moved away from the dog's tongue.
Time here flowed even slower than a sloth crawling.
However, this almost solidified relaxation abruptly ended five meters behind her.
At another equally cheap small table, Tarak sat rigidly, like a stone sculpture soaked in sweat.
His burly physique, capable of wrestling a bear bare-handed, now had every muscle tensed like a fully drawn bowstring.
Tarak's gaze seemed welded to Serie's back.
Every time Serie unconsciously moved a finger, or a faint gurgle escaped her throat, Tarak's back instinctively straightened further, and his large hands gripping his knees tightened even more.
The veins on the back of his hands protruded slightly, as if he was ready to jump up and face a big battle at any moment...
Or run away.
The beads of sweat on his forehead glistened in the sunlight.
Serie casually opened the 'Witch' interface, checking her updated information.
[Name: Gorutos]
[Codename: Mad Eater Witch]
[Gender: Female]
[Age: 9735 years old]
[Race: Demon | Witch]
[Attributes: Strength C- | Stamina D | Charm C | Agility D | Spirit D]
Thanks to the three anomalies known as Erosion-Spawned Garrison, Serie's Gluttony Count reached an astonishing 2741 layers.
Her attributes received a comprehensive leap.
Although still a bit behind the Wildfire Witch, compared to her previous F-grade little waste, who was no different from a living corpse, she was now barely able to hold her own.
Serie's face showed a satisfied and languid smile.
What a pity...
Deep within this ancient tomb, there must be more delicacies hidden.
It's just that there's no time to dig three feet deep right now.
A family, after all, the most important thing is to be together, neat and tidy.
Serie, beautiful and kind-hearted, wanted to send them into her stomach for a reunion.
The dilapidated wooden door of the water bar, hung with colorful bead curtains, was suddenly pushed open, and Chloe came out carrying a simple plastic tray.
On the tray were two full cups of cloudy, murky-colored drinks with crushed ice and suspicious dark particles floating in them.
Her fair cheeks were flushed from the high temperature, a few strands of sweaty black hair clung to her neck, and her adventure vest was stained with some water, but her expression was relaxed.
Tarak's gaze instantly bounced off Serie, as if he had seen a savior, his entire body visibly relaxing, his shoulders even slumping a bit.
He instinctively reached out towards Chloe, forcing a smile, clearly intending to take one of the cups to calm his nerves.
However, Chloe merely glanced at him with a slight puzzlement, her steps not pausing in the slightest, walking directly to Serie's table.
After some time together, Chloe discovered that Serie could understand the Spanish they used to communicate, so she simply stopped using the primitive, awkward language.
"Try this," her voice was light, with a hint of seeking praise, as she steadily placed one of the drinks by Serie's hand. "It's a local specialty called Horchata, made from rice, with cinnamon and sugar. It quenches thirst and fills you up."
Then, she very naturally pulled out the plastic chair opposite Serie and sat down, producing a grating scraping sound.
Chloe herself picked up the other cup, took a big sip through the straw, narrowed her eyes in satisfaction, and let out a contented sigh.
"Ha... I'm alive again! This damn weather!"
Tarak's hand was still stiff there, pulling it back was not an option, continuing to extend it was even dumber; the expression on his face was even more complex than this Horchata, a mix of disbelief, forgotten grievance, and a hint of 'I knew this would happen' resignation.
"Alright, Lady Gorutos, it's time to talk business." Chloe reined in her casual expression.
She leaned slightly forward, her hands clasped on the table: "I know you currently cannot communicate with us in human language, so, you can respond to me by nodding or shaking your head, okay?"
Serie's head nodded slightly under her hood.
The vigilant light in her eerie green eyes had not faded.
This Chloe seemed to know the Mad Eater Witch very well.
Perhaps to guard against Tarak, or to prevent anyone else from eavesdropping, Chloe spoke again in that primitive language: "Do you still have memories of the past?"
Chloe asked a crucial question.
Serie was silent for a few seconds, then shook her head, and then nodded slightly.
"Do you mean... you have some memories, but they're not very complete?" Chloe was indeed sharp.
"But that's normal, after all, that was a thousand years ago..."
Serie nodded again.
"Then let me formally reintroduce myself, and my purpose."
Chloe took a deep breath, sat up straight, and the cheerful, enthusiastic, even somewhat boisterous woman from before instantly vanished, replaced by a powerful aura that formed a stark contrast with her youthful face:
"My name is Chloe Abismo, founder and leader of the Black Queen."
A warning bell instinctively rang in Serie's heart.
What is the Black Queen?
She paused, then began to introduce her organization:
"The Black Queen is an organization composed of anomalies like yourself, except most of them are very young. Because of their anomalies, they cannot live in the sunlight, are hunted, feared, and even... regarded as monsters and tools by their closest relatives..."
This information slightly surprised Serie.
She had thought that this world only had organizations like the Control Bureau that studied and guarded against anomalies.
So, anomalies also band together for warmth?
But then again, could it be that Chloe, like her, was also an anomaly?
The vigilance in Serie's eyes slowly gave way to curiosity.
Chloe didn't miss the subtle change in Serie's expression.
"I know you must be wondering why I traveled thousands of miles, deep into this dangerous rainforest to find you." Chloe continued in a deep voice: "To make a long story short, I hope you can..."
"Join us."