The boredom she feigned, as she endured it, slowly transformed into a genuine, bone-deep weariness.
Serie was being gnawed at by this tormenting emptiness, like a kitten awaiting its owner's return.
Who would have thought that she had previously disliked Lynette accompanying her for breakfast?
Serie even wondered if she had Stockholm Syndrome.
But that wasn't right either; if she truly had the disease, then she should be longing for Hayato...
Ugh... just thinking about it made her sick.
Time slowly passed, until in the afternoon, a faint connection, like a spark, suddenly lit up in her perception—
Wildfire Witch, Zhuoya, was awake?!
Wow, that fast?!
Serie was genuinely startled.
She remembered the Wildfire Witch's miserable state clearly; her body was covered in gunshot wounds, and who knew how many bones inside were broken.
Theoretically, she wouldn't be able to move for a hundred or eighty days, but what happened?
This tough bone hadn't been lying down for long, and her consciousness was already struggling to revive?
Serie secretly clicked her tongue, only able to say that she was indeed a Soldier from the "combat nation"; her body seemed to be made of iron.
Serie's thoughts raced, and she instantly pulled her main consciousness from her main body, pouncing fiercely towards the Wildfire Witch's newly ignited spark of consciousness.
However, she seemed to have forgotten something...
Thud!
Her main body, which was lying on the table, immediately lost its support, and her head hit the cold metal tabletop with a dull thud.
...
As soon as her consciousness sank into the Wildfire Witch's body, intense pain swept over her like a tsunami.
Every inch of her bones felt as if they had been crushed, and every muscle twitched as if burning.
Her vision was dark, and her ears buzzed incessantly.
Suddenly, a spark exploded in the darkness, instantly spreading like a prairie fire into a raging inferno!
Serie found herself standing in the middle of a burning street.
Serie widened her eyes, looking around in disbelief.
Where was this? Hadn't she been rescued?
On both sides were crumbling, burning houses, with charred beams crackling.
Soldiers in various tattered military uniforms ran around like headless chickens, hacking at each other, and even more jarring were the wails of civilians.
A woman engulfed in flames rolled on the ground, her shrill screams tearing through the air.
Not far away, a man futilely slapped at the burning clothes on a child...
The heat distorted the air, and the thick smoke choked people, making it impossible to breathe.
Serie stood frozen, her pupils reflecting the hellish scene.
The all-consuming fire made her soul tremble deep down.
"Zoya! Zoya! Hurry!" A sobbing girl's voice cut through the chaos.
A girl, also in military uniform and covered in soot, rushed over, gripping her arm tightly, desperately trying to pull her away from the spot.
Just then—
Boom!!!
A two-story building engulfed in flames ahead, as if its bones had been removed, crashed down on them, carrying with it a sky full of sparks and scorching debris!
Serie instinctively raised her arm to protect her head...
The expected impact and burning pain did not come.
Bone-chilling cold replaced the scorching heat.
Her vision instantly switched.
She found herself bound to a metal operating table with rough leather straps.
Above her head was a blinding shadowless lamp, illuminating the bare concrete walls and floor with a dead light.
Her gaze frantically scanned her surroundings, and Serie's breathing instantly stopped.
On the workbench directly opposite, various human anatomy diagrams, hastily recorded experimental data sheets, and several blurry photos of human faces were densely plastered.
However, what made Serie widen her eyes was that the flag behind that workbench had a pattern seven or eight parts similar to the emblem she had seen in the ancient tomb, also a hourglass-shaped pattern separated by a black horizontal bar, with dense Russian text below.
Fear made her struggle desperately, the iron restraints digging into her flesh, making a grating sound that set her teeth on edge.
But this instead startled the figure who was busy at the workbench with her back to her.
The man in the white coat slowly turned around.
Under the light, the white robe, which should have been clean, was splattered with large patches of old bloodstains that had long since congealed into dark brown.
It was him!
The Wildfire Witch Zoya's project leader—Dr. Igor Stepanov Molotov.
Serie suddenly remembered the man's name.
The light clearly illuminated his disgusting face.
The left half was relatively normal, only his skin was excessively pale, while the right half was a mass of twisted, melted wax-like scar tissue.
The edges of the scars were distorted and gnarled, pulling his mouth and eyes into a strange, crooked shape.
His intact eye was a murky grey-blue, now flickering with a chilling light of excitement.
He bared his teeth, revealing an uncoordinated, fissure-like smile, and in his hand, he was toying with a sharp syringe.
"Don't rush, my little Wildfire..." His voice was hoarse like sandpaper rubbing, with a sickly gentleness, "Soon... it won't hurt anymore..."
He approached step by step, the needle tip pointing directly at Serie's wide, terrified right eye!
Extreme fear ignited the Wildfire Witch's remaining instincts!
"Bastard! I'll kill you!"
Serie only felt a surge of violent power break through her consciousness's dam!
Her tightly bound body sprang up like a high-pressure spring, erupting with inhuman strength.
Her veiny, hot-as-a-branding-iron hand clamped down on Dr. Igor's throat with ruthless force.
However, the expected gasping "hoarse" sound of the man struggling in his death throes did not ring out.
What entered her eardrums was a shrill, almost ear-piercing scream of a girl, full of pain!
Serie's heart sank, and she sharply opened her eyes.
The scene before her made her feel as if she had fallen into an ice cellar.
Where was any gloomy operating room? Where was any Igor?
Reflected in her pupils was a simple but warm wooden house.
Clutched tightly by her, as if by burning hot iron tongs, was a strange Red-haired girl.
The Red-haired girl's face was flushed from being choked by her, and her slender hands futilely pounded Serie's forearm, but it was like an ant trying to shake a tree, unable to move it in the slightest.
Serie recoiled as if shocked by electricity, her voice changing pitch: "So... sorry... I... I didn't mean...!"
Fortunately, this body of the Wildfire Witch was far from recovered and was in an extremely weak state.
If this body had been at its peak just now...
Just imagining it made cold sweat instantly soak Serie's back.
The consequences... were simply unthinkable.
"Cough! Cough, cough, cough—!"
The Red-haired girl regained air, bursting into a fit of choking, her whole body convulsing violently like a fish out of water, greedily gulping for air.
She staggered, filled with bone-deep fear, scrambling to hide behind a calm-faced Old Woman nearby, gripping the Old Woman's rough clothes, her small body trembling like a leaf in the wind.
On her fair, slender neck, a hideous circle of finger marks was clearly visible, making the girl appear especially fragile and pitiful.
Serie looked at the shocking finger marks, and guilt instantly overwhelmed her like a tide.
She opened her mouth, just about to explain.
"Had a very terrible nightmare?"
The Old Woman's steady voice, however, sounded first, as she gently patted the girl's rapidly heaving back in her arms, and calmly looked at Serie, her world-weary eyes containing no accusation, only a serene understanding of everything.