Chapter 545 The End of All Evil
Natasha listened to Steven's words in silence, her expressionless face offering no reply. After unleashing a storm that swept across the landscape, she simply turned away and continued her desperate flight.
Steven remained unfazed, pursuing her with methodical patience.
Having lost all sense of direction, Natasha stumbled forward like a headless fly, guided only by raw instinct. By the third day, she reached Starlight City's outer boundary. She had grown desperately weak, her small face bloodless and hollow.
For three days, not a morsel of food had passed her lips. Whenever she discovered potential sustenance, Steven would destroy it before she could reach it. She couldn't stop to rest, knowing Steven's gun remained trained on her head from the darkness.
Despair. Absolute, crushing despair.
It felt like being flayed with a dull blade—slowly cutting through skin, then methodically stripping flesh from bone.
Had Natasha encountered a stronger Psychic who killed her outright, perhaps her suffering would have been less profound. But she had encountered Steven instead, filling her with unbearable frustration and helplessness.
"Neil, if only you were still alive," she whispered.
She staggered toward a snow-covered mountain, slowly ascending its slopes. Steven followed 3,000 feet behind, maintaining his distance. Unlike Natasha, his condition remained optimal.
He had injected himself with stimulants twice, keeping his nervous system hyperactive. He had absolute confidence he could outlast her.
Watching her deteriorate, he knew his final victory approached.
Natasha climbed the snowy mountain, feeling the cold wind against her cheeks. Though chilled, the sensation wasn't unpleasant. But she was desperately tired. Even the bitter wind and snow couldn't ward off her overwhelming exhaustion.
Countless times her eyelids grew too heavy to lift. Yet whenever sleep nearly claimed her, a black bullet would streak from the distance, targeting her head.
"So tired... I'm so tired," Natasha murmured.
She looked pitiful in her desperation, her small face etched with anguish—like a neighborhood girl seeking protection after being bullied.
"God! Am I not your most faithful servant? Please save me!"
Natasha clasped her hands in prayer to her deity. No response came.
"Why? Why won't God guide me? Have I done something wrong?" Her voice trembled. "Everything I've done was to create a pure world without corruption! Neil, Neil, what should I do? Can't you tell me?"
Where was the cold, sacred leader of the Snowfall Cult now? She was merely a helpless girl.
In her delirium, countless faces appeared before her. Her parents, smiling as they extended their hands: "Natasha, come with mommy and daddy! Let's go to heaven together."
Then Neil appeared, his expression stern: "Natasha, wake up! You must wake up!"
The vision shifted again. A gentle woman gazed at her with kindness. "Natasha, are you alright?"
Seeing this face, tears finally streamed from Natasha's parched eyes. "Jasmine..."
A lullaby suddenly filled her ears. "Sleep now, sleep now, precious child. Sleep now, sleep now, dearest princess."
Natasha could no longer endure. Hungry and exhausted, her body had become an empty shell. The lullaby made her sway precariously.
'Give up! Give up!'
'Everyone you cherished is dead. Everyone who loved you died because of you.'
'What meaning remains in your life? Die, and you can see them again!'
Natasha stumbled toward a withered tree, slowly collapsing against its trunk.
"Neil," she whispered his name. "I'm hungry."
With those final words, her eyes closed.
From a distance, Steven noticed Natasha had fallen asleep. He silently raised his gun and fired. The bullet stopped three feet before reaching her, hovering momentarily before dropping into the snow.
"Not dead yet," Steven remarked softly.
He watched her carefully, not daring to approach. A wounded beast is most dangerous at its end. If Natasha truly faced death, her final counterattack would be ferocious.
Having exhausted his Mutant Bullets, Steven retrieved an anti-materiel sniper rifle from his dimensional space, aiming at Natasha's body—her torso, not her head.
The weapon's destructive power would obliterate her skull completely, potentially destroying the essence he sought to absorb.
After several minutes, Steven attempted his first shot. It failed. Natasha's Telekinesis barrier deflected the attack, operating on pure instinct despite her unconscious state.
Steven lowered the weapon, continuing his vigilant observation from afar. He maintained a safe distance, firing periodically to test her defenses. For another day and night, this deadly vigil continued.
Finally, Natasha—Starlight City's first transcendent-level Psychic—was completely drained of her life force. The large-caliber round tore through her body, shredding it. The scene was brutal—a young woman torn in half.
But facing such a terrifyingly powerful Psychic, Steven had no alternative. The battlefield allows no mercy. Even the dead must be approached with caution.
This end, however brutal, wasn't without justice. She was the mastermind behind Starlight City's undead outbreak. Because of her, at least a million people had perished in the jaws of zombies.
This was the price for her callous disregard for human life.
Witnessing the final moment, Steven confirmed Natasha's death. His bloodshot eyes revealed his own exhaustion. He too had gone without sleep for four days and three nights. Without pharmaceutical assistance, he would have collapsed like Natasha—perhaps even sooner.
Steven rose to his feet, suppressing his excitement as he approached Natasha's remains. The final step toward success is often the most treacherous. He couldn't risk any unexpected developments.
He carefully surveyed his surroundings, confirming no one had followed. Even if someone appeared, he wasn't concerned. Though his mind approached its limit, his Supernatural ability remained abundant. Whoever might come, his Martial Prowess would annihilate them.
With Otha and Natasha dead, no one in Starlight City could challenge him now. By absorbing Natasha's essence, he would become an unparalleled Psychic of extraordinary power.
'I have little interest in becoming excessively powerful,' he thought. 'But if power is the only way to survive, then I will pursue greater strength!'
Steven approached Natasha's remains with extreme caution. The 1.2-mile distance took him over fifteen minutes to traverse. When he finally stood before the shattered corpse, her severed head lay beneath the tree.
Steven drew a deep breath. He placed his right hand against Natasha's forehead.
In that moment, an indescribable surge of power flowed through his palm and into his entire body—a raging river thundering through his veins. Steven's eyes flew open. His right eye erupted with brilliant light so intense it illuminated the surrounding space.
Simultaneously, within his left pupil, a profoundly dark luminescence began to manifest.
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