Chapter 1286
Octopus Angel: I'll fight Jack?
"."*N
A deathly silence fell over the command center. Dozens of eyes stared blankly at the closing spatial rift. Some people had their mouths agape, some were rubbing their eyes, and some had dropped their coffee cups, shattering them on the floor. A young technician trembled as he raised his hand, like a schoolchild asking a question in class: "Was...that...a hallucination?"
Aside from women like Misato Asuka from the Choi family.
Misato Katsuragi leaned against the wall, a half-lit cigarette dangling from her lips, a "I knew this would happen" expression on her face. Asuka crossed her arms and snorted, "That idiot, always like this." Shinji huddled in a corner, his eyes darting around, clearly used to this unexpected turn of events. Rei Ayanami continued operating her terminal expressionlessly, as if nothing had just happened.
The other staff members were quite helpless.
"Big brother! Commander! Please!"
A technician responsible for monitoring and archiving finally broke down, burying his face in his hands and wailing. His colleague slumped into a chair, staring blankly at the ceiling: "Deleting surveillance footage here is exhausting! Do you know how many backups that video had? Main server, backup server, offline storage, cloud synchronization... We have to work until tomorrow morning!"
"And everyone knows that!"
Another female operator slammed her hand on the table, her face filled with indignation: "Couldn't you have found a secluded place to transform? The changing room! The restroom! The ventilation duct! Any corner would do! Don't just pretend!"
A chorus of agreement rippled through the command room, the atmosphere thick with gloom. Maya coughed awkwardly, attempting to maintain order: "Um... everyone, focus on your work. The apostles are still at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean."
"Who cares about that apostle!" someone cried out in response. "What we care about is overtime pay! Compensation for emotional distress! And our worldview!"
The spatial rift closed completely, and the command room returned to calm. But that calm was the stillness after a storm, and everyone knew perfectly well that when Cui Ming, no, when Ultraman Jack returned, they would face even more "surprises."
Deep in the Pacific Ocean, the fish angel suddenly stopped swimming. A kind of instinctive fear seized it, a memory from the depths of its genes, a trauma from being banished by the giants of light in ancient times. It wanted to escape, to hide in the deepest trench, but it was too late.
A silver light tore through the seawater.
In the depths of the Pacific Ocean, darkness is like solidified ink.
The fish-angel swam among the cracks of the underwater mountains, its massive body churning up silt deposited over millions of years. Its form was somewhere between a fish and an arthropod, its streamlined body covered in a bluish-gray chitinous shell, its six pairs of appendages tracing elegant paths in the darkness. An AT field formed a perfect spherical barrier around it, insulating it from the terrifying water pressure of the deep sea.
Suddenly, it stopped.
An unprecedented tremor spread along its nerve cords, a fear deeper than primal instinct—a fear stemming from genetic memory, from the trauma of being banished by light in ancient times. The fish angel's sensory organs spun wildly, trying to pinpoint the source of the threat, but all around was endless darkness and icy seawater.
Then, light appeared.
A silver light tore through the deep sea, like a sharp sword piercing the night. Ultraman Jack hovered less than a hundred meters from the Fish Angel, his body radiating a soft glow that illuminated this eternal darkness as if it were daytime.
His body was covered in scars—crisscrossing claw marks on his breastplate, dented impact marks on his shoulder armor, fine burn scars on his arms, and even an ancient scar that ran from his neck to his waist, as if he had been torn apart by the sharp teeth of some giant beast.
These scars, illuminated by his glowing organs, gleamed with a pale golden light. Far from diminishing his majesty, they resembled medals, telling tales of countless life-or-death battles. Jack didn't adopt any fighting stance; he simply hovered there silently, the color timer pulsating steadily.
The fish angel instinctively screamed and ran away.
It frantically thrashed its tail fin, activating its AT field at full speed, attempting to plunge into the depths of the underwater canyon as quickly as possible. But Jack merely raised his right hand, and dazzling particles of light condensed between his palms. The light grew ever brighter, boiling the surrounding seawater into white steam, forming a massive column of bubbles that shot straight to the surface.
"Specium Ray."
There was no roar, no charging stance, not even a moment for the enemy to react. A silvery-white beam erupted from Jack's right palm, tracing a straight path through the deep sea. The Angry Fish Angel's AT field was torn apart like paper; the beam pierced its head, exiting from its tail and melting a bottomless hole in the seabed. The massive body froze.
The fish angel's six pairs of appendages ceased waving, and its bluish-gray shell began to disintegrate, turning into countless particles of light that dissipated into the seawater. There was no explosion, no wailing, only absolute silence. The Sixth Apostle, from its appearance to its destruction, lasted less than thirty seconds.
Jack withdrew his hand, glanced down at the dissipating enemy remains, then turned to face the sea. His body began to rise, faster and faster, like a shooting star breaking through layers of water. As he leaped out of the sea, the sun rose just above the horizon, its golden rays contrasting with his silver body, casting a huge silhouette across the Pacific Ocean.
NERV Headquarters, Command Center.
On the large screen, the life signal representing the fish angel had completely disappeared. The technicians stared blankly at the slowly descending silver figure, not a single person uttering a word. It wasn't shock, nor fear, but a sense of natural calm—like watching the sun rise in the east, like watching the tides rise and fall on schedule.
"Oh, it's over." Someone yawned and stretched.
"Even faster than last time." Another person muttered, starting to organize the combat data that no longer needed to be looked at.
Maya smiled, lowered her head to input commands on the terminal, and prepared to welcome Cui Ming's return.
Misato finally lit the cigarette she'd been holding for ages, exhaling a perfect smoke ring: "That guy's getting more and more perfunctory." Asuka pouted, but a hint of barely perceptible pride lingered in her eyes.
Everyone knows this is normal.
After all, Ultraman Jack, transformed by Cui Ming, was covered in scars, making him look like a formidable warrior. Those scars weren't just decorations; they were proof of countless brushes with death, marks left from traversing countless battlefields. A warrior who had slain ancient demons, cosmic monsters, and planetary invaders certainly didn't need any fancy moves to deal with an apostle that had just crawled out of the deep sea.
The silver giant on the screen began to shrink, its light receding, and finally transformed into a figure in a white lab coat, landing steadily on the NERV headquarters helipad. Cui Ming straightened his collar, strode towards the entrance, his expression as calm as if he had just gone to a convenience store to buy a drink.
The door to the command center opened, and he walked in, glancing around at everyone: "What do you want to eat tonight? I'll buy groceries on my way."
"I want curry!" Asuka was the first to raise her hand.
“Miso soup,” Rei Ayanami said softly.
"Anything is fine, just go home early." Misato shrugged.
Maya blushed and walked to his side, lowering her voice: "Um...we've already dealt with the surveillance footage, could we...?"
"We'll talk about it next time." Cui Ming ruffled her hair, a slight smile playing on his lips.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, in a VIP ward of a hospital, Rokubungi Gendo frowned slightly in his unconscious state, as if sensing something. But his consciousness was too blurred to discern what it was—was it the fluctuation of the annihilation of the Angels, or yet another mocking laugh from the world's consciousness?
It doesn't matter anymore.
In any case, he can't even move a single finger right now. (End of Chapter)