Apocalypse Cockroach - Chapter 213: Desperate

Shen Zhixian transmigrated into a book as a cannon fodder master who hatefully severed his disciple’s spirit root. This disciple fell into the devil’s path and returned to make mincemeat out of him.

Shen Zhixian just happened to transmigrate into the last moment of the master’s captivity, and then he was reborn again.

After rebirth, he devoted himself to fostering and supporting his disciple, only to discover later that his disciple was also reborn.

Even worse, the disciple still retained the memory of his life before rebirth.

Shen Zhixian: …Disturbed.

Afterward, he realized one truth: Being a master is a high-risk occupation. Not trivial at all!

- Description from Novelupdates

[Warning: Mature Content, R18, Contemporary-Fantasy setting]Evanescence “Evan” Holz, a billionaire businessman, received a souvenir from an obscure country that creates s*x dolls called “Eternity Women.” These “Eternity Woman” are life-like and turn alive once activated. To activate them, you need to “use” them.There's only one way for anyone to use a doll: You “play” with them.But what if these Eternity Women weren't just s*x dolls that magically come alive? What exactly is the mechanism behind Eternity Women that makes them into sentient beings in the first place? Is it just the pleasure, or there's something else, something sinister, that gives them life?That’s for Evan to find out.***EXCERPT:“Raise your hips,” he ordered. His voice was husky and demanding.Eternity quickly did as she was told to do. He wasn't a mind reader, yet he knew that it filled her with desire that he was talking to her in such an authoritative manner.Evan slipped Eternity's panties quickly off of her, giving them the same treatment as her bra once they were removed. He flung them away with no care as to where they would land. He nudged her legs wider apart using his, signaling the impending act.As Eternity called it, 'penetrative intercourse.'“May I?” he asked, even though he knew how much she wanted it.She nodded, tears trailing down her cheeks because of how much she had done.“F*ck me, Evan.”

“Coming live to you, from Cerou Street, this is MBP News, and we have an unfolding situation to report. Late last night, at approximately 3:00 AM, an explosive-like sound reverberated through this area, disrupting the sleep of residents and instilling fear in their hearts,” the news anchor, a striking figure, delivered the report with poise, standing before the camera amidst a bustling scene.

In the background, the blaring horns of ambulances and police vehicles disturbed the serenity of the beautiful morning light. Two individuals wearing protective suits, presumably forensic experts, held a stretcher carrying a charred body.

The news anchor, who had been reporting earlier, placed a hand on her ear, fitted with an earpiece, and looked visibly surprised. Her voice filled with urgency as she continued, “We have just received an update from our headquarters regarding the sole fatality in this unexpected incident. The victim of this tragic event is none other than Norman, the famous gigolo of Night palace.”

“My colleague, who was set to cover an event today at Nightplace, obtained this information firsthand from Countess Maria, who held a special place for Norman in her heart. Our focus this morning is on this breaking news,” the female news reporter continued amidst the chaotic scene, while Norman's charred body lay alone in the ambulance.

Meanwhile, in a different world, a young boy lay fast asleep with his head on the table. The sun, seemingly displeased with the boy's carefree slumber, cast its rays directly onto his face. Annoyed by the intrusion, the boy shifted his head in another direction, unwilling to be roused from his deep sleep.

*ZZZr Zzrz Zzrzzr* However, an additional source disturbed his sleep, filling the room with a buzzing sound. The boy furrowed his brows in annoyance, his eyes still closed. He searched his surroundings and discovered a glass-like slab. With closed eyes, he slid his finger across it and placed it near his ear.

“Hello...” he mumbled in his drowsy voice, which carried a hint of depth.

“Hey, Pissed-up Prat, where are you?” a voice laced with disdain emanated from the slab.

The boy, referred to as the “Pissed-up Prat” by the irritating female voice, recognized it as a voice he heard frequently but couldn't recall its owner. With his eyes still closed, he inquired, “Who is this?”

“What do you mean, 'who is this'? Wake up, come home, or eat shit for breakfast if you prefer!” the voice behind the transparent slab retorted before falling silent.

The boy, still not fully awakened, gazed at the half-opened glass slab with a mixture of confusion and surprise. As his eyes darted around the room, he became increasingly shocked.

As he recollected the fragmented memories from the night before he lost consciousness, his gaze fell upon the entrance of the shop. Once old and damp, it now bore a different appearance. While not transformed into a luxurious space, it had undergone improvements compared to its previously dilapidated state.

The shop took on a rectangular shape, with one longer side adorned with wooden shelves intricately patterned. Rows of empty glass jars lined these shelves. On the opposite side, there was another wooden shelf, also displaying empty jars. Towards the beginning of the counter, where the boy had been sleeping, there stood a peculiar machine.

Confusion etched across his face, he murmured to himself, “Whose shop is this?”

In response to his question, a mechanical voice resonated in his mind.

[The Omnistore belongs to you, host.]

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