Every Apocalypse, I Became Their Obsession

Insect Sawrm Apocalyse (4)

With the skill on cooldown, I opened the door and stepped outside into the darkness. There, scattered across the yard, were thirteen meteor fragments, each one formed from tightly packed insect eggs.

I raised my right hand.

A cluster of red flames burst from the tips of my five fingers. It was a module originally designed for outdoor cooking, the flame size comparable to a household gas stove burner. Precise. Controlled. The fire wrapped perfectly around a watermelon-sized mass of eggs.

The shells crackled sharply under the heat.

Two minutes later, I withdrew the flames and crouched to examine them.

The ping-pong-ball-sized eggs had only changed from white to pale yellow. Beneath the shells, the wriggling had intensified, frantic, as if something inside was desperately trying to break free.

I paused, considering. Then I reached out again.

This time, when I lifted my hand, the flames turned blinding white. The temperature surged to the maximum output of a fully efficient gas burner: 1400°C. The air warped and twisted under the heat. The egg pile darkened from waxy yellow to scorched brown. I continued patiently. After five minutes, a thin thread of black smoke finally rose, followed by fine tongues of flame bursting across the surface.

The stench of burned protein filled the air. Inside the eggs, the larvae stopped moving. Completely.

Satisfied, I burned the pile a little longer, making absolutely certain nothing remained alive. Then I moved on to the second meteor and repeated the process.

After burning insects for half an hour, the cooldown for Convert Trash into Treasure ended. I immediately returned inside and began repairing the remaining windows. Back and forth I worked through the entire night.

By dawn, all thirteen egg clusters had been completely destroyed. The house was almost fully restored as well. Only one window remained unrepaired, because my skill could only be used ten times per day, and I had already reached the limit.

I was very satisfied with my efficiency.

I returned indoors and resumed my core function: housekeeping. Cleaning the house. Preparing breakfast, etc.

The sky was just beginning to lighten when the James family woke up. When they came up from the basement into the living room, they were greeted by spotless, restored windows. Floors so clean they gleamed, carrying a faint lemon scent. Warm food aromas drifted through the air. On the dining table sat a breakfast just as lavish as last night's dinner.

The three of them stood frozen.

They looked at the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Then at the room. Then back again. James rubbed his eyes.

I smiled gently, standing in the dining room. In their stunned silence, I copied what James had done for me the night before. One by one, I pulled out three chairs. Then I bent slightly at the waist in a polite invitation.

“You're awake. Please enjoy breakfast.”

James stared as if trapped in a dream. “This… this is impossible. The windows… they were completely shattered last night. Glass everywhere. And this…” His gaze traveled from the flawless windows to the immaculate room, finally stopping on the steaming breakfast.

The scent of bacon and fried eggs mixed with the sweetness of pancakes. It was so real, so warm, sharply contrasted against the distant chaos outside. Faint sobs carried on the wind. Sirens wailed far away. Two worlds, violently split.

Jennifer covered her mouth. Her eyes swept across the shining floor, the unnaturally tidy furniture, and finally landed on my pale face. Suppressing her shock, she hurried forward and pulled me into a tight embrace.

“Oh my God… the alarm didn't even wake us. We slept this late. You must have worked all night, my child.”

Robert remained where he was, frowning slightly. What stood before him wasn't something a young girl could accomplish in a single night.

“Nova,” he said, gesturing toward the windows. “Did… someone come last night? Government personnel? Community services?”

I had no idea that James was the heir to a top-tier wealthy family. That his father, Robert, was actually a low-profile but razor-sharp businessman. That this villa sat in the most secure private community in Upper Dawn City.

Here, residents enjoyed elite, around-the-clock services: private chefs, professional cleaning teams, security patrols made up of retired soldiers. High walls surrounded every home, ensuring absolute privacy. Actually, Jennifer herself hadn't cooked personally in over a year. Last night was an exception. It was only because of me.

I opened my mouth, intending to explain that I had done everything myself. But before I said so, for reasons I couldn't fully explain, I hesitated.

Then I nodded. My goal was simple: protect them. As long as that was achieved, the method didn't matter.

The suspicion in Robert's eyes slowly faded. Jennifer let out a quiet breath of relief, unsure why she had been so tense in the first place. “Looks like the service team is getting more and more professional,” she said. “Darling, you should write them a thank-you letter later.”

“A letter won't be enough,” Robert replied, glancing at the reinforced windows. “I'll be making a generous donation. Now, let's eat. Or Nova's carefully prepared breakfast will get cold.”

As they began eating, Robert turned on the TV mounted on the dining room wall.

Nearly every channel was reporting on the meteors.

"Our city has suffered severe damage. Multiple buildings in the downtown commercial district were destroyed, resulting in direct economic losses estimated to reach…"

Images flashed across the screen: rooftop luxury restaurants, sky gardens, former social media hotspots reduced to ruins.

“Damn it,” Robert muttered. “I invested in that building.”

Then the next segment aired. No one felt like eating anymore.

In truth, governments around the world had already dispatched emergency teams overnight to collect meteor samples and send them to laboratories. The results were shocking. These meteors were solid masses formed from densely packed insect eggs. However, unlike the one that fell into James's home, most samples showed little to no biological activity. To avoid public panic, the findings were not immediately disclosed.

James frowned deeply, watching the screen while mechanically eating.

The reporter's expression was grave.

“We urge all citizens to remain alert. Meteors exhibit strong radiation. Do not attempt to handle them. Avoid all physical contact. Upon discovery, leave the area immediately and contact your local sheriff's office…” Emergency contact numbers began looping on the screen.

Too slow, I thought. Once those eggs hatch, control will be impossible.

As that thought crossed my mind, Robert switched to another channel, one known for real-time frontline reporting.

And then we saw it.

A scene so horrifying it would soon spread across the entire world through social media. The global audience watched, in live broadcast, as insects hatched directly from a human body.

On screen, a charming field reporter stood inside a hospital.

"…the patient was injured last night while watching the meteor shower in the commercial district's sky garden. A sharp meteor fragment pierced his thigh. The meteor has not yet been removed. According to doctors, the wound suffered heavy blood loss, and the patient is currently very weak. However, the surgery itself is not considered high-risk…"

The reporter walked through the hospital, interviewing family members.

She stopped again in front of the operating room. The doors behind her were slowly closing as preparation lights shifted.

“The surgery is about to begin. We believe the patient will recover soon. Medical resources in our city are sufficient. Please trust that despite the high number of injured, we have the confidence and capability to handle this—”

“Oh my God. What is that?!”

Her words were cut off by a scream.

The camera shook violently.

The reporter stared at her camera operator. A man usually so calm, so emotionally detached, now looked utterly horrified.

She followed his gaze and turned toward the operating room.

The shaking intensified. His panicked shouts filled the audio.

The operating room door, which had been closed moments ago, stood open.

A nurse burst out. She was covered in blood. Her face was twisted in terror as she ran, clawing at her own body as if something were crawling inside her.

“Help! Someone help! The patient… there are bugs coming out of the patient! Call the police! Call special forces! Call the fire department!”

The reporter stood frozen.

As the nurse screamed, the front of her uniform suddenly bulged. A swelling the size of a palm pushed outward.

Blood exploded across her chest. The fabric tore. Then, a white insect pushed its head through the opening.

The nurse collapsed at the reporter's feet, dead.

The reporter tried to run. She just couldn't move. Only when the insect crawled onto her foot did she finally begin to scream. "Someone help! Help me!"

Jennifer's toast froze halfway to her mouth.

On the violently shaking screen, a palm-sized white insect emerged fully. It crawled out of the operating room, opened its mouth, revealing rows of jagged teeth packed tight with flesh.

Blood dripped, drop by drop.

The creature charged into the crowd with terrifying speed.

Behind it, more than a dozen identical insects appeared at the same time.

The camera operator shouted something.

The live broadcast cut to black.

In the dead silence, I spoke, my tone perfectly even. "No worries, I will protect you."