Axolotl Translations

“Urgh—ugh—I’m so dizzy… I can’t… I can’t hold on anymore!”

“Hang in there! Bite down and hold on!”

“Brother Jun, don’t let go! Hold me tight!”

“Ahhh—Brother Jun!”

“No! No, no, please!”

……

Thunder roared overhead. Rain poured down with relentless intensity. The desperate screams pierced through the storm and echoed into the turbulent sky.

The Yongyue, surging forward with dangerous speed, scraped violently against the jagged mountainside. One moment it lunged ahead, the next it was yanked back with brutal force. The hull shuddered and groaned against the rock face, a horrifying screeching and grinding as if caught in a monstrous tempest at sea. The entire ship trembled ceaselessly.

It was horrifyingly clear that something had been deliberately tampered with—the entire section of the fourth-floor railing had buckled and torn away, leaving a gaping void.

People on the exposed deck were flung about like discarded rag dolls, their footing lost one after another as they tumbled helplessly into the churning water below. In mere moments, half of the two-dozen people on deck had vanished into the unforgiving sea—only around ten remained, desperately clinging to life.

The rain continued its relentless assault, transforming the already slick deck into a treacherous skating rink. Each person fought desperately to remain upright, their hands clamped onto pipes or any meager handhold on the inner wall. Their legs were now useless, their survival hinging solely on sheer upper body strength.

But the ship continued its violent lurching, and human strength could only endure so much. It was only a matter of time before more succumbed to the relentless forces.

Witnessing this living nightmare unfold before his very eyes, Gu Mengran felt his heart twist with agonizing pain, as if it were being slowly sliced open. Just moments ago, these individuals had stood beside him, fighting with unwavering courage. Now, they were engaged in a futile struggle against the elements, dying before him, disappearing one by one into the unforgiving sea.

Was he simply going to stand there, a helpless observer to this horrific scene?

He could act—he should act.

In that critical instant, Gu Mengran’s mind raced, a whirlwind of desperate possibilities. Then, with sudden resolve, he lifted his gaze—no longer clouded by hesitation. His eyes were firm, resolute. His decision was made.

“No, Gu Mengran!”

It was as if Liang Zhao had anticipated his very thoughts. Before Gu Mengran could make a move, Liang Zhao’s arms tightened around him, his hands gripping the pipes embedded in the wall with unwavering strength, anchoring them both as he trapped Gu Mengran in a desperate embrace.

The ship continued its violent ascent and descent, a monstrous pendulum swinging to its own deadly rhythm. More and more people were reaching the limits of their endurance, their grips weakening.

Just then, the young girl behind them let out a strangled cry of despair. Her strength had finally failed her. One hand slipped from her last desperate lifeline—and her small body slid uncontrollably toward the precipitous edge, carried by the merciless tilt of the ship.

At the absolute last possible instant, Gu Mengran lunged forward with desperate speed and snatched the girl’s wrist.

He didn’t even have a moment to exhale a sigh of relief before a loud, ominous creaking sound emanated from behind them. Gu Mengran froze, then twisted his head around—where the pipe met the ship’s wall, cracks were spreading like intricate spiderwebs under the combined weight of the three of them.

The fractures widened and multiplied with alarming speed. Before Gu Mengran could even formulate a reaction—

CRACK!

With a deafening snap, the pipe that Liang Zhao was desperately gripping gave way entirely.

“Ahhhhh—!”

Another wave of terrified screaming erupted. Gu Mengran, Liang Zhao, and the young girl were all violently thrown off their precarious footing, sliding helplessly across the slick deck. The broken railing, a gaping chasm, was now less than half a meter away.

Gu Mengran’s mind raced, a lightning-fast calculation.

Shove them into the space. Now. Immediately.

But just as the thought solidified, a massive BOOM reverberated from below with earth-shattering force. Something had slammed into the Yongyue with tremendous impact. The ship, which had been listing precariously to the right, suddenly jolted violently and tipped sharply in the opposite direction.

In an instant, everyone was thrown back towards the inner side of the deck, colliding with the wall and collapsing to the floor in a tangled, disoriented heap.

Before anyone could recover from the spinning dizziness that gripped them, the ship’s wild, erratic swaying abruptly began to subside, as if a plug had been pulled on a colossal pendulum ride. The violent trembling eased, then steadied into an unsettling stillness.

“Ow—my hand!”

“Get up! Quick, find something to hold onto!”

“Don’t relax yet—it might start again!”

……

Chaos reigned on the exposed deck, voices shouting over one another in a panicked cacophony.

The sudden, violent collision had inadvertently saved them from plunging into the sea—but the cost was steep. Everyone had been brutally battered by the force of the impact.

Wary of another sudden shift, the villagers slowly pushed through the searing pain and struggled to their feet, grabbing onto any sturdy fixture bolted to the wall.

Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao did the same. They quickly helped the shaken girl sit down safely against the wall, then each seized hold of a thick pipe to steady themselves against any further movement.

Two agonizing minutes crawled by. The ship seemed to be gradually coming to a complete halt. The relentless swaying had ceased.

Gu Mengran felt an urgent need to inspect the ravaged railing, to ascertain the extent of the damage and understand what was happening below. He had just shifted his weight, preparing to take a tentative step, when Liang Zhao’s hand clamped firmly onto his arm.

“It’s dangerous. Wait a little longer.”

Remaining stationary would lead them nowhere. Gu Mengran looked up at Liang Zhao, lowering his voice to a hushed whisper meant only for their ears.

“I think… maybe we should put them back into the space while we still can. Too many people have died, Liang Zhao. At this rate, forget taking the ship—there’s a real chance none of us make it out alive.”

“No.”

Liang Zhao’s refusal was immediate and absolute.

Noticing the harshness in his tone, he gently rubbed the back of Gu Mengran’s hand with his thumb, softening his voice as he spoke.

“It’s far too risky to expose the space again. Even if the villagers mean us no harm… what about the people on this ship? So many individuals vanishing into thin air—they’ll inevitably start asking questions. What if they decide to stay here, waiting? How would we ever get out then?”

Gu Mengran shook his head quickly, his disagreement emphatic. “No way. They’ve taken significant damage too—they won’t have the energy to—”

“Mengran.”

Liang Zhao cut him off gently, lowering his gaze to meet Gu Mengran’s.

“Look at them. Do you honestly believe they’ll simply give up and walk away after all this?”

Gu Mengran understood. His eyes moved slowly across the wreckage-strewn deck, taking in the grim tableau.

An elderly woman clung precariously to a pillar, a trickle of blood tracing a path down her face. A dazed girl leaned blankly against the wall, her eyes unfocused. A young man, his knuckles white as he gripped a pipe, stared ahead with a mask of clenched teeth and blazing fury.

In the eerie stillness that followed the storm’s fury, fear and panic were palpable in their eyes. But beneath that immediate terror, Gu Mengran also saw unmistakable resentment… and a deep, smoldering refusal to surrender.

They had paid a horrific price in blood and loss. To simply walk away now would render all those deaths meaningless. It was an all-or-nothing gamble—either they seized control of the ship, or they would all perish with it.

There was no turning back now.

“Woooooo—”

A deep, resonating horn suddenly blared—not from the damaged Yongyue, but from somewhere deep within the ship’s bowels, below the deck. It was close.

Gu Mengran’s eyes widened with a spark of understanding. He began to inch cautiously toward the shattered edge of the deck. This time, Liang Zhao didn’t attempt to restrain him. Instead, he maintained his grip on Gu Mengran’s hand and moved with him, a silent promise of support.

With the railing completely gone, the edge of the deck felt like standing on the precipice of a sheer cliff. One wrong step, one moment of carelessness, and they would be nothing more than a gruesome smear at the bottom.

But Gu Mengran felt no fear—not with Liang Zhao steadfastly beside him. Not with the sleek and powerful Windwing positioned directly beneath his feet, a beacon of potential salvation.

“VROOOOOOM—”

The thunderous roar of powerful engines filled the air, drowning out the lingering sounds of the storm.

The Windwing, the Heng Rong Sheng, and Duan Yueyan’s Decheng—three formidable ships closed in on the crippled Yongyue, converging from three distinct directions—front, rear, and starboard—locking the massive cruise ship in a deadly, inescapable pincer.

The first strike landed true, a decisive maneuver in the unfolding maritime chess game.

Heng Rong Sheng, with skillful precision, squeezed in from the Yongyue’s flank, swinging around to effectively block its forward path, forcing the massive cruise ship to decelerate.

Hot on its heels, Windwing executed a swift interception, immediately cutting in on the Yongyue’s starboard side, strategically preventing it from altering course and attempting an escape. Finally, Decheng, the last to arrive on the scene, sealed off the rear, eliminating any possibility of the Yongyue reversing its powerful propellers and backing away.

Towering mountains formed an impassable barrier to the left. Ahead, behind, and to the right, the three determined enemy ships converged, tightening their noose. In a matter of mere minutes, the Yongyue, which had once confidently cruised these waters as if they were its own dominion, had become a trapped leviathan within a watery cage.

Could it still break free?

Technically, the answer was yes. If the captain dared to unleash its sheer brute force and ram through the smaller vessels, it likely possessed the mass to do so. The immense cruise ship dwarfed the three midsize freighters surrounding it.

But the critical deterrent was the captain’s apprehension.

Compared to the freighters that sat low in the water, the cruise ship was significantly taller and bulkier—its six towering decks elevating its center of gravity to a dangerously precarious height. Despite its excellent inherent stability and storm resistance, in such extreme close-quarters combat, a poorly executed impact could potentially tip the entire colossal vessel.

And the very fact that the other three ships dared to box them in with such audacity spoke volumes: Go ahead. Crash into us. We’re prepared to descend together into the depths.

This was far more than a simple standoff. It was a high-stakes gamble, a deadly game of chicken played out on the rain-swept lake.

At the helm, Dong Hongbo’s knuckles were white as he gripped the ship’s wheel—and hesitated, the weight of the potential consequences a palpable burden.

“Zzzzt—Captain! Captain! The last group of rats from the fifth floor are coming down! Please advise!”

“They’re moving fast—they’ve got weapons and they’re heading directly toward the bridge!”

The intercom crackled with static and rising tension, the urgent voices painting a grim picture. Dong Hongbo finally snapped, his composure shattering. He slammed his fist with brutal force onto the control panel and snatched up the receiver, his voice laced with furious disbelief.

“Useless! You’re all f**king useless! Can’t even hold off a bunch of old folks and cripples—what the hell do I pay you for?!”

But after that violent outburst, he took a ragged breath, forcing his voice to a lower, more controlled register.

“Xiao Wang, you guys were my first crew—you’re the real backbone of the Yongyue. I don’t care what you have to do, what the cost may be—don’t let them reach the bridge. Understood?”

“Copy that!” came the firm, unwavering reply, a lifeline of loyalty in the escalating chaos.

Dong Hongbo slammed the intercom back into its cradle, rose abruptly from the captain’s seat, and shot a hard, decisive look at the man standing beside him, his eyes conveying the gravity of the situation.

“You take the wheel. Try to break through this blockade—just make damn sure you don’t capsize this floating palace.”

“Understood,” the man replied, his face grim with the weight of the order.

……

On the other side, their reinforcements had arrived.

Once they were reasonably certain that the Yongyue wouldn’t resume its violent shaking, Zhou Jing, Sister Fang, Xiao Dong, and over a dozen other young men and women swiftly rappelled down to the fourth-floor deck using the ropes they had secured earlier.

The elderly villagers, still reeling from shock or tending to their wounds, remained behind to rest and recover. The roughly twenty young fighters, their faces grim but resolute, picked up their retrieved weapons once more—and without a moment’s hesitation, began their determined march toward the bridge, their footsteps echoing with grim purpose on the steel deck.

They had received ample warning. Gu Mengran and the others had emphasized the possibility of remaining enemies lurking on the fourth floor. Therefore, when they approached the bow of the ship and a tightly sealed cabin door on the inner side of the deck abruptly burst open, they weren’t taken entirely by surprise.

No words were exchanged—only the sharp, brutal clang of steel colliding with steel. Roughly twenty to thirty figures surged out of the doorway, and the two groups clashed instantaneously on the narrow, exposed deck, weapons raised in a desperate ballet of violence.

Gone was the initial hesitation that had marked earlier skirmishes. Too many of their own had fallen by now, their lives extinguished in the preceding chaos. The villagers’ eyes burned with a fierce, unadulterated rage. Swinging axes, crude blades, and makeshift iron rods with every ounce of their remaining strength, they struck with a grim, merciless determination.

Anger, after all, was a potent fuel, lending a desperate strength. Twenty villagers against thirty well-entrenched enemies—and yet, the brutal fight remained a brutal deadlock. But the longer the desperate struggle dragged on, the more the sheer weight of numbers began to work inexorably against them. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the villagers began to falter, their initial fury unable to fully compensate for their dwindling numbers.

The chainsaw—their most formidable weapon, a symbol of their initial breakthrough—had long since been lost to the unforgiving sea. Without its terrifying power, the chances of winning this close-quarters brawl were rapidly diminishing. Gu Mengran briefly considered retrieving another from his protected space, but the relentless onslaught of flashing blades and swinging clubs offered no safe opening, no respite to reach within.

One by one, most of them sustained injuries, the sharp edges of desperation drawing blood. Gu Mengran and Liang Zhao were no exceptions, each bearing the marks of the brutal struggle.

Their fury continued to burn with undiminished intensity, but their physical strength was rapidly ebbing away, their movements growing sluggish and heavy. Gu Mengran had just barely managed to parry a descending blade with a length of metal pipe when, out of the corner of his weary eye, he saw Xiao Dong absorb a brutal, sickening blow to the head.

Completely drained, his reserves utterly depleted, Xiao Dong was clearly teetering on the brink of collapse. The heavy impact landed squarely on his forehead, sending him staggering backward in a disoriented daze—his unsteady steps leading him inexorably toward the ship’s unguarded railing.

Smelling the metallic tang of fresh blood, a nearby enemy seized the opportune moment with cruel precision. Raising a half-meter-long watermelon knife, its blade glinting ominously in the dim light, he charged forward with a guttural cry, aiming the deadly point directly for Xiao Dong’s unprotected chest.

“Xiao Dong!” Gu Mengran roared in desperate warning, utterly powerless to intervene as the razor-sharp blade hurtled closer to its intended target.

Just as the very tip of the knife was mere millimeters away from piercing Xiao Dong’s skin—the attacker suddenly froze mid-stride, his aggressive momentum abruptly arrested by an unseen force.

For a fleeting second or two, he simply stood there, an unnerving tableau of halted violence. Then, slowly, almost in disbelief, his head began to lower—only to reveal the bloody tip of another blade, cruelly protruding through his chest from behind. His eyes widened in a final, silent expression of shock and disbelief before his lifeless body crumpled to the cold steel deck.

Zhou Zhiqi was back—and he had brought reinforcements.

Their numbers were small—barely a dozen fresh faces amidst the carnage—but it was immediately apparent that they had encountered minimal resistance on their swift journey here. They were still fresh, their stamina untouched by the brutal fighting.

A godsend in this desperate hour. With the addition of just a few more determined fighters, the precarious tide of battle instantly began to shift, a glimmer of hope igniting in the grim struggle.

Of course, dozens of enemies still remained, their numbers a significant obstacle, so the brutal conflict was far from over. Zhou Zhiqi dispatched one remaining enemy with a swift, decisive strike of his own weapon, then turned to Gu Mengran and the other battered villagers, offering a sharp, urgent wave of his hand.

“Go! Head straight for the bridge—we’ve got this! Don’t waste any more time!”

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