351-355

*Chapter 351: A Crazy Idea*

"...As long as we execute the plan properly, these funds will be converted into our political capital. We can use them to build a stronger military, maintain control over Haiti’s situation, and even buy off a few protest leaders and local media to lay the groundwork for the upcoming elections."

Although he had ascended to power through a military coup, it did not mean his position was secure.

The new president was well aware that his success in taking office was not solely due to the military strength he wielded but also largely because of the unpopularity of his predecessor.

The previous president’s severe corruption, coupled with the sudden devastation of an earthquake and the government's disastrous response, had fueled massive public resentment. The new president had seized the opportunity to overthrow the administration and take power.

However, after assuming office, he was not concerned with eliminating corruption or winning public support.

Instead, he sought to tighten his grip on Haiti through stronger means, ensuring that he would not become the next president to be overthrown.

In a sense, as long as such a president remained in power, Haiti would never escape its cycle of chaos and poverty.

"Mr. President, the High Priest has arrived."

Inside the presidential office, as the new president and military representatives discussed how to appropriate the donated funds, a voice suddenly came from outside.

Upon hearing the announcement, the president and the military representatives exchanged glances, their expressions subtly shifting.

The president instinctively adjusted his tie, cleared his throat lightly, and then spoke to the soldier outside, "Let the High Priest in."

"Understood!"

With the order given, the soldier turned and left.

Only when the footsteps outside gradually faded did the new president exhale in relief.

Fear of Vodou was deeply ingrained in the hearts of Haitians—even the president was not exempt.

However, he had no choice but to maintain good relations with the Vodou order. His rise to power had been facilitated not only by the military’s support but also by Vodou’s influence.

Through the people's fear and reverence for Vodou, he had managed to suppress the chaos following the earthquake, preventing his swift removal from office.

Taking a deep breath to compose himself, the president watched as the High Priest entered his office.

"Mr. President."

The moment the High Priest appeared, the atmosphere in the office became noticeably heavier.

With his withered face, the High Priest nodded at the president without any sign of deference.

To him, only the Vodou Queen and the Loa spirits were worthy of respect. It did not matter who held the presidency—Haiti’s leader was insignificant in the eyes of Vodou.

"High Priest."

The president’s gaze flickered to the head resting on the High Priest’s shoulders, suppressing his discomfort. Forcing a smile, he asked, "What brings you to the presidential palace today?"

"The Vodou Festival is approaching. This year’s festival is special, and I require your cooperation."

"The Vodou Festival?"

The president’s eyes flashed with realization.

In recent weeks, he had been preoccupied with pressing matters and had nearly forgotten about the festival.

Ordinarily, the Vodou Festival had little to do with the president. His role in past celebrations had been merely symbolic—attending as a gesture of the Haitian government’s support for the indigenous faith.

However, from the High Priest’s words, it seemed that this year’s festival was different.

"May I ask what makes this year’s festival so special?"

After a moment of contemplation, the president cautiously probed for more information.

"I’m afraid I cannot disclose that, Mr. President."

Without hesitation, the High Priest rejected the inquiry.

He touched his throat and looked at the president with his murky eyes. "You only need to understand one thing—once the ritual is complete, Haiti will undergo an earth-shattering transformation. The United Nations peacekeeping forces, the United States, China—none of them will be an issue anymore. We will stand on equal footing with the world's great powers, and Vodou will become the most revered faith in existence. People from across the world will bow before us…"

"Equal footing with world powers?"

Hearing the High Priest’s outlandish declaration, the president’s eyes revealed a trace of bewilderment.

He thought the High Priest had gone completely mad—or perhaps the man had spent too long in Haiti, never witnessing the reality of other nations.

As Haiti’s president, standing at the peak of power, he understood more than anyone else the stark disparities between nations. The gap between countries was even greater than the gap between individuals.

The wealth, military power, and resources controlled by superpowers were beyond comprehension.

The budget of a single U.S. state or Chinese province for one year likely surpassed Haiti’s economy for several years combined.

Nevertheless, despite his disbelief in the High Priest’s absurd claims, the president maintained a neutral expression, refraining from argument.

"I know you do not believe me right now."

Although the president had not openly challenged his words, the High Priest saw through his skepticism.

However, he displayed no anger—his face remained impassive as he said, "But it won’t take long. Once the Vodou Festival is over, you will understand, Mr. President."

"Remember this: Vodou is the foundation of Haiti. Only through Vodou can Haiti rise again."

After discussing the festival arrangements for two days later, the High Priest left behind these cryptic words and turned to leave.

As he watched the High Priest’s retreating figure, the previously silent military representative finally spoke.

"Do you think the High Priest can truly make Haiti an equal to the great powers of the world?"

"Absolutely not."

Shaking his head, the president remained unconvinced, no matter how adamantly the High Priest spoke.

"Even if such an opportunity were to arise, the superpowers would never allow it to happen in Haiti. The moment they imposed sanctions, Haiti’s fragile economy and society would collapse instantly."

Chapter 352: The Oracle

Leaving the presidential palace, the High Priest touched the head hanging from his neck.

He knew the new president did not believe a word he had said.

But that didn’t matter.

The man was just an ignorant mortal—how could he possibly comprehend the greatness of the Loa gods?

As he stroked the head on his chest, listening to its faint, almost imperceptible wailing, the High Priest stepped toward a car parked not far away.

"Voodoo Festival."

At that moment, a thin, mangy stray dog with a scabby, pitted body suddenly approached him.

The High Priest frowned at the ugly, foul-smelling creature.

But in the next instant, his expression changed drastically. The stray dog opened its mouth, and the voice that came out was unmistakably that of Papa Legba.

"Papa Legba?!"

The dog was a symbol of Papa Legba, and it seemed that the Loa deity was using this wretched animal to deliver a divine message.

"Two days from now, during the Voodoo Festival, the power of tens of thousands of voodoo followers will act as a conduit, summoning the lost souls of those who perished in the earthquake. At that time, I will open the *Spirit Realm*—and the Voodoo Queen of the Underworld will descend upon this world, serving as the link between Voodoo and reality..."

Papa Legba’s raspy, piercing voice emerged from the dog's mouth.

Hearing the oracle, the High Priest's face lit up with exhilaration.

"Whimper—"

As soon as the message was delivered, the stray dog, which had been lively just moments before, suddenly let out a pitiful cry. Blood poured from its eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, and it collapsed lifelessly at the High Priest's feet. Within seconds, its entire body began to rot, releasing a foul stench.

The High Priest remained unfazed.

He understood the reason. Even a mere fraction of Papa Legba’s presence was an overwhelming force for a creature as insignificant as a stray dog. The animal's life had ended the moment it completed its purpose—nothing more than the natural consequence of being a vessel for divine will.

Retracting his gaze from the dog's rotting corpse, the High Priest touched the head on his chest once more.

Though the faint wails continued, he could now sense something else within them—joy.

---

"Are you the one who reported this?"

Port-au-Prince, slums.

After receiving an emergency call from the patrol unit, a squad of armed police officers arrived at the crime scene.

Typically, the police rarely responded to deaths in Sun City.

For one, as the most lawless district in all of Haiti, Sun City saw daily deaths and injuries—eighty percent of which were gang-related. Any police involvement risked retaliation. Moreover, even if they did investigate, Haiti’s chaotic law enforcement system meant that criminals often escaped to nearby cities, making convictions nearly impossible.

However, despite knowing the risks, the Haitian police still sent officers to investigate this time.

The main reason? The patrol unit reported that the dead gang members were armed. Additionally, their deaths were particularly bizarre.

"These weapons likely belong to the batch of firearms stolen from the police department during the earthquake."

Upon arrival, the officers quickly identified the source of the gang members’ submachine guns.

"According to the patrol unit, these guys had just finished a robbery nearby when they were ambushed on their way back."

After questioning the patrol officers and retracing the gang members’ steps, the investigators found the robbery victim—dead, with a gunshot wound to the chest.

If he had been taken to a hospital, he might have survived. But the gangsters hadn’t cared. They left him to bleed out.

"Damn scumbags."

One of the Haitian officers muttered a curse under his breath as he looked at the lifeless homeowner.

"They got what they deserved," another officer remarked.

Indeed.

The gang members’ deaths were even more gruesome than their victim’s. Their bodies were torn apart, as if mauled by a wild beast—nothing but mangled flesh and exposed bone.

The only intact corpse was riddled with bullet holes.

"So, what the hell happened here?"

One officer frowned as he examined the scene.

"The one full of bullet holes—based on his gear, weapons, and tattoos—was clearly with the rest of them. But he was killed by his own crew."

The inconsistent manner of death puzzled the investigating officers.

"Could've been infighting. That’s common in these gangs."

"If the bullet-riddled guy died in a dispute, then what killed the others?"

"Their injuries look like dog bites. Maybe after the robbery, they started arguing over how to split the loot, things got heated, they turned on each other, and in the end, they all got shot. Then the stray dogs in Sun City feasted on their corpses, leaving them in this state."

To the police, the dead gang members were nothing more than human trash.

There was no need for a thorough investigation.

Making a few guesses, they hastily wrapped up their report, gathered the confiscated firearms, and left the slums.

Even as officers of the law, they knew how dangerous Sun City was. Now that they were in possession of stolen police weapons, the chance of an ambush was even higher.

Shortly after they left—

A tall, battle-hardened figure arrived at the crime scene.

Ignoring the curious and whispering slum residents, he surveyed the bullet-ridden walls, the pools of dried blood, and finally, a shallow crater in the ground.

Sniffing the air, he furrowed his brows.

Then, his scarred face twisted into a sinister grin.

"Found you, pup."

*Chapter 353: The Voodoo Festival*

Two days later, in Port-au-Prince, Haiti.

A long-awaited festival brought a rare moment of joy to this impoverished nation.

To outsiders, Voodoo is often seen as an evil faith, and its festivals are filled with eerie and unsettling symbolism.

But for the Haitian people,

The Voodoo Festival is the only solace in their difficult and underprivileged lives. On this day, they temporarily forget their daily struggles and devote themselves entirely to their faith in the Loa spirits, celebrating with dance and rituals to appease the gods.

On the streets, tens of thousands of Voodoo believers gathered, parading joyfully to mark the occasion.

Leading the procession, several half-naked Voodoo priests beat on leather drums while performing strange, rhythmic dances.

Behind them, a group of followers with their faces painted white carried freshly slaughtered pigs as offerings to the Loa spirits.

On both sides of the streets, local residents knelt in reverence as the parade passed. Some bowed repeatedly, muttering prayers while rubbing their hands together, pleading for the Loa's blessings.

Beyond the parade, the festival had also drawn numerous street vendors.

They carried wooden boards around their necks, displaying an assortment of cheap snacks and drinks, shouting to attract customers from among the passing believers.

The Voodoo Festival wasn’t just a religious ceremony—it was also an economic opportunity for many Haitians.

“...I’m at the front of the parade.”

Weaving through the dense crowd, Amanda reached a vendor’s stall by the roadside, picking up a mango and gesturing toward the seller.

At the same time, she reported her current position to the others through her earpiece.

Amanda had changed significantly from when she first arrived in Haiti a few days ago.

Her entire face was now concealed beneath a veil, leaving only her eyes exposed.

In a country predominantly populated by Black people, the BSI team’s faces stood out too much. Over the past few days, they had repeatedly felt the weight of curious and suspicious glances from those around them.

Especially during such a grand event as the Voodoo Festival, the presence of a few White and Asian individuals was like a beacon, making them unmistakably different from the crowd.

To avoid unnecessary attention, the BSI team had disguised themselves.

Though their headscarves were still somewhat conspicuous, they were at least less obvious than before.

Now, most passersby only cast brief glances before quickly looking away, rather than staring at them as they had before.

“I’ve been following the parade from behind. The procession is even longer than I expected, and more people keep joining in.”

Following the crowd, Agent Phil glanced at the fervent Haitian believers behind him and reported into his earpiece.

“I’m near the Presidential Palace. A large number of festival-goers have already gathered here. Rumor has it that the new president will be attending this year’s Voodoo Festival.”

Frowning, he surveyed the densely packed crowd before turning his attention to the Haitian Presidential Palace—also known as the ‘Little White House’—which bore some resemblance to the White House in Washington, D.C.

“Based on past festival traditions, the parade will eventually converge at the Grand Cathedral.”

Angela glanced at the area surrounding the church. Near a massive bonfire, Voodoo priests danced in a trance, chanting incantations under their breath.

“In front of the church, the faithful will undergo a fire ritual, cleansing themselves of sin while seeking blessings for health and good fortune.”

To Angela, if this so-called purification ritual actually worked, then the people taking part in it wouldn’t still be living in poverty.

But thinking about what might soon unfold, she clenched her fists tightly.

“So, this is the prophesied final location?”

Standing near the cathedral, Spike gazed up at the grand structure, his expression darkening slightly.

Through his psychic abilities, he saw things others could not.

The Voodoo church now radiated an even more ominous aura than it had two days ago. In the distance, he could faintly hear agonized screams echoing from within.

“That’s right.”

Hearing Spike’s words,

The fortune teller, his face pale, nodded. From the small pouch on his back, a *Voodoo doll* crawled up into his arms, its yarn-stitched hands gently tapping his chin as if trying to comfort him.

“Is there truly no way to stop it?”

Withdrawing his gaze from the cathedral, Spike turned to Joey, the fortune teller, asking a seemingly random question.

“This ‘future’ is destined to happen. All we can do is watch.”

Joey shook his head, offering an equally cryptic reply.

Hearing this, Spike ran his fingers over the ring on his hand and sighed.

“What a hopeless ‘future’ this is.”

While Spike and Joey exchanged mysterious words—

“The president is coming out.”

Outside the Presidential Palace,

Agent Zhou watched as troops suddenly emerged from the Little White House, followed by the president, who was being escorted in a vehicle. He immediately reported into his earpiece.

With the president’s arrival, the Voodoo Festival seemed to reach a climax.

More and more believers left the parade to encircle him, dancing feverishly while chanting under their breath.

At the front of the procession, the drumming priests abruptly halted their rhythm. They turned toward the slaughtered pigs carried by the believers and knelt in reverence.

“...Papa Legba, guardian of the crossroads, grant us your guidance. Open the gates between life and death for us… Voodoo Queen, before the eyes of all, you shall rise again…”

As the priests knelt before the sacrificial offering, they chanted incantations.

And at that moment, the eyes of the dead pigs began to bleed.

Hiding within the crowd, Amanda’s gaze flickered at the eerie sight.

For a pig’s lifeless eyes to suddenly ooze blood—at any time, in any place—was undeniably horrifying.

Yet, rather than reacting with fear, the surrounding Haitians became even more fervent.

They repeatedly bowed their heads to the ground, murmuring in their native tongue, fully immersed in religious ecstasy.

A powerful wave of religious fanaticism surged through the entire parade.

Standing in the midst of it all, Amanda felt like a small boat tossed upon a stormy sea, ready to be swallowed at any moment.

*Chapter 354: The Ritual*

She shook her head, forcing herself to pull away from the feverish atmosphere surrounding her.

Amanda reached up and grasped the necklace around her neck.

As an American, she shouldn’t have felt such fervor toward a religion like Vodou.

Yet, just a moment ago—

It was as if she had been swallowed by a massive tidal wave, almost falling to her knees in reverence alongside the zealous believers around her.

"These Vodou priests… there’s something strange about them."

Taking a few steps back to distance herself from the fervent Vodou followers, Amanda observed the priests at the front of the procession, waving their hands and chanting incantations. She then shifted her gaze to the believers dancing around the crowd in sync with the priests’ chants.

There was no doubt—the extreme devotion exhibited by the surrounding crowd was being manipulated by these Vodou priests.

But why?

At this moment, Amanda couldn’t determine their true purpose.

Due to her limited knowledge of the Vodou Festival, she couldn’t be sure whether this kind of fervor was a normal occurrence in past festivals or if it was unique to this one.

If it was the former, then it was simply part of the ‘usual’ festival activities. But if it was the latter…

—

*Ding! A change in the storyline has occurred. Lacking critical [materials]. Please insert them to correct the script.*

In Port-au-Prince, the Vodou Festival was in full swing.

A sudden notification popped up on the system panel.

"That’s not right… this was supposed to be…"

Allen, who was in San Marino, raised an eyebrow at the distorted message before him.

He looked at the BSI agents on the system screen, whose images were partially obscured by the notification, hesitating for a moment.

Then, with some reluctance, he retrieved a *Silver*-grade card from his inventory and inserted it as [material] into the script.

*Ding! Material inserted. The script is automatically correcting itself!*

As the scene card was consumed, the distorted notification disappeared.

The script resumed its progression.

—

"Boss."

Following the fervent procession, Amanda arrived at the final destination—the Vodou church.

Using her radio, she contacted her team. Before long, the remaining SBI squad members gathered near the church.

"So far, everything still appears to be just part of a religious festival celebration."

Watching the new president of Haiti, who was giving a speech to the festival attendees while being heavily guarded by armed soldiers, Agent Zhou lowered his voice as he spoke.

"Not for long," the diviner beside him shook his head.

—

"…I know these are difficult times. All of Haiti has suffered from the disaster that struck last year. Many of you lost your closest friends, family, and loved ones in that devastating earthquake. But pain will pass, and a bright future awaits us. On this Vodou Festival, let us pray for our departed brothers and sisters, wishing them peace in paradise…"

In front of the church, believers danced fervently to the beat of intense drum rhythms, praying passionately.

As instructed by the high priest, the new president solemnly recited his oath to the people gathered before him.

Upon hearing his words, many Haitian citizens clasped their hands together, silently praying for the souls lost in the earthquake.

Inside the church, at the altar where followers were not allowed to enter—

"Come forth, come forth, Great Queen. I pray for your gaze upon us. Mighty Papa Legba, guide us, the keeper of crossroads, show us the way, lead the Queen’s soul back to us…"

The high priest lifted the head he was holding before him, chanting loudly.

Behind him, the flames in the fire basin flickered wildly. The once-red flames, as if affected by an unseen force, began to shift into a spectral blue glow.

Encircling the changing flames, several Vodou priests frantically danced, their movements gradually synchronizing with the drumbeats of the believers outside. The ghostly blue flames swelled in response to their ritual.

"…Come forth, Papa Legba! With faith as our guide, open the gates of the underworld! The Queen’s soul has long awaited her return. Open the door, let the Queen come back!"

Sensing the transformation within the fire basin, the high priest opened his mouth wide, revealing a shriveled, blackened mouth with only a few remaining teeth. He then placed the severed head he had been holding onto the center of the altar—at the heart of Narcisse’s chest.

Taking a bone dagger inscribed with ancient runes, he raised it high and then plunged it forcefully into the head.

—Crack!—

The sharp dagger pierced through the forehead of the withered head, stabbing directly into Narcisse’s heart on the altar.

"Ahhh—!"

The moment the dagger struck, a piercing scream echoed throughout the church.

Black blood oozed from Narcisse’s heart. The shriveled head attached to his chest rapidly swelled, absorbing the blood at an unnatural speed. Within mere seconds, a lifelike human head emerged from Narcisse’s torso.

Her eyes remained shut, yet it seemed as though she could awaken at any moment.

Of course, the high priest knew better.

The head on Narcisse’s chest would not come back to life.

The Queen’s soul still remained trapped in the underworld. This ritual was merely to restore her physical vessel in the mortal realm.

Originally, the intended sacrifice for this ceremony was an *embalmed corpse* that Narcisse had been sent to London to retrieve.

A corpse that remained uncorrupted for centuries would have been the perfect vessel for the Vodou Queen’s return. With such a body, she would have re-entered the mortal world as a powerful entity wielding formidable curses and magic.

Unfortunately, Narcisse had failed him.

Not only had he failed to bring back the preserved corpse, but he had also attempted to betray Vodou.

As punishment for his failure, the high priest had transformed him into a *revenant*, forcing him to serve as the vessel for the Queen—La Vieille.

Staring at the head now embedded in Narcisse’s chest, the high priest extended a finger and gently touched her forehead.

Then, withdrawing his hand, he turned to face the fire basin, now completely engulfed in blue flames. Removing his robe to reveal his emaciated body, he stepped forward and joined the ritual dance, moving wildly in a trance.

Most Vodou ceremonies incorporated dance.

This stemmed from Vodou’s origins in West Africa, where ancestor worship, animism, and spirit channeling were deeply interwoven.

Like shamanic traditions, Vodou rituals and dances held profound mystical significance.

*Chapter 355: An Unusual Event*

Inside the church, the voodoo priests danced wildly around the fire pit. Their movements were frenzied, almost insane.

"...Pain will eventually fade, and the living must continue on. This voodoo festival is our ceremony to honor those who perished in the disaster. May the Voodoo faith bless their souls and grant them peace. May the great Papa Legba guide their lost spirits. May Baron Samedi grant them eternal rest..."

Outside the church, the newly elected president continued his speech.

The "Baron Samedi" he mentioned is the Voodoo god of death, also known as the Baron of the Cemetery. He serves as the mediator between life and death, standing at the crossroads, waiting for the arrival of the departed souls.

"May the Voodoo faith bless their souls!"

"May the great Papa Legba guide their lost spirits!"

"May Baron Samedi grant them eternal rest!"

In front of the church, as the new president prayed, the surrounding believers fervently repeated his words in unison.

A voodoo priest suddenly halted his dance, grabbed a stone from the ground, and repeatedly slammed it against the floor, producing loud, echoing sounds.

This was part of a voodoo ritual—a method to summon Baron Samedi, imbued with the essence of primal religious beliefs.

As the prayers of the people outside and the rituals of the priests intensified, the dance inside the church grew increasingly frenzied. The high priest and others moved as if possessed, their limbs twisting uncontrollably while they chanted strange incantations, loudly praying towards the fire pit at the altar's center.

"Do you feel that the entire voodoo festival is becoming... more and more out of control?"

In the crowd, witnessing the feverish devotion, Agent Phil took a deep breath, scanning the faces of the frenzied believers before whispering to his companion.

"Not ‘becoming’—they’re already completely out of control," Agent Zhou corrected him, shaking his head.

"We have to do something."

Surrounded by voodoo believers, Amanda felt the overwhelming faith pressing in from all directions, threatening to consume them completely. Clenching her teeth against the suffocating intensity, she turned to the group.

"At the very least, we can't let this continue."

Though the true purpose of the voodoo festival was still unclear, Amanda couldn't ignore the seer's prophecy about the "Great Catastrophe." A deep sense of unease was growing within her.

However, before she could act, the seer responded in an eerily calm voice.

"In truth, we are powerless."

"This is the 'future' that has already been determined. The only thing we can do is experience it firsthand."

Joey, once desperate for help when he approached the BSI headquarters, now appeared indifferent to the unfolding chaos.

"I refuse to believe that."

"If the 'future' is truly set in stone, as you claim, then what was the point of all our efforts up until now?!"

Clutching the necklace around her neck, Amanda steeled herself. Even if it meant losing all her memories, she was determined to prevent this 'future' from happening.

"I understand how you feel, Amanda."

Beside her, Spike observed her resolute expression before turning his gaze toward the zealous believers and the voodoo church.

"But sometimes, you have to learn to let go."

His nonchalant response only deepened Amanda’s suspicion that something was amiss.

She turned her head, glancing at the ever-composed seer, Joey, before fixing her gaze on Spike, her brows furrowing.

"You're hiding something from me again, aren't you, Spike?"

"I’m not hiding anything—you all just forgot something important."

Spike shrugged at her accusation, responding casually.

Then, he turned toward the stage where the Haitian president stood, praying, and shifted his gaze to the church behind him.

A moment later, his eyes narrowed slightly as he muttered,

"It has begun."

Before Amanda could question him further, she saw Spike's expression change.

At that very moment, as his words fell, an eerie blue light suddenly burst from within the voodoo church. The glow flickered, and countless blue orbs emerged in the sky above Haiti, as if drawn by an unseen force, rushing desperately toward the church.

"What is that?!"

Amanda’s face was filled with shock as she watched the floating blue orbs.

One of them drifted past her, and as she reached out to touch it, a fragmented, chaotic memory flashed through her mind.

*“Why is there an earthquake…?”*

*“This is the best gourde we can afford…”*

*“Dirt cakes again... why do we always have to eat dirt cakes?”*

*“The corn is sprouting—hopefully, the harvest will be better this year.”*

*“Run! It's an earthquake!”*

In these memories, Amanda saw the harsh life of a Haitian woman struggling in poverty. The final memory lingered on the devastating moment of the Haiti earthquake—violent tremors, deafening crashes—before everything faded to darkness.

Retracting her hand from the glowing orb, Amanda turned to face Spike.

He met her gaze and nodded.

"These are the souls of the victims who perished in the Haiti earthquake."

Hearing his words, Amanda looked up at the countless blue lights filling the sky above the church, their sheer number almost blotting out the heavens. A deep shock rippled through her heart.

These blue lights, each no larger than a fist, had once been living, breathing people.

Officially, Haiti claimed that over 200,000 people had died in the earthquake, but the true number could be even higher.

Shaking off the residual memories of the Haitian woman, Agent Zhou peered at the countless glowing orbs floating around them. Avoiding one drifting too close, he spoke with unease.

A growing sense of dread filled the air—these orbs were no longer mere illusions. They were real, visible, and tangible to everyone present.

In front of the church, many believers had already fallen to their knees, worshipping the glowing orbs as 'miracles.'

But Agent Zhou knew the truth—this was no miracle. This was the beginning of a disaster.

"What is the voodoo faith trying to do?"

"They're using the souls of the tens of thousands who perished in the Haiti earthquake as a conduit to open a gateway to the *Spirit Realm*, summoning the soul of the Voodoo Queen, LaVeyou."

As they finally pieced together the prophecy’s meaning, the truth behind the 'Great Catastrophe' became clear.

But it was already too late.

The voodoo priests had completed their ritual.

The gate to the *Spirit Realm* had been opened, and the god of death had been summoned.

---