Chapter 89: The First Signs of Calamity

The sky was a dazzling turquoise, layered with clouds and mist. The fields were lush and green, the rice paddies stretching far and wide. As June approached, the southern air of Tamil Nadu grew increasingly warm. In India’s southern state, life carried on as usual. Fishermen set out to sea, and Choudhury arrived at the port at dawn, content with his life—a gentle, virtuous wife, three obedient children. Since he had begun fishing, prosperity had found its way to his family.

“May Shiva bless us. Let this voyage bring a good harvest,” Choudhury prayed sincerely. Shiva, the third of the three great Indian deities—also known as Siva—was revered as a god of prosperity and auspiciousness, but also of destruction, the lord of life and death, called the Destroyer.

He boarded his vessel, a grand fishing boat, and took pride in its size; few in the port could match its tonnage. It stood out among the rest, granting him a sense of superiority and accomplishment. Untying the mooring ropes, Choudhury hollered for his crew to come aboard at once. “Damn these sailors, still playing cards at this hour—don’t they know that a lucky tide is essential for a fruitful catch?” he scolded with a smile, his tone more amused than reproachful.

The crew tossed aside their cards and leapt onto the boat, each man hurrying to his duty, eager for a good catch and hoping for an early return. Choudhury entered the cabin. Everything was ready—the ropes coiled, the anchor hoisted—and he prepared to start the engine.

“Oh my god, look—what is that?” a crewman shouted, both astonished and, unmistakably, afraid.

Choudhury craned his head out, his expression frozen in disbelief. “What… what is that?”

In the distance, beyond the port, a gray mass loomed—a mountain drawing nearer, towering a hundred feet high, its breadth immeasurable. “A mirage?” Choudhury wondered. “No, this is not a mirage; mirages do not roar.”

Thunderous noise grew louder as the mountain closed in. Everyone in the port noticed the unnatural sight, staring, stunned. Someone cried out, “Run! It’s a tidal wave!”

The shout jolted them awake—they realized it was no mountain, but a monstrous wave, a hundred feet tall. From afar, its gray bulk seemed indistinct, but as it approached, its fury was undeniable, threatening to crush all beneath it. Even the slightest glance revealed its unstoppable force.

“If it reaches land, how much destruction will it bring?” That was the silent question in everyone’s heart. Had Brahma abandoned his children? Life was precious; nothing mattered more. The port erupted in chaos, people fleeing inland to higher ground.

In this moment, everyone cursed their mothers for not giving them extra legs. Against nature’s wrath, all efforts were futile. The wave swung its gigantic arms, roaring, smashing down; boats were overturned and swallowed by the sea in an instant. Its rage unquenched, the hundred-meter wave surged farther inland, sweeping away people, houses, all into deep darkness.

When the wave receded, Choudhury, trembling, dared to poke his head out. Survival amid such terror was a miracle. He felt as though he had endured a nightmare, but the wetness clinging to him proved it was all too real.

The sky was crushed beneath heavy clouds, lightning flashing ceaselessly. Choudhury’s face was pale, his body shaking. He surveyed his surroundings, only to find everything transformed. The once thriving port had vanished; in its place, a desolate shore, battered boats lying silent, splintered boards and collapsed walls everywhere—along with the bodies of the dead. It seemed he was the only survivor.

“Heavens… what has happened?” Choudhury suddenly remembered his family and scrambled to his feet, racing toward home, praying his wife and children were safe.

The wave had passed, but its destruction was absolute. A peaceful port obliterated in an instant, countless lives lost to disaster. Yet no one knew this was only a portent—a mere beginning. Greater unknown calamities would follow, as nature’s fury burned unchecked, mercilessly claiming more lives.

A sudden tsunami robbed countless families in Tamil Nadu of their laughter, plunging them into grief. Disaster is heartless. The government of Tamil Nadu launched a massive emergency rescue operation, assembling joint teams of police, soldiers, and firefighters to aid the victims. Nations around the world sent doctors, working round the clock to save the severely injured. Yet these were actions after the fact; many lives were lost in the very moment disaster struck.

According to preliminary government statistics, Tamil Nadu alone had established 421 temporary shelters, affecting roughly 300,000 people, with housing and food in crisis. The next day, the head of the state’s Disaster and Relief Department announced that as of that morning, 16,387 deaths had been confirmed, and 1.21 million people affected.

And this was only a conservative estimate—just one day had passed. The real numbers would surely be far higher once all data was gathered.

The devastation was not confined to India. Nearly all of India’s maritime neighbors were impacted, though none as severely as India itself.

It was a catastrophe. For the Indian government, a nation of over a billion people, even small disasters could have unimaginable consequences—let alone one of such magnitude.

International aid poured into the disaster zone, humanitarian spirit shining through. Countries sent their brightest, helping victims rebuild and studying ways to improve tsunami warning systems.

Because Tamil Nadu bore the brunt of the disaster, it was named the Indian Ocean Tamil Nadu Tsunami.

Meanwhile, the search for the cause pressed on. Within half a day, experts worldwide reached a consensus: intensified geological activity was maturing new strata, tectonic plates were colliding, releasing vast underground energy and triggering a violent tsunami. The source of India’s disaster was the Indian Ocean, which the locals regarded as their inland sea.

Ultimately, the experts delivered a sobering conclusion: geological movement cannot be resisted by human power. Humanity could only passively endure. Moreover, the Indian Ocean tsunami indirectly heralded a new period of global geological upheaval.

Of course, many scoffed at the experts’ conclusions: “Ridiculous—why not just say the world is ending?”

Yet just two days later, all mockery vanished like wind.

On May 13, 2009, barely two days after the Tamil Nadu tsunami, an even greater calamity erupted. At 3 a.m., people across Southeast Asia felt the ground tremble, waking them from sleep. None suspected that, at that very moment nearby, countless lives were again lost to disaster. It was only the next morning, when they turned on their televisions, that they realized how close death had come.

According to news reports of May 13, at 3:12 a.m. a powerful undersea earthquake struck the South Pacific, reaching a terrifying magnitude of 10. It was followed by more than a dozen aftershocks exceeding magnitude 9, spawning a once-in-a-century super tsunami. The waves rushed toward coastal nations, reaching the Philippines in just twenty minutes, swallowing coastal cities. Because it was deep in the night, most people slept unaware, and death claimed them silently.

Seven minutes later, the coasts of Malaysia and Brunei suffered a fate much like the Philippines, as the tsunami claimed countless lives. The furious waves did not relent, but surged onward.

East Timor, Indonesia, Singapore, Vietnam—the overwhelming waves swallowed their shores one by one. Even distant Hong Kong, Taiwan, and mainland China’s coastlines were affected to varying degrees.

The announcement stunned the world. Even a fool could grasp the severity; this disaster was far more devastating than the Tamil Nadu tsunami. One wave had barely subsided before another rose, even more severe. While the aftermath of the Tamil Nadu disaster was still unresolved, a new catastrophe struck. Amid shock, everyone wondered: had nature truly grown angry? Was this its revenge upon humanity?

Many believers prayed fervently: “God, why do you not protect your children?” For a time, churches everywhere were filled to overflowing.

Such is human nature—when their own strength cannot solve a problem, they turn to the gods, hoping for divine intervention. During this period, Joseph Peter XVI suffered and rejoiced in equal measure—grieving for the suffering of humanity, but pleased by the influx of new believers, a breath of life for the battered Church.

When Leng Bingyan first heard the news, he wondered if it was connected to disturbances in the world’s spiritual veins. He contacted the Ghost King of Mang Mountain, who confirmed the cause: these disasters were indeed the result of instability in the earth’s spiritual currents.

The burden on his shoulders grew heavier. Leng Bingyan learned that without the Ghost King’s suppression, the disasters would have been even worse. It was clear that finding the remaining three Dragon Cauldrons could not be delayed any longer.