Apocalyptic Rebirth: With a repairman system space, she rises again.-Chapter 711: Hoping for a new Ally.

Moon didn’t flinch. She kept walking as the rest of the entourage followed her, looking significantly more terrified than she did. When they reached the edge of the camp, a blonde-haired man with black marks tattooed across his face stepped forward. The marks looked like soot rubbed into deep scars. He looked at Moon, then at the men behind her.

His eyes were empty, dark like the sky was at the very moment. But Moon could feel weighing the value of their group. If her found them useless, their fate would be sealed in flames.

Despite her heart skipping a terrified beat, she went ahead to face him. "I am the Prophetess Moon," she announced, her voice dripping with an authority she hadn’t been invited to use. "The only one who can see the threads of tomorrow in this unpredictable world. And I am not here to talk to just anyone. I want to talk to your leader."

The tattooed man narrowed his eyes. He pointed a charred finger toward Tigan and the others. "Are you with them?"

Tigan stepped up, his hand hovering near his sidearm. "Of course she’s with us. We’re a delegation from Crosstown, here for peace talks and to welcome you all into the fold."

Moon didn’t answer immediately. She looked at Tigan, then back at the tattooed man, her expression unreadable as if she were weighing whether Tigan was worth the association. After a long, agonizing pause, she gave a sharp nod. "They are my escort."

"Follow," the man commanded.

They were ushered into a rusted, heavy-duty transport vehicle. The drive was short but grim. They were taken into what was left of neighboring town. It was a graveyard of buildings. Everything was black_ burnt to ashes, melted into surreal shapes.

As they drove through the center of the ruins, Tigan’s face went pale. People were actually living there, but it wasn’t a life most would recognize. They lived in temporary tents made of charred canvas and scrap metal. As they passed a pile of burnt dead bodies stacked near a collapsed wall, Tigan instinctively squeezed into the back of the car, worried that he would end up like one of those corpses. He made the sign of the cross, just in case.

Moon caught the movement and chuckled, though there was no warmth in it. "I didn’t realize you were a man of faith, Tigan. A bit late for that, don’t you think?"

""You do not know me as much as you think you do," Tigan snapped.

"I already told you what this army does," Moon said, looking out the window with a bored expression. "They don’t leave survivors. They leave charcoal. You should be thanking me that we’re sitting in a car and not on that pile."

Tigan looked at the survivors in the town. They were people--living, breathing, people. So, what were they, if the pyrokinetic army didn’t leave survivors?

The vehicle stopped in front of a massive, reinforced tent that stood out from the rest. The tattooed man hopped out and gestured for them to wait. He disappeared inside for a few minutes while the Crosstown group stood in the oppressive heat, surrounded by pyrokinetic soldiers who watched them like predators.

When the man returned, he looked straight at the group. "The Fire King will see one of you."

Tigan immediately stepped forward, puffing out his chest. "I am the head of this delegation. I speak for Peter Strauss."

The messenger didn’t even blink. He moved his gaze past Tigan and pointed a finger directly at Moon. "He will talk to the seer. Only the woman."

Moon smirked, patting Tigan on the shoulder as she walked past him. "Don’t pout, Tigan. It causes wrinkles. Stay here and try not to get cooked."

She entered the tent. It was surprisingly cool inside, draped in heavy, dark fabrics. A large bed covered with animal furs was at the back. Three women were asleep, all barely dressed.

Two superhumans were working together to keep them cool. One was creating ice, and the other was using wind to spread the cool air.

In the center, sitting on a cheap, blue plastic stool that looked entirely out of place, was a man. He was bold, with dark skin. His torso and arms were covered in scars from the many battles he had survived. His eyes were glowing with an unnatural, flickering amber light. He looked her up and down, measuring her.

"So," he said, his voice like grinding stones. "You’re the famous Moon Raine. The one who sees the future."

Moon chuckled lightly, smoothing out her skirt as she took a seat on a wooden bench opposite him. She crossed one leg over the other, looking as comfortable as if she were at a tea party.

"Yes, I am," she said. "And I also know that you are... Garrison Holt."

The man practically levitated off the plastic stool. It clattered backward against the rug as he stood up, his face a mask of pure shock. He hadn’t heard that name in over a year, not since the world had turned to cinders. He had buried Garrison Holt deep under the title of the Fire King.

"How..." he stammered, his fire-lit eyes widening.

"I told you," Moon said, leaning back. "I’m a prophetess. I know the names people hide. I know the things they fear. And right now, Garrison, I know you’re looking for a way into Crosstown that doesn’t involve losing half your men to Peter’s defenses."

Garrison righted his stool and sat back down, his posture completely different now. He was leaning in, hooked. "I was told Peter Strauss sent you to negotiate his survival."

"Peter thinks he sent me here for that," Moon said, rubbing an eyebrow thoughtfully. "He’s a very confident man. A bit too confident. He thinks I’m his most prized possession_ a tool he can use to build his empire."

Garrison grunted. "My terms are simple. I leave Crosstown with my army and their supplies, but I take you with me. A woman who knows the future? That’s worth more than a city."

Moon let out a genuine laugh this time. "Oh, Garrison. I’d love to go with you, really. But there’s a much better way. Why live in tents and ash when you could live here?"

Garrison frowned, his brow furrowing. "Peter Strauss would never surrender his seat. I know there are superhumans within Cross town and the survivalist nutjobs who prepared those bunkers have many weapons. Without assessing their capability, I would rather not dive into battle blindly. Pyrokinetics can die too, we are not invincible."

"Who said anything about him surrendering?" Moon’s eyes flashed with a cold, sharp intelligence. "He has to be eliminated, obviously. He’s the obstacle. He treats me like a bird in a cage, and I’m quite tired of the bars. I helped him build that empire. I’m the reason he has survived thus far. I can do the same for you. What do you say?"