The sight of hair peeking through a crack in the eggshell instantly raised goosebumps all over my body. Glancing back at the colossal beast lying there, though it was also covered in hair, it was the feathered kind, like a bird's—feathers with a central shaft and fibers growing out from either side—not the fine, long black strands like human hair.

Could it be that this egg was not laid by the giant beast before me? Or perhaps this species had undergone some mutation under the influence of the Atlanteans?

I soon knew the answer. Because the hatchling inside nudged the shell a few times, and its head pushed its way out.

I don't know how to describe this head; "ugly" or "horrifying" failed to capture my feeling. I can only say it was a human-like skull.

The eyes were enormous, lacking irises, and long, wet black hair draped down the sides of its strange, green-skinned head. The nose was flattened, with two upward-pointing nostrils that were particularly grotesque, and they were currently oozing a disgusting fluid like egg white.

This bizarre thing twisted its body and slowly crawled out of the shell. It was then I saw that this creature possessed a triangular body, much like a dinosaur's, yet it had human-like arms ending in five fingers, and human-like feet, though the skin was green.

The creature's hind limbs were far more developed than its forelimbs. Though it couldn't walk yet, I could imagine that when it could, it would sprint quickly on its rear legs, much like most carnivorous dinosaurs.

This thing, three parts human and seven parts dinosaur, fell to the ground and immediately let out a strange cry, revealing a mouth full of needle-sharp teeth that looked terrifyingly formidable. I instinctively backed up two steps, quite frightened by this creature, while the few Atlanteans nearby seemed incredibly excited, chattering amongst themselves about something.

At that moment, a series of archaeological discoveries that once shocked the world flashed through my mind. On May 7, 1996, the Beijing Evening News, citing reports from Xinhua News Agency and International Radio, announced that American scientists had discovered a 200-million-year-old humanoid fossil in Antarctica.

This fossil was similar to a human but possessed many dinosaurian characteristics. A few years later, Dr.

Latan, a PhD in Botany from the University of Paris, discovered a peculiar tribe of humanoids in the primal forests of Zaire in Africa, whose spinal protrusions were almost identical to a dinosaur's tail. Did these two discoveries suggest that human history extended far beyond 7 million years?

That some form of humanity, perhaps these "Dino-Humans," existed two hundred million years ago or even earlier? Scientists had long theorized about the existence of ancient humans, supported by scattered evidence, but I never expected that, based on what I was seeing and hearing now, ancient humans not only existed but were not the product of natural evolution—some other civilization had intervened in Earth's development.

As I pondered these thoughts, the scene before my eyes went dark again. Next, my vision slowly brightened.

This time, before I could even get a clear look at my surroundings, I heard the hushed weeping of countless people and the crackling sound of things burning. When I finally opened my eyes and took in everything around me, I was utterly stunned.

I saw countless people sitting in the street, weeping with their faces buried in their hands. The surroundings were lined with three- to four-story buildings styled like red-roofed mansions.

The streets were paved with bluestone, and the old-fashioned, large, bright-red fire hydrants along the curb were strikingly conspicuous. Judging by the density of the architecture, the abundance of lanes and shops, and the fair-haired, blue-eyed people on the street, I guessed this was a scene from an old European country.

Turning my gaze to a cross-street beside me, the scene was desolate. The empty street occasionally saw tattered pieces of newspaper drifting by, accompanied by the sounds of weeping, all steeped in an atmosphere of profound sorrow.

Across the street stood a tall, pointed structure built of greenish-blue bricks. On the oak-carved plaque above the eaves, the letters 'BNAK' were visible—clearly a private bank.

This private bank was quite grand, complete with a small fountain in the square before the main entrance. However, the fountain was not currently splashing with beautiful water; instead, towering flames shot up from it.

What the flames were consuming were not other objects, but human corpses, dressed in various clothing, already beginning to decompose. In the distance, beneath a pitch-black sky, countless other fires burned, their black smoke rising like specters, shrouding the land in an atmosphere of utter despair.

I truly had no idea how many people had died here. Looking at the pale faces of the dead, their expressions frozen forever in agony, I involuntarily murmured softly, "Could this be...

the Black Death?" Several people clad in black clothing and wearing masks were relentlessly throwing bodies piled outside the fountain basin into the inferno. They were expressionless, like animated corpses themselves, steeped in hopelessness.

I took a closer look at the insignia on the chests of these individuals: a metal eagle with outstretched wings, clutching a metal shield covered in English script in its talons. Anyone familiar with American crime dramas knows this symbol—it was an insignia used by old-time American police.

Although the emblems varied from state to state in the United States, most of them featured an eagle, symbolizing their "eagle eyes" capable of enforcing justice impartially and seeing through everything. The Black Death is infamous in history, killing over 75 million people in total.

But that occurred in the 14th century, long before the establishment of the United States of America. I thought hard: what other plague could have caused so many deaths besides the Black Death?

Instantly, the 1918 Spanish Flu came to mind. That disaster claimed over 40 million lives globally, and the US was severely affected.

But the Black Death was eventually halted by the development of an antibiotic vaccine, preventing global human annihilation. The Spanish Flu, however, mysteriously vanished on its own—one of the world's most baffling enigmas.

Just as this thought formed, a faint glimmer of light, not particularly bright, streaked across the deathly silent sky. Perhaps because I was constantly focused on where the Atlanteans might appear, I was virtually the only one to notice this flash of light.

The people sitting below remained fixed in their postures of despair and grief, heads bowed in sorrow. Like the beam of light I had witnessed when the Earth was in its primordial state, this light was also a divine, pure redemption, like that of the goddess of dawn.

This time, however, it didn't project down from the heavens; it was a mere flicker. If my eyes hadn't been sharp, I might not have even noticed the disc-shaped aircraft that flashed past simultaneously with the light.

Then, it began to rain. A boundless downpour assaulted everything visible before me, as if the entire United States had begun to weep.

Yet, no one noticed that the tears from the sky contained trace amounts of a faint green substance. People would forever remember the lives lost in the Spanish Flu, but no one would remember this deluge, this "Rain of God," that descended upon the globe.

When the scene before me darkened once more, a sense of profound reflection settled in my heart. I wondered what it would be like to have been born in that era, watching family and friends die one by one, utterly powerless, not even knowing when death would claim me.

If everything I had witnessed was true, I felt a deep, sincere gratitude toward the Atlanteans. With a heavy heart, I assumed the Atlanteans’ revelation had concluded, but just then, an insistent alarm dragged me out of the dreamlike darkness.

This time, I found myself in a small village enveloped by lush woodland. The village was primarily composed of wooden cabins, but the presence of concrete pillboxes, topped with Soviet-style emblems resembling arrows, was instantly familiar.

Looking at the hurried refugees on the street—all tall, with high-bridged noses, deep-set eyes, and the men sporting thick beards—it was clear I was in a small Soviet-era village. Above the dense spruce and pine forest ahead of me, a pillar of black smoke rose to the sky, and the sharp, grating alarm sound emanated from that direction.

Above my head, countless helicopters and fighter jets streaked toward the source of the smoke. The sky had taken on a terrifying scarlet hue, the kind one might associate with the end of days.