His heart beat violently, and chaotic flashes of light drifted before his eyes. The buzzing in his ears was sharp and piercing, driving him near madness.
His entire field of vision twisted and squirmed as countless threads of blood emerged from the edges, eerily crawling over everything in his sight.
Desperate wails, sinister cackles, and screams of pain—all manner of horrific sounds overlapped, echoing repeatedly in his ears.
Blood surged wildly through his veins. Heat flared through his entire body, and his brain throbbed with intense pain.
Yet there was nothing before him—or rather, more accurately, he saw that something existed there, but to protect his mind, his sanity instinctively denied everything he witnessed.
Help me, I didn't see anything.
This was the soul's final line of defense. Once crossed, a mortal mind would stand face-to-face with a higher existence.
Witnessing truth came at a price; no one could easily peer into the truth of this world.
The existence of a god was the truth of the world itself. For a mortal mind to forcibly peer upon it would only bring massive backlash, and even a lesser evil god was no exception.
But there was no retreat now. Advance or perish—success or death, nothing else.
I appreciated instinct's final goodwill, but I refused.
Lynch gritted his teeth and gathered every ounce of his willpower, clinging strictly to his consciousness as he forced his eyes wide open to look straight ahead.
In the next instant, the chaotic light and shadows before him suddenly coalesced, and his vision returned to normal.
Before him was a split subterranean gorge, bottomless as though plunging straight to the center of the earth.
A massive sphere composed of dark green smoke floated softly above the gorge like a green sun. Steam boiled across its surface, resembling the scorching flames bursting periodically from a solar star.
Extending from the perimeter of the green “sun” were dozens of tentacles—hundreds, perhaps thousands, of meters long—writhing without pattern. Their surfaces were covered in bulging tumors that popped from time to time, spewing thick green smoke that quickly reabsorbed into the tentacles, reuniting as one.
At the center of the “sun” was a large mouth closely resembling that of a ghoul, only magnified countless times. Green liquid dripped periodically from its maw, turning into vapor the moment it fell, only to be sucked back into the gaping mouth.
Its overall form was exceedingly vague, details completely obscured—much like the feeling of gazing at the face of the Red Moon Memories statue. His brain naturally supplied the answer: this was merely an image mapped into his mind after being distorted by mortal perception, the falsehood closest to truth, and the absolute limit of what a mortal could comprehend.
The path toward truth is the finest grave for a wise man.
As this worldly proverb flashed through his mind, the psychic shock arrived as expected.
A sharp, excruciating pain shot through his brain. His soul felt as though it were suddenly pulled from his body, and amidst a crisscrossing blur of light and shadow, an endless barrage of bizarre images was irresistibly shoved into his mind.
Barren land, barbaric cities, bloodthirsty creatures.
All living beings struggled for survival in a desolate world. Like dying souls clutching at straws, they offered up their faith to the uncanny, twisted entities of the world, groveling at their feet to trade for a meager sliver of protection.
Under this twisted guidance, plunder and slaughter became the city's main theme. For millions of years, generation after generation deemed offering corpses to the greatest existence as their highest honor.
Until one day, a plague raged, killing countless numbers. Yet for this city, it was like a grand festival. Innumerable hideous monsters seized the opportunity to surge toward surrounding cities—robbing corpses from cities that had them, and creating corpses to rob from cities that didn't. Fangs and claws tore through the flesh of other races, and thousands upon thousands of corpses were piled high like mountains, sent into ice-bound temples to offer their loyalty to the greatest existence.
No one knew how long the revelry lasted. When the end arrived, the surrounding lands had turned into a wasteland, devoid of any living creatures left to plunder.
In the end, having lost everything, the city sank beneath the earth. Its mad and ferocious inhabitants turned to stone statues, buried deep underground along with the city and evil spirits, sinking together with the entire world...
【Do not read it, Lynch. Don't look. Stop! It's too dangerous, you'll be assimilated by the memories of the past.】
‘I didn't mean to read it, but I can't stop.’
【Hold onto your mind!】
In the next moment, a cool, clear moonlight lit up from the depths of his soul. Lynch felt as though a pair of invisible arms were gently embracing him, taking him back to those blessed times immersed in moonlight. A sense of security filled his chaotic heart, driving away all anxiety and fear in an instant, while a gentle voice resonated in his mind, recalling his sanity:
【Wake up, Lynch.】
‘Is that you holding me, neighbor?’
The gentle voice fell silent for a moment. Suddenly, Lynch felt a powerful force strike his back, as if someone had delivered a swift kick from behind, sending him flying and giving him the sensation of falling from a great height. At the same time, a final response echoed in his head:
【No. It's an illusion.】
‘Why hit me?’
【You'll thank me.】
Thump. Lynch found himself back in reality, lying on the ground. The instant his brain cleared and he opened his eyes, he was struck like a bolt out of the blue. His eyes went wide, filled with utter bewilderment and shock.
Right now, he was being pinned down firmly by Miss Valente. He seemed to have struggled for quite some time, as both of their clothes were thoroughly disheveled. Yet Miss Valente paid it no mind. Instead, she took a deep drag from a rolled cigarette, clumsily pried open his tightly clenched teeth, and blew the thick smoke into his mouth.
Huh? What did she do?
Lynch's brain was a bit stunned. His lips twitched, and he instinctively took a puff.
Huh? What did I do?
Then their eyes met, and both of their bodies froze simultaneously.
Including their heartbeats.
A faint fragrance filtered through his nasal plugs, and her warm breath brushed across his face. And, of course, there was also...
It was a little awkward, but wasn't he the victim here? Why was her face growing redder and redder, her gaze becoming angrier and angrier, and why did it look like she was on the verge of tears? They were currently gazing directly upon an evil god—could she be a bit more serious?
As various chaotic thoughts spun through his head, Lynch felt a sharp pain on his lips. With a painful yowl, Miss Valente dragged his body through several continuous rolls, rapidly pulling them away from the edge of the gorge.
Yes, Lynch had been right on the edge of the gorge, just a single step away. His body could already feel the dark, chilling cold radiating from the invisible green “sun,” chilling his soul as if to freeze it. Luckily, Miss Valente had pinned him down with all her strength; otherwise, his journey to immortality would have come to an end right then and there.
Now that he was awake, the two immediately put distance between themselves and the canyon. Although this entity was asleep and showed no active response, the psychological pressure it exerted was terrifying. Remembering the danger just now, Lynch couldn't help breaking into a cold sweat.
To gaze upon an evil god, comprehend an evil god, and ultimately become an evil god—the price of forcibly peering into truth was often becoming a part of that truth itself.
Miss Valente had held her ground, but Lynch's inspiration was simply too high. With a single glance, he had glimpsed ancient memories. Drawn by the truth, he had instinctively walked toward the evil god, intending to merge into one with it.
Miss Valente knew nothing of such complex details; she instinctively believed Lynch had been corrupted by filth, so she lit soul-returning grass on the spot to save his life.
Though it was the wrong remedy and completely ineffective, Lynch was still quite touched. He instinctively glanced at Miss Valente across from him, especially at her moist lips.
In the next instant, two small orange vials appeared in Miss Valente's hands. The noble lady's expression was fiercer than a ghoul's, her eyes blood-red, looking as if she wanted to devour him whole.
“Calm down, the enemy is still there.” Lynch pointed at the floating giant sun. “Get ready to move. Let's try attacking first.”
Throwing him a resentful look, Miss Valente viciously hurled the vials toward the green sphere of light. With Lynch's previous experience of swinging his whip and missing, the attack shouldn't be enough to wake it up.
Yet by that same token and experience, it seemed the attack wouldn't have any effect either.
How about this time? Would there be a change?
Without time to reflect on the bizarre experience just now, both of them nervously stared at the vials in midair, watching as they plummeted toward the surface of the green “sun.”
Rate on N.U.
