46
The Monarch of Decay opened one eye, dragging the myriad roots that composed his entire being across a distance of about a light-year, unhurriedly settling into the extinguished, ice-cold sun. It was the most comfortable position he could find in this galaxy, where the death of a star would inevitably bring about the demise of the entire system, yet one planet still struggled to survive.
This was the fourth time in two hundred years that the "self" on Earth had contacted the true body. The frequency of the messages was slightly higher now, but "It" could sense his mood. The second contact had provided coordinates for the expected arrival of a true god-level visitor—the "Black Emperor." But "he" hesitated, and the stream of light veered toward the moon. So, there was a third contact, during which the true body's consciousness was exchanged, and the "self" on Earth approached the "Black Emperor," engaging in a brief and cordial meeting in the starry sky. When the consciousness was exchanged again, "It" felt the lingering emotions in the brain:
Joy, pity, schadenfreude.
Sadness, sympathy, and immense love.
Abandoning humanity did not mean losing the capacity for joy, anger, and sorrow, but the sleeping body had not felt such intense emotions in a long time.
This joy magnified to an extreme when he witnessed the fall of the Black Emperor. The ecstasy of participating in and observing the death of a true god was second only to causing the demise of a planet by his own hands. This overwhelming joy, too great to be contained in a small vessel, was conveyed to the main body among the stars, making the stars at his fingertips tremble.
He longed to find the place where "he" would be resurrected, to retrieve the remains of the "Black Emperor" from the mausoleum, and to hold the shadow of this order in his palm, savoring "his" suffering due to humanity, relishing the madness that "he" would continue to endure because of him. Unfortunately, the Earth's sky was obscured by the curtain of night, even to the eyes of outer gods who could see through the fabric of dimensions. Thus, the last tomb remained hidden beneath layers of obstacles, and he could only wish to witness more of "his" suffering.
The Fallen Mother Goddess remained distant on the moon. The eyes of the two outer gods turned away as if by mutual agreement. Neither the incomplete pillar nor the old one, who had lost half of their sefirot, intended to stir up trouble. They were merely preparing, quietly waiting for the day to come.
The Monarch of Decay rubbed the planet in his palm, and the creatures living on it wailed desperately, praising his name in the hope of receiving his mercy.
His other hands each held a pale, dead planet or a flower the same color as his eye, but the third hundredth hand was empty—something should be placed there. Because the first time "I" contacted the true body, he had mentioned a female human child on Earth who made a bet with him over celestial phenomena. So, the true body decided to crush the 300th planet in his hand, letting the debris of this asteroid pass through the Earth's atmosphere, creating the most magnificent meteor shower of that night, and causing astronomers collective anxiety.
The eyes in the palm of his four hundred and thirty-fifth hand opened, and the cyan eye, symbolizing destruction, turned toward the Earth. The Southern Continent was the right size to be bottled, but to carry it on the Northern Continent, it would have to be broken apart and loaded separately. However, the best option was to hold the entire Earth in his hands, like a souvenir taken from a previous journey.
The fourth connection was a brief exchange within the mind.
"Myself" said: "All the places on Earth that can be visited have been explored, and the mysterious Western Continent has been sealed by the Lord of Mysteries. I have not found my other sefirot, so I may need to go to the 'God-Forsaken Land.'"
The Monarch of Decay replied, "Okay."
"Myself" added, "I can't go to the God-Forsaken Land without a reason, after all, it was the former Divine Kingdom of the True Creator. Is there anything I can do?"
The Monarch of Decay thought for a second, and a torrent of information and knowledge rolled through his thoughts, instantly conveyed to "himself."
The first option was to sneak in but infiltrating another god's kingdom would obviously cause conflicts between the gods, and "oneself" had not yet abandoned his current identity. The second option was to create a catastrophe in the God-Forsaken Land, prompting the "True Creator" to send someone to investigate. However, "he" might send an angel instead of "himself." The third option was to wait for an opportunity to enter naturally, but this could take a long time, possibly not until the god war began.
"Well, let's wait and see what happens," the consciousness on Earth replied. "Help him complete the ritual of descending to Earth first."
47
Lanevus softly pushed open the door and entered the room. The man sitting on the windowsill looked over silently, startling him.
"What are you going out for?" I asked him. "Good morning, fraudster. It's not yet time for you to leave."
"... My... My lord."
As if an electric current rolled through his body, the fraudster lowered his head in panic, his fingers uncontrollably scratching his arms. As long as those eyes were on him, he couldn't help but recall everything he had suffered in that warning dream, his whole-body aching: "I didn't, I didn't want to escape! You've been in a meditative state for two days now, and I was just going out to inquire about the Nighthawks' movements! I swear I wasn't—"
"I'm sure you're a sensible person."
I adjusted the time difference and recalled that the last time I had gone out was to buy a newspaper that published the pirate's death. Putting down the book that had been open for dozens of hours in my hand, I calmly replied, "There's no need to be nervous, why should you be? You have successfully completed the preparations for the descent, obtained his reward and flesh. Once you succeed, you will be the Blessed One of God. Or are you still scared about irrational things?"
"Yes... Yes." Lanevus muttered, "I'm just his follower, an insignificant human being. How can I be—be—"
"As long as 'he' successfully descends, 'he' probably won't care about such trivial things," I said. "Show your worth. Since you can't escape, do your job and pray for God's favor."
The fraudster, having no other choice, took a deep breath and quickly adjusted his mood. He began to report: "... My previous attempts to escape Tingen left behind many clues and loopholes that misled the Punisher and the Mechanical Heart into thinking I had fled. The Nighthawks retrieved the letter from my residence, but they probably haven't realized what the 'bomb' really is. Please forgive me for my stupidity and ignorance at the time."
I nodded. "Continue."
"The Nighthawks are investigating Mrs. Sharon, and you may not know much about it, but the current clues point to a struggle between Beyonder gangs. The Nighthawks have found no leads. So, the police have published it in a newspaper, characterizing the incident as a vicious homicide."
That's right. When contacting the "true body," I did sense a trace of prying eyes, which seemed to be a high-level divination, but it was pitifully weak. The connection was already broken before I could trace it back. At such a time, one's state happens to align with a special point in the person of the old days. The soothsayer, who is not afraid of death, will lose their life in an instant and see nothing before they die.
Lanevus finished his report, which was consistent with what I already knew. I looked out the window, two buildings and two streets away from the Nighthawks' base, "The Blackthorn Security Company." I could still see what was going on there through the eyes and ears of Mr. "Nightmare." After sorting out the extra information in my mind, the following events occurred in the Nighthawks' base within 48 hours:
1. Mr. "Nightmare's" special request has been replied to by the Templar, and someone will soon come to inspect him. He is also about to be promoted to Sequence 6.
2. Within the small building, the related words "Daly" and "Ms. Daly" were mentioned twelve times, two of which came from Mr. "Nightmare" himself. The common verbs before and after were "confession," "invite," and "meet."
3. The police were dispatched twice to investigate the witch's incident but found nothing. They received help from the Punisher to track down Lanevus but still found nothing.
4. 0-08 and its writer's nonsense about reality made the Nighthawks aware of the existence of "coincidences," prompting them to confront it consciously.
5. The witch's death has been characterized as some kind of ritual to please the devil.
...
As I drank my tea, I spent a moment pondering the phrase "ritual to please the devil," which, in a sense, was quite accurate. The writer had offered the witch to me as a blood sacrifice, begging me to leave his hiding place in the city, but I refused and punished him. The only traces I left at the scene were extraordinary powers, which, admittedly, were somewhat bloody. However, there are many ways people cause a scene with blood. The struggle between extraordinary people and secret organizations has always been intense. So, how does the "ritual to please the devil" relate to this?
The high-level divination hasn't failed, or has someone realized that this was feeding the "demons" of the middle and high sequences? The latter seems more likely. I looked over slowly, and Mr. Nightmare's gaze, as he spoke with the team, swept over everyone's faces: the Midnight Poet, the Clown, the Corpse Collector, the Voyeur... Each of them bore traces of being distorted by fate to varying degrees, especially the Midnight Poet and the Clown, who are supposed to be the ones who always save the day in the notes. The one who is clearly marked as "having secrets" is the Midnight Poet.
Should I pay more attention to them... or should I just kill them?
Following Nightmare's perspective, I saw two young people walking down the stairs side by side. There was a knock on the front desk door, and when it was pushed open, a tall woman with blond hair entered. She wore a ruffled hat and a long skirt, her green eyes hinting at a swollen belly, as though she was more than seven months pregnant.
Neither Nightmare, the Midnight Poet, nor the Clown could see the almost tangible aura of resentment and despair gathered around the woman, especially her abdomen. It was as if a gray cloud hovered there, retracting and shrinking with the breath of the fetus in her womb, not yet fully absorbed. The child saw me, opened his eyes, and giggled in the direction of Nightmare. The mother, who had not yet lost consciousness, also turned her head in confusion under the child's influence and nodded at Nightmare, who instantly tensed.
I winked at her as well. The writer is even more restless than I thought. How has he survived until now?
"Good afternoon, ally's child," I said. "Of course, you'll soon be the ally himself."
Then, I turned my head. The fraudster, thinking I was talking to the air, stole glances out the window. "You can go," I told him.
Lanevus was stunned for a moment, then jumped up as if pardoned and rushed out the door with his suitcase, as fast as if he feared I'd change my mind. I watched his back disappear into the street, then looked again in the direction of Blackthorn Security and leisurely picked up my teacup and tray.
"Don't forget about our deals," I spoke.
48
Inside the reception hall of Blackthorn Security.
Leonard had shaken off his stiff state, and his expression was no longer strange regarding the newly discovered house that Lanevus had rented.
"Really? He never told me..." Megose frowned slightly and gave a fairly normal reply. After speaking, she grabbed a handful of her blond hair and threw it into the trash can next to her. Again and again, her face twisted faintly.
Leonard froze for a moment, swallowing his saliva with difficulty, cold sweat breaking out in his palm. When Megose brushed her face, grabbed the long strips of flesh stained with blood, and exposed her teeth, he couldn't help but listen intently, his face turning pale.
He barely managed to squeeze out a smile and said to Megose, who kept scratching at her face and flesh, "I'll go to the bathroom."
In the partition behind the corridor, Dunn looked at Leonard, who was talking to Klein and nervously preparing for battle. For a moment, his empty hand subconsciously touched the gun pouch on his waist, feeling he should solve the two companions hindering God's descent as agreed. But in the next second, he returned to normal, patted the hem of his clothes naturally, and joined the strategic arrangement.
Dunn Smith pulled his collar and spoke firmly: "I'll go out with St. Selena's ashes first. You guys will go out in ten seconds. Remember, you will come out to fight after a few dozen silences, and when the time comes, whether my condition is good or bad, you mustn't waste time aiming at Megose and the baby in her belly. Make your most powerful attack."
With that, he turned around, holding the urn, and walked quickly to the reception hall where the son of the evil god was waiting.
——————
[Original Author's notes: *It's time for the battle chapter again, and the author does some fishing.
First contact in 200 years: Bernadette and Edward, who had just become a Sequence 5 Astrologer, made a bet that there would be a meteor shower on a certain day of the month.
Edward: There really will not be one, but there can be. Do you want to see it?
Edward's POV at that time: 'Without a far-sighted layout, without a terrifying upside-down hanged man's brain, he is just idle... In peacetime, I had nothing to bet with the little girl, nothing to do with my collection, and even had a snowball fight with the Gustav family in the winter. Then everyone conspired to build Roselle into a snowman, which was praised by Matilda. Roselle climbed out and performed a friendly fight between reliable adults (mythical creatures) for the children.' ]