Chapter 395: Execution Day |
When the final judgment comes, God will show His miracles to the faithful. Martyrs shall ascend to heaven, and apostates shall fall into hell.
—Book of Revelation
Above the temple, the tumorous fruit hanging beneath a golden flower was the new god's husk. It possessed the flesh of a god but lacked a soul, making it the ideal vessel to receive the spiritual form of the Ancestral God.
A mystical connection was about to form, but a new interference emerged just a moment before. The [Taboo Scholar] identity card was undeniably a more suitable match, and Vader’s soul was nearly torn in two, one half dragged toward the tumor by an immense gravitational pull.
“Well now, this is interesting. Am I about to become a god without even lifting a finger?” The lingering fear and resentment on Vader’s face—remnants of his near-death experience and coercion—vanished completely. In their place bloomed a fanatical excitement, though it was impossible to tell if this was his true nature or the corrupting influence of another power.
He scrambled toward the tumor, but in the process, the [Taboo Scholar] card underwent a new transformation. The menacing, scar-like black silhouette on its surface faded before his very eyes. Its connection to the authority over spacetime grew tenuous, and in a flash, it switched to the domain of the Ancestral God.
The pull between spirit and flesh abruptly snapped. Vader, as if he’d gone blind, stumbled around in a daze. A delicate white thread once again linked the tumor to the Ancestral God’s phantom, but the momentary delay had been enough. Gripping the God Chisel, Qi Si plunged it into the tumor, driving his entire arm deep into its core.
A harrowing shriek echoed to the dome as golden blood erupted from the wound. The nascent god’s life force was siphoned away in an instant by the ancient deity. The Ancestral God swiftly retracted the threads ensnaring the tumor and turned toward Vader.
Vader doubled over, gasping for breath. Fragments of history flickered rapidly before his eyes while the whispers of millennia swirled chaotically in his ears. He heard the prayers of mortals and the music of rituals; he saw countless visions of a woman with white hair, dressed in white robes.
Silvery-white threads sliced space into fragments as the woman approached him. For a moment, he could not distinguish reality from illusion. He only heard a voice declare, as if passing judgment, “I will be reborn in your body.”
Wispy threads, like spider silk, wound around him layer by layer, and his consciousness began to fade. But then a sudden, icy sting shocked him back to his senses, an irresistible jolt that restored his clarity.
Fu Jue had appeared before him at some unknown moment. He looped a silver cross pendant over Vader’s head, its sharp tip digging deep into his flesh.
A line of text silently materialized on the system interface: [Your identity has been changed to “Son of God.”]
Previously, Fu Jue had manipulated Thompson into accepting the role of the Son of God, bringing the identity under his control.
Now, with the puppet threads extracted from his body, Thompson was officially dead. The Son of God identity became vacant, forcing the Holy City to seek a new candidate.
Father Rachi, who had presided over the appointment, was already dead. All one had to do was place the symbolic cross around someone’s neck, and that person would become the Son of God.
Vader’s left eye, its original brilliant blue, reflected Fu Jue’s cold expression. His other eye, however, swirled with an eerie, silvery-white sheen, like the vacant white of a corpse’s eye.
He gasped for air, his mind torn between two extremes—one serene, the other savage. Half of his body sprouted a coat of spider-like hairs that lashed out toward Fu Jue’s face.
Fu Jue stood perfectly still. A yellowed parchment scroll shot out from his coat, unfurling between them until it matched the height and width of the temple gates, blocking the assault.
The record [The Son of God is nailed to the cross] rose from the parchment’s surface, its twisted characters coiling around the other half of Vader’s body like withered vines.
Vader understood Fu Jue’s intent almost instantly. He raised his hand to rip the cross from his neck, only to find his limbs bound by the threads of that other entity.
The white threads receded from his body like an ebbing tide, then changed direction, surging toward Qi Si, who stood nearby, connected to a sundial by blood-red vines.
A rustling sound, like slithering snakes and insects, echoed behind him, but Qi Si didn't look back. The vines hidden in his sleeve tightened their grip. In the final second, the brilliant golden sundial shattered into a thousand thin slivers, which visibly turned crimson before dissolving into a rain of blood that vanished in midair.
The authority over spacetime was now internalized, a part of his very being. In a fleeting moment of stopped time, Qi Si replaced a segment of the Holy City’s history.
Centuries ago, a young priest, having returned from the East District, prayed to his god: “Oh great and holy Lord, can you not pardon the poor and reduce the tribute they must offer?”
The god replied with indifference, “To pardon one is to pardon all, lest resentment and chaos arise. And if I pardon all, none will believe in me any longer. Instead, they will only demand more.”
The priest implored, “Lord, we all have faith in you! If you would but grant us this grace, we would love you as we love our own parents!”
The god declared, “You do not believe in me; you only fear me. Your love is not sacrifice, but a demand. I have no need for love. It is unstable and worthless—not even as enduring or amusing as hatred.”
The priest asked, “Are the poor then destined to lose your protection and die in darkness? Lord, they are so wretched!”
The god lowered its gaze, its expression devoid of joy or sorrow. “God loves not the world.”
In the new timeline, the priest despaired of his god. The faithful, never receiving salvation, died prematurely of starvation. The ritual lost its foundation, and a paradox was born.
The once-stable fabric of space began to tremble violently. Figures from different timelines flickered and overlapped, shrieking in terror as they caught sight of one another.
The shrieks of humans and the gibberish of higher-dimensional beings intertwined. The pure-white figure was torn to shreds, only to re-form and dive toward Fu Jue.
Fu Jue recalled the airborne parchment and tossed it to Qi Si. The half-activated record of [The Son of God is nailed to the cross] ceased its effect midway. Vader stumbled back a few steps, but his relief was fleeting.
The instant Qi Si caught the parchment, he flung out his Cursed Pendulum. It coiled around Vader’s neck, yanking him forward, and Qi Si’s fingers clamped around his throat like a vise.
On the open ground before the cross, only Fu Jue and the phantom of the Ancestral God remained. The two puppets, along with the newly parasitized Sigmund, retreated to one side to await orders.
Silvery-gray spider silk emerged from Fu Jue’s fingertips, intertwining with the fine white threads drifting through the air. The two figures began to merge.
At the very moment they began to fuse, Qi Si said to Vader, “Now, in your capacity as the Son of God, declare Fu Jue a heretic.”
...
Six hours earlier, after Fu Jue had revealed the effect of the record [The Son of God is nailed to the cross], Qi Si had already figured out his plan.
In the Holy City instance, there were four potential vessels for the Ancestral God: the nascent tumor and the three holders of the key identity cards.
The Ancestral God’s first choice would undoubtedly be the risk-free tumor. However, because the tumor was connected to the authority over spacetime, it was susceptible to the pull of the [Taboo Scholar] identity card. This created an opening for Qi Si to stall the Ancestral God and eliminate the tumor.
The Ancestral God reacted swiftly, using a backdoor it had planted in the [Taboo Scholar] card long ago to corrupt the entire identity. This shunted Vader onto the domain of the Lord of Life. Lacking any powerful defenses of his own, he naturally became the Ancestral God’s second choice.
But since Fu Jue had preemptively made him the [Son of God] and held the threat of a record that could execute him at any moment, the Ancestral God was forced to settle for its next best options: possessing either Qi Si or Fu Jue.
And regardless of who It chose, the other could force Vader to denounce the possessed individual as a heretic, thereby indirectly executing the Ancestral God.
“I don’t want you to be the one nailed to the cross,” Fu Jue had said calmly. “There’s a chance the plan will fail. The rules of the Holy City may not supersede the power of the Ancestral God. If It possesses your divine body, it will only worsen our position in the Final Instance.” Whether as a god or a mortal, Qi Si simply couldn't comprehend a being like Fu Jue.
He lacked the desires inherent in human nature, possessed a self-righteous savior complex, and arrogantly arranged everything to his liking. He had no personality, no preferences. As long as it benefited the overall situation, he could set aside any grudge and work with a sworn enemy without a hint of hesitation.
It was as if... he had molded himself into a god. Or more accurately, the Ancestral God before the great feast of the gods.
That very similarity was a magnet for Qi Si’s malice. But he was just as happy to cause the Ancestral God some grief through a temporary alliance.
And so, he had laughed. “Such a great sacrifice. I almost feel a sliver of admiration for you.”
...
Now, Vader’s brow furrowed. “Wait a minute. Is Fu Jue really a heretic? If he’s not, and I make the wrong choice, won’t I die right along with him?”
Qi Si replied, “Fu Jue is, in fact, a heretic.”
Vader eyed him with suspicion. “And how do I know you’re not lying to me?”
Qi Si raised the page from the scroll and offered a placid smile. “In ten seconds, if you fail to make a decision that satisfies me, I will ensure you die instantly.”
Vader: “...”
Fu Jue pressed his lips together, saying nothing as he leaned back against the cross. White feathers and fish scales began to creep up from his ankles and wrists, spreading across the rest of his body, growing wild on the soil of his flesh like shrubs in summer.
The threads filling the air converged on him, piercing his skin and burrowing into his blood vessels. The blood that flowed out was instantly consumed, leaving the pristine feathers and scales unstained.
It was a grotesque and surreal sight. A single glance made Vader’s skin crawl with phantom pain. He tore his gaze away, his eyes wide with horror as he looked at Qi Si. “You’re trying to kill a god like this? It’s an insane plan... How could you possibly dare...”
Fu Jue remained expressionless. It was impossible to gauge the progress of his fusion with the Ancestral God from his demeanor or the color of his eyes. He looked as if he were born for this moment.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze landing on Vader. A spiderweb pattern reflected in his silver-gray eyes, and fine, fish-scale markings flickered at their corners.
Vader knew that if he let this continue, the Ancestral God would fully revive, and his own death would be certain. He might as well risk it all and gamble with these two...
He raised the cross pendant high and declared, enunciating each word with care, “I judge Fu Jue to be a heretic.”
Language is the most primal of spells. His words flipped a ritual switch, and the game entered its judgment phase.
Dried bloodstains began to seep from the tall, black cross, turning it a sullied brown. The believers were all dead. There was no one to gather, no one to cry out. The execution proceeded in silence.
More feathers sprouted on Fu Jue’s body, dragging him downward like ropes, as if to press him into the very earth. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he slowly and deliberately raised his arms, pressing them flat against the wooden beams behind him.
A long, sharp nail materialized from thin air. It drove vertically through his wrist, piercing bone and embedding itself deep in the hardwood. Crimson blood dripped from the wound, forming a shallow pool on the ground. A few broken feathers drifted on its surface before slowly sinking beneath.
A flaw appeared in the Ancestral God’s parasitic hold. Vader’s spirit soared, and he softly uttered the word, “Execution.”
His perception caught the sound of shattering glass as a piercing howl erupted on a spiritual level. Blood trickled from the eye sockets of the three puppets, but they remained motionless. Fu Jue had temporarily lost the capacity to control them.
Qi Si walked to the cross and drove more nails into Fu Jue’s body. Gouts of blood gushed out, the unabsorbed stream staining the white feathers a faint crimson.
A newly revived spirit should, in theory, be unable to withstand such damage. The feathers and scales began to recede, flowing back into the sky like a celestial river in reverse, accompanied by the rustle of angelic wings.
Throughout it all, Fu Jue remained impassive, as if the pain wracking his body belonged to someone else. But now, he suddenly looked to the sky, a grave expression finally surfacing in his eyes.
“It failed,” he said.
The Ancestral God had abandoned his body without taking any decisive damage. All their planning and preparations had come to naught.
Fortunately, the authority over spacetime had been secured. Their primary objective was accomplished. Dealing with the Ancestral God had only been a secondary goal, so the failure wasn’t a total loss.
A phantom of Poseidon’s Scepter materialized in Qi Si’s hand. He used an anchor point planted in the game’s space to lock onto a teleportation destination, preparing for his body and soul to depart this dimension.
But... it was too late.
The feathers in midair spread like a festering sore, then began to fall, blanketing the sky in a blizzard unseen for a thousand years. Every path, whether abstract or concrete, was sealed.
A figure with white hair and white robes solidified amidst the snow. Its emotionless, silvery-white eyes swept over every living creature, its gaze descending like a physical shroud upon all existence.
A suffocating powerlessness, the feeling of being enveloped by something unseen, pressed down on everyone. Qi Si bore the brunt of it. His pupils dilated, and it felt as if he might sink into an eternal, dreamless sleep at any moment.
The price for plotting against the Ancestral God was always steep, and this resurrected version had learned malice and hatred...
Blood began to seep from Qi Si’s skin, flowing in a crimson cascade beneath his black robes. A dense web of pain enveloped him, and he felt as if he might disintegrate into dust at any moment.
The woman approached him step by step. Flowers of woven feathers bloomed beneath her feet, surrounded by the scattered carcasses of bizarre animals. Life and death coexisted in a strange harmony around her, a gift she could bestow upon any creature in this world at will.
Qi Si stared at the woman, then broke into a laugh. “Huo. It’s been a while. It seems you weren’t entirely oblivious during your long death.”
All sound and scent vanished, along with the scenery of the temple, the cross, and the execution. The threads intercepted all light and color, returning the world to its simplest essence and stirring a deep unease—the fear of being lost in an eternal void.
In the pure white space, in absolute silence, the woman declared with solemn finality, “I shall be resurrected.”
“And then what?” Instinctive fear pulsed through him. His senses were stripped away, his vision blurred with red, yet Qi Si’s smile was radiant. “I knew that already. Do you have anything else to tell me?”
The woman remained silent. She simply reached out and touched Qi Si’s forehead. A silver thread, drawn from her fingertip, pierced one of his wounds.
After two seconds of silence, She asked, her tone laced with confusion, “What happened to your divine body? Why is your blood red?”