Chapter 114

Chapter 114

Lu Yan followed behind Ning Huai, the swirling white mist carrying a faint, peculiar odor—not entirely unpleasant, a mix of blood and rotting fruit.

In his highly aberrant form, Ning Huai’s fully extended limbs spanned 10.4 meters. Standing upright, he loomed 3.7 meters tall—a true behemoth.

From Lu Yan’s perspective, the walking Ning Huai resembled a brooding hen. His eight spider-like legs formed a cage-like space, within which huddled a clutch of smaller spiders. Some retained vague human shapes; others had fully transformed into arachnid forms.

This was the army Ning Huai had produced through fission. Though not as effective as the first, near-perfect duplicate, even the weakest among them had a spiritual power threshold of at least 2,200.

[Only two guards stand before the Holy One’s door now. One is Feng Qing. The other is called Earthmoss.]

Unlike other pollutants implanted with secondary brains, Earthmoss was originally a patch of moss. It possessed no brain, no true consciousness. Less a guardian of the divine kingdom and more a transplanted plant-based pollutant.

It grew across the ground like a lawn, incapable of independent movement but endowed with a devouring nature. The moss-covered area randomly generated swamp-like pits, swallowing intruders into its stomach.

In the past, it survived on regular feedings from the other guardians.

[Fire is best against this type of plant pollutant. You have none, but the dagger infused with Hellfire should suffice.]

The patch of vibrant green grass amidst the concrete ruins was glaringly obvious. Lu Yan couldn’t avoid it—this was the only path to the Holy One’s true form.

He crouched, plunging the dagger into the turf’s edge. The grass parted like flesh, seeping a vivid, bloody red from the soil below.

The Hellfire’s corrosive effect on pollutants was laid bare. Even without visible flame, the moss smoldered like burning paper, the edges of the wound glowing a dull crimson.

Simultaneously, the fission clones scrambled out from the space beneath Ning Huai, moving ahead. Their sharp limbs scythed through the moss like scissors. Shredded greenery flew. Where the moss withered, it revealed piles upon piles of bleached human bones.

The disturbance finally alerted the other guardian.

High above, Feng Qing spread his wings and shot forward like a streaking meteor.

He landed soundlessly upon a broken roof ledge.

Ning Huai’s spear hurtled toward him with vicious force. Feng Qing’s wings twitched, but the spear came too fast, too searing. It grazed the edge of one wing, sending cerulean feathers drifting down in a shower.

The spear buried itself deep in the earth with a thunderous crash.

“I’ll hold him!” Ning Huai roared toward Lu Yan. “Go!”

Lu Yan knew better than to waste time. He didn’t even glance back, following the system’s guidance as he sprinted toward the Holy One’s location.

Feng Qing’s gaze shifted to the fleeing figure, but before he could begin an incantation, Ning Huai was already upon him, a massive fist aimed squarely at his face.

Feng Qing’s brow furrowed. A single, low word. “Wind.”

A gale-force blast swept forth, flattening nearby structures. Yet Ning Huai’s colossal form remained rooted, unmoving as a mountain.

The wind solidified into a wall around Feng Qing. Dozens of small spiders seized the chance, leaping onto his back. Fangs sank into his bleeding wound, tearing at flesh and feather.

The harassment wasn’t fatal, but it robbed Feng Qing of any chance to pursue Lu Yan.

Feng Qing’s lips pressed into a thin line.

His innate ability had a range.

And Ning Huai, having fought beside him for decades, knew that better than anyone.

Bending down, Ning Huai retrieved his fallen spear. A frenzied grin split his face. “Your opponent is me!”

Spider against songbird.

Headquarters had always emphasized one rule for flying pollutants: break their wings.

Ning Huai obeyed. He launched himself a dozen meters into the air, his bladed arm slicing through the azure wing. His hand clamped onto exposed bone and wrenched.

A splintered fragment came free.

Feng Qing’s wing hung limp, useless. He plummeted to the ground.

With a furious beat of his remaining wing, feathers shot out like arrows, impaling the surrounding fission clones and Ning Huai himself.

Several clones detonated on the spot, leaving only gore.

Feng Qing clutched his shattered wing. His voice remained eerily calm, like a pre-programmed machine, though a rasp had entered it. “Lightning.”

Using his ability wasn’t without cost. Pollution value and spiritual power threshold set the upper limit, but overuse in a short span forced a cooldown.

Violet lightning coursed through Ning Huai’s body. His powerful heart nearly seized. Charred, blackened wounds appeared across his form.

Ning Huai coughed, spitting up clusters of spider eggs. The spiderlings inside twitched, legs stirring, yet none hatched.

Seeing spiders among his own fission spawn made the truth brutally clear. His time was running out.

He didn’t pause. Didn’t wait for his other team member.

Even with three pairs of eyes, his vision swam.

He looked toward Feng Qing, who was clutching his throat, and let out a raw scream, charging once more. The surviving clones charged with him.

Rain began to fall, a sudden downpour washing the blood from Ning Huai’s body into pale pink rivulets.

He moved with the resolve of one already dead, and the determination of one who must win.

His massive frame wasn’t a hindrance. In the curtain of rain, he was blindingly fast—a flash of lightning across the sky.

Feng Qing didn’t dodge. Perhaps he couldn’t.

Ning Huai’s fully aberrant arm pierced Feng Qing’s chest like a blade.

Unexpectedly, there was no heart. Only a pulsing, crimson mass of brain matter.

Ning Huai’s hand twisted inside the cavity. Warm blood flowed from the wound, mingling with the rain as it pattered to the ground.

It was a pyrrhic victory, but Ning Huai felt no urge to laugh. Only to weep. He collapsed, gasping for air, fingers clawing at his own collar as if to tear the pain away.

The fallen songbird trembled. A hand rose, gripping Ning Huai’s arm. The fingers were hooked like talons, but held no force.

Ning Huai saw Feng Qing’s lips part. He was too far gone to stop him.

He heard the words.

It might have been a long moment, or mere seconds. Finally, Ning Huai’s fading mind grasped their meaning.

Feng Qing had said, “Thank you.”

*

Lu Yan moved swiftly.

By the Holy One’s design, this should have been impossible.

The entire path was laced with its personally crafted illusions—harvests of agony reaped from the countless suffering minds of Changjia, enough to drive anyone to mental collapse. To suicide in despair, or to see their corruption break 100% and become a pollutant.

The Holy One had witnessed many tenacious warriors who never relinquished hope, even in despair—like Feng Qing once was. Such souls were especially delicious in death. But never had it seen one like Lu Yan, who seemed utterly unaffected, forever walking the true path.

His eyes were silver, reflecting a blood-red moon within their depths.

A gift from fate, allowing him to see through falsehood.

In Lu Yan’s sight, he now saw them: brains. Dozens of them, growing from a slender tree like ripe, heavy fruit.

They weighed the branches down. The limbs fed them, pumping fresh blood directly into the brain matter, providing nutrients for the secondary brains to mature.

[These are the secondary brains the Holy One is nurturing. It possesses 108. So long as the main body survives, they can regrow from this tree.]

As Lu Yan approached, the brains even began to vocalize—

A small one shrieked, “Don’t eat me!! I’ve gone sour!”

“Eat the top one first! It’s the biggest!”

The accused brain quivered with outrage. “Brother 73! What grudge do you hold against me? Why betray me?”

Lu Yan drew close to the sapling. The brains dangled from the branches like manfruit, swaying gently.

Several of the riper ones tried to flee, dropping to the ground. Lu Yan’s foot came down, crushing one into pulp.

It was slick. A strange sensation.

When he lifted his foot, the brain was lifeless, its white-gray matter stamped with the pattern of his sole.

His brutally efficient action left the remaining brains on the branch trembling in unison.

"You—how could you waste food!" one of the small brain-flowers wailed, its tone thick with grief. "You just stomped on Brother Seven. He was all plump and greasy... he would've been delicious."

Though the tree bore many brains, the Sacred God itself was not here.

[He's compressed himself down to the size of a steamed bun. Trying to slip away in the chaos.]

"Location?"

A map bloomed in Lu Yan's mind once more, a single red dot pulsing within it.

High-intensity use of his gift came with side effects.

Lu Yan was hungry.

Not the ordinary kind. This was a deep, gnawing craving. Primal. Animal.

He tightened his grip on the dagger and ran toward the blinking dot.

This had once been the most prosperous commercial center in Changjia. Decades of ruin couldn't fully erase the ghost of that opulence. The wide streets, the skeletal remains of shops lining them.

Rain began to fall, sudden and heavy. Lu Yan moved through the downpour like a wraith.

He stopped outside a restaurant. Its security gate hung broken. Darkness pooled inside, littered with shattered tiles and overturned tables.

The white mist still clung to everything. From the depths of the building came a sound—a ragged, beast-like panting.

A wave of drowsiness hit him, unavoidable. It felt exactly like the sleepiness at the airport.

It's panicking, the System sneered, its tone dripping with scorn. Backed into a corner. Trying to drag you back into the mind-space, put you under so it can run.

Meet the brother and die, or get caught by you and die. If it's going to die anyway, maybe dying to the brother is the more dignified option?

"Will I see him again?" Lu Yan asked.

Haven't you already?

Lu Yan lifted his head, looking at the grimy window before him. The glass was dirty, the light poor, making the reflection hazy.

That's the Sacred God, the System said. What you saw in the mind-space.

Lu Yan was facing the glass, but the figure reflected was his own back. Austere. Lonely.

The figure in the glass slowly turned its head.

There was no face. In its place, a nest of crimson tentacles writhed. A gaping, bloody hole pierced its neck, fleshy filaments probing from within. The rest was neatly wrapped in clothing.

Compared to the many monsters Lu Yan had seen, the brother's appearance was only moderately grotesque.

Yet the mere sight of that blurred silhouette sent a wave of visceral nausea crashing through him. His stomach heaved. Golden fish scales erupted from his forearms—different this time. They tore through muscle and skin from the inside out, like jagged spines forcing their way to the surface.

Blood traced winding paths down his arms. Agony lanced from deep within his eyes. He couldn't hold back. He bent double, bracing against the wall, and vomited.

It had nothing to do with what he'd seen. This sickness was a side effect. His gift, pushed too far.

When he looked up again, the brother's reflection was gone from the glass.

Lu Yan swayed, dazed. "So... that's what he looks like?"

Without these eyes, the System said, its mockery now tinged with something else, you probably couldn't even look directly at him.

Then, quieter, almost to itself: But he only turned around... because he wanted to see you.