absurd deduction game.

"It is human nature that when you find an obvious trap, you focus on solving it and subconsciously think, 'The enemy has only done this here.'"

Carlos's lips curled up, looking a little smug: "Once Evan solves the problem in the attic, he will lower his guard and won't have the energy to pay attention to the other special energy fluctuations on the third floor. In this way, my magic can be perfectly hidden."

“This is a magician’s most common trick—” Carlos held up a finger, “an illusion.”

Yu Xing remained silent for two seconds.

“The actor knew the attic had been tampered with,” he said. “You worked with him?”

Carlos's eye twitched.

"How could I possibly cooperate with that kind of bastard?" He scoffed, his disgust undisguised. "Not even if I were dead."

“However…” Carlos changed the subject, “it’s always possible to make use of him.”

Yu Xing understood that he wanted to show off, but did not interrupt him. Instead, she made a gesture to "explain further".

Carlos brushed a strand of hair from his forehead: "The musician has something to ask of the altar. He wants to get close to the core of the ritual, either by attacking it head-on or by finding a plausible identity to infiltrate it. I deliberately exposed the operation to him. Once the musician finds out, he will naturally use this information to contact Evan—regardless of whether he has guessed my other arrangements, this is a reason to surrender that comes to him."

“Fennell will definitely be able to detect any subtle differences in her own estate, so I asked Yiqing to keep her occupied so that she would have to preside over the ceremony as soon as she returned and wouldn’t have time to pay attention to anything else.”

Perhaps it was because he had independently performed a rather high-level maneuver in front of Yu Xing that Carlos became increasingly pleased as he spoke, finally concluding, "Hmph, I really won big this time."

Yu Xing: "Right, right, we've won big. What will the musician do after he gets close to the altar?"

Carlos: "What do I care? It's none of my business."

Yu Xing: "..."

As they chatted, a dark red light filled every inch of the attic.

Herbert was the first to rush up the ladder, and after smashing the trapdoor with his warhammer, he was met with a scene of utter desecration.

Fennell floated in the air, her body transforming into a monster once more. Insect limbs and butterfly wings sprouted from her head, hovering on the edge of the crack, but ultimately she did not become the same as she had shown to Carlos the night before.

Because she still needs a human mouth to chant the spell.

It's ridiculous that in the field of mysticism, humans are clearly the most vulnerable species, yet they are also the only species capable of using mysticism through language.

The "Nest" can only use its own instinctive power, and only the human "Fner" can communicate with the ancient gods.

She closed her eyes and chanted, the ancient incantation causing the altar to pulsate even more violently.

Around the altar, a semi-transparent barrier shimmered with dark green starlight. Countless vortexes swirled on the surface of the barrier, and at the center of each vortex was imprisoned a twisted, howling human face—the sacrificed soul, providing the barrier with a continuous source of energy.

"Attack the barrier!" Herbert roared.

The surviving priests followed closely behind, climbing up to the attic and unleashing a barrage of attacks on the barrier. Golden light, holy flames, energy blasts, and cutting threads collided with deafening roars, causing the barrier to tremble violently and its surface to ripple with dense waves. The vortexes spun even faster, and the screams from the human faces grew increasingly shrill.

Fine cracks appeared in the barrier, but it was quickly repaired by the infusion of soul energy.

The attack continued for three rounds, but the barrier remained steadfast. Cold sweat trickled down Herbert's neck, and when no one could hear him, he muttered, "Archbishop...where have you been?"

Only an archbishop could handle a barrier of this magnitude. If the real archbishop were here, they would never be in such a passive position!

Meanwhile, on the altar, Fernal's chanting reached its climax.

She opened her emerald green compound eyes, looked at the priests around her doing futile work without moving, and clenched her fists in the air.

Space was torn open like a curtain, and dark green mist surged. A figure in black robes was struggling to escape, but was grabbed by the neck by an invisible force, dragged out, and slammed heavily into the center of the altar.

The black robes of the esoteric Buddhists came undone, and the hood slipped off.

It was a young man of eighteen or nineteen, with light brown curly hair, blue eyes wide open to the extreme, his face full of tears and terror, and fleshy tentacles emerging from the surface of the altar, strangling his limbs and neck.

"That's a temporary body she chose for the ancient god!" the deacon who knew the ritual procedures shouted. "Stop them! Once the ancient god has a human body, the world's rejection of the ancient god will disappear, and the god and the divine kingdom will descend quickly!"

"No...no..." The young man thrown out from the altar struggled, his voice broken by fear, "I don't want to...I don't want to be the body of God!"

"Please... let me go!" He looked at Fennell, his eyes full of pleading.

"I...I regret it...I shouldn't have joined the cult...I shouldn't have believed those things...Please, please..."

Fernail looked down at him, her compound eyes showing no pity whatsoever.

"Regret?" She chuckled softly, her voice as gentle as soothing a child. "To become a vessel for God, isn't that... an immense honor?"

She pointed to the sky.

The young man subconsciously looked up.

Above the dome, the tentacles of the Ancient God's Eye had extended quite a distance. The eye was open, and deep within its pupil, a nebula vortex spun wildly, locking onto the altar—locking onto him.

“God needs a vessel,” Fernail said, her voice sickly gentle, “a fresh, vibrant vessel, capable of holding even a trace of His will. And you—”

She paused.

"It's your choice."

"Do not--!!!"

The screams were drowned out.

On the surface of the altar, dark red runes rose like blood vessels, twisting and extending in the air before piercing into the young man's body, merging into his skin, drilling into his muscles, wrapping around his bones, and seeping into his internal organs.

Each rune that pierced the skin was accompanied by an extremely shrill scream.

The young man struggled in vain, and his body began to melt.

The skin becomes transparent, revealing the dark red energy flowing beneath; muscle fibers separate and recombine, forming a non-human structure; bones creak and are forcibly dissolved into nothingness.

Fresh blood seeped from the pores and evaporated into a dark red mist.

His soul is also evaporating.

Pale blue, firefly-like specks of light floated from her seven orifices, drifting towards Funer, where they were absorbed and transformed by her tentacles, infusing the ritual.

What God needs is "proof of identity".

He doesn't actually need to enter a human body; He only needs a conceptual human shell. With this shell, His descent will be smoother. The true gods, relying on some rules that this world already possesses, keep the outer gods at bay in the starry sky, and this action is exploiting a bug in the rules.

In the sky, deep within the pupils of eyes, something chaotic and frenzied was coalescing.

It was an indescribable blasphemous will, flowing into the young man's body through the connection between his eyes and the altar, along the rune-constructed passage.

Fusion begins.

The crimson runes on the altar flickered wildly, each flicker causing the young man's body to tremble violently, and galaxy-like patterns resembling the tentacles of an ancient god to emerge beneath his skin.

Outside the barrier, Herbert and his men were furious, and their attacks became even more frenzied, causing cracks in the barrier that were difficult to heal.

at this time--

Calm footsteps echoed from the direction of the stairs. Yu Xing ascended to the attic.

His dark brown tentacles stretched out at his sides as he swept over the priests who were frantically attacking the barrier, and over the young man being fused on the altar, finally fixing his gaze on Fennell.

Furner stopped chanting—the next step of the ritual required the god and the vessel to be completely merged before it could begin.

She hovered atop the altar, her insect wings fluttering gently, her compound eyes locking onto Yu Xing.

“Mr. Yu Xing,” she said, her voice soft yet tinged with a cold mockery, “I saw it. You killed Evan down there.”

Yu Xing remained silent.

"You ultimately chose the wrong path, and you'll definitely regret it. However, please allow me to praise you; you truly possess excellent acting skills." Fernail's slender, pale fingers lightly stroked her chin, intrigued. "Which one... is the real you?"

Yu Xing walked to the barrier.

He did not attack like the priest, but only looked up at Fernal.

"Is this your exploratory desires about humans as a monster?" Yu Xing retorted. "What's the point? There's no place for humans in the new world you want anyway."

Fernail sneered: "So you're here to stop the ritual. You think... you can do it?"

Yu Xing shook her head.

“No,” he said. “I don’t want to stop the ceremony. On the contrary—I would love for it to continue.”

Fernal's compound eyes narrowed slightly.

This answer surprised her.

Yu Xing raised his hand, and a dark brown tentacle reached forward, lightly touching the semi-transparent barrier.

On the surface of the barrier, the swirling vortex stopped abruptly for a moment, the imprisoned human face ceased its roaring and revealed a blank expression, and the dark green starlight retreated as if it had encountered a natural enemy.

Fine black lines appeared on the surface of the tentacles, and black mist seeped out from the tentacles, enveloping Yu Xing within them.

He stepped forward, and the moment the black mist touched the screen, the barrier suddenly let out a mournful cry, and began to melt, centered on the point where Yu Xing touched it.

Herbert and the others missed their attacks, staring blankly as the barrier proved useless in front of Yu Xing.

Yu Xing took a step.

The black mist advanced with him, and wherever he passed, the barrier completely dissipated, revealing the altar and Funel behind it. He stepped into the interior as if passing through a curtain of water.

For the first time, Fernal's expression changed.

"What... kind of power is that?" she murmured, her compound eye lattices spinning wildly in an attempt to analyze the essence of the black mist, but all she got was a chaotic and distorted mess. "This isn't any known mystical system... Ha, is your true form also a monster?"

Yu Xing had already reached the edge of the altar when she heard this and jokingly said, "I advise you not to use the word 'monster' to me so casually."

He looked up at the young man being merged in the center of the altar.

The young man also saw him.

A final glimmer of hope appeared in those pained eyes.

"Save...save me..." His voice was hoarse like a broken bellows, each word uttered with all his might, "Please...I don't want...I don't want to become a god's body...take me away...take me away from here..."

He struggled, his body trembling violently, his internal organs already dissolved, gradually leaving only an empty cavity.

"I was wrong... I was really wrong... I shouldn't have joined the cult... I shouldn't have believed those lies... Please... save me..."

Tears mixed with blood streamed down the young man's face.

Yu Xing did not show any pity.

He looked at the young man and shrugged: "Putting everything else aside, at least one thing Fernel said is right: your current situation is a choice you made yourself."

"From the moment you took out the Pure Soul Crystal at the gathering, it was already destined~"

Indeed, the young man before them was the cultist who had met Evan's requirements and provided a pure soul crystal at the gathering.

Yu Xing had noticed him back then. The young man under the black robe clearly had no pressure in life and came from a wealthy family. He chose to join the cult just to seek excitement, which was foolish and reckless.

Not to mention that the Pure Soul Crystal came from a kind deacon who had helped him, and he killed that deacon in the most cruel way, betraying the other party's trust and piety.

Even if it's a matter of life for life, this person still deserves to die.

In reality, even if he wanted to save the man, it would be too late. The young man's body had already lost the essential conditions for survival. His ability to think and speak was merely a terrible inertia of his body.

So, right after Yu Xing finished speaking—

The last glimmer of light in the young man's eyes faded.

Inside his body, all the structures belonging to "humanity" dissolved and reorganized under the erosion of the runes, turning into some kind of empty container.

The galaxy-like texture beneath the skin spread throughout the body, each texture pulsating slowly, in sync with the rhythm of the eye in the sky.

The crimson runes on the altar surface reached their peak brightness.

The entire attic was bathed in a dark red light.

As the rune flashed for the last time, an indescribable shockwave of contamination erupted from the center of the altar.

It was a wave of pollution that directly affected the mind and soul. Everyone groaned in pain, as if countless blasphemous hands were simultaneously reaching into everyone's brain, frantically stirring consciousness, tearing apart reason, and instilling madness.

A myriad of tiny, incomprehensible whispers filled the air, each syllable carrying a twisted will.

With a thud, Herbert knelt on one knee, his hands quickly forming a prayer gesture for the Mother of Harvest in front of his chest. He bowed his head deeply, closed his eyes tightly, and began to chant rapidly and clearly:

May the wheat ears protect my heart—

May the bountiful harvest purify the filth—

"Mother Goddess above, protect my clarity—"

Each syllable of the prayer carried a faint golden halo, forming a thin protective shield around the body. This shield resisted the erosion of the whispers and barely maintained the clarity of consciousness.

Other priests immediately followed suit.

This is an instinct ingrained in their bones: when faced with overwhelming pollution, they kneel down, pray, and entrust themselves to their faith.

Deacon Murphy of the Mechanical Church also knelt down, removed his shattered monocle, took out a gear-shaped holy symbol from his pocket, pressed it to his forehead, and began to recite a chapter of the Mechanical Gospel in a flat but firm voice.

Sister Celine was hunched over, her hands clasped tightly to her chest, cold sweat soaking through her white robes, looking more disheveled than ever before. At that moment, everyone still lucid had only one thought in their mind.

--horrible.

The ancient gods have descended. Although their power is limited by the human body they are placed in, this is only temporary. Once the divine kingdom arrives, all limitations will disappear.

What should I do?
At the center of the altar, the young man, who had become an empty shell, slowly began to move. (End of Chapter)