Reversing Falsehood and Preserving Truth: All Gods and Gods Are in My Hands

Lu Yu triggered the mark on his palm. The warm golden power of reality and the clear blue power of the array intertwined and condensed into a light shield. However, as soon as this barrier appeared, it was tightly wrapped by the pervasive gray mist, as if he had sunk into a sticky swamp. Even the air half a meter away was distorted. The power was compressed and stagnant, and even breathing was sticky and difficult.

The entire campus has long since become a sea of ​​illusions filled with obsession. The gray mist, like invisible threads, entangles everyone's mind, weaving the most hidden desires and ailments into an all-pervasive prison.

On the track, a boy in a tracksuit was still mechanically marching in place, veins bulging on his forehead and his face flushed red.

In his fantasy, he had just broken the school record, and the girl he had a crush on was screaming while holding a banner with his name on it. He could even imagine the warmth of her hand as she handed him water...

In reality, he would even take a detour when he encountered that girl in the hallway. He kept crumpled and unfolded notes hidden in the side pocket of his backpack, on which he had revised the draft of his confession seven times, but he never dared to hand it over.

The absurdity in the stands touches the deepest, most hidden parts of our hearts.

The underachiever in the back row stood on his chair and screamed. In his fantasy, he tore his test paper to shreds, and amidst the flying scraps, he pointed at the homeroom teacher's nose and shouted, "I'm not studying anymore!" He even yelled the teacher's glasses off...

But his arrogance didn't last three seconds. The illusion suddenly shifted to his parents arguing in the dimly lit living room. His mother's sobbing voice was filled with despair: "What's the use of raising him? He can't even get into university." He instantly wilted, squatted on a chair, buried his head in his hands, his shoulders trembling violently. The smile on his lips turned into uncontrollable sobs. Beneath his rebellious exterior was a fear of being abandoned by the whole world.

Adolescent hormones and anxieties create a murky mess in the illusion.

The girl in her seat repeatedly adjusted her bangs in the air, her fingertips brushing against the stray hairs on her forehead. In her fantasy, she was wearing a white dress, standing on the school anniversary stage playing the piano, under the spotlight, with thunderous applause from the audience...

But the next second, the mirror suddenly shattered in front of her, and she saw her face covered with red and swollen pimples. She heard her classmates snickering, "The ugly duckling wants to be a swan." She covered her face, curled up into a ball, and even her breathing became choked with sobs.

The teacher's fantasy world is filled with the exhaustion and unbearable suffering of office workers.

The math teacher slumped in her chair on the podium. In her fantasy, she lay on a deck chair on a coconut palm-lined beach, clutching a pay raise notice in her hand. Her phone was off. The sea breeze carried no smell of exam paper ink, only a salty, pleasant coolness…

Suddenly, her phone, which was clearly switched off, rang sharply. The principal's voice urging her to grade the papers sounded like a curse. She tried to run but found her legs entangled in countless test papers. The beach instantly turned into a cramped office, with piles of homework books like mountains, making it hard for her to breathe.

Lu Yu's gaze swept across the playground, and Zhao Lei had already fallen into an illusion.

He was still clutching the baton, his eyes glazed over but full of fervor, repeatedly chanting, "Number one! I am number one!"

In his dreamlike state, he crossed the finish line of the 4x100 relay, and the whole school cheered so loudly that the stands were overturned. The school beauty from the next class rushed over with a towel in hand, and even Liu Jing smiled and handed him the gold medal. He patted his chest and shouted, "Brother Lei is forever a god..."

But no one saw that in the corner of his fantasy world, there was still the figure of his math teacher holding a zero-score test paper, his ecstatic joy mixed with his unspoken inferiority complex—he was afraid that he would always be just a "study-good but academically weak student".

A faint smell of paint wafted over. Lu Yu turned his head and saw Su Wan leaning against a sycamore tree. The silvery-white spiritual light had long been soaked through the gray mist, and her eyes were empty but carried a gentle smile.

There were no spirits in her dream, only the scent of camphor wood from the old studio and the sycamore rain outside the window. On the canvas was Lu Yu's profile leaning against the railing, sycamore leaves falling on his hair. She gripped the paintbrush, her fingertips reddening, her voice as soft as a feather: "Lu Yu, I actually..."

She mustered her courage and handed over the drawing, her ears turning bright red, her breath trembling: "Every time you space out, I feel like you have so many things on your mind. I want to be there for you, whether it's helping you with your studies or... facing those scary things, even if you find me a bother."

In the illusion, Lu Yu looked down at the painting, a gentle smile curving his lips. But in reality, Su Wan just smiled at the empty air, the glimmer of light in her eyes mingling with the raindrops.

Lu Yu's heart clenched suddenly. He subconsciously activated his True Power, trying to tear apart the illusion barrier around her. However, the golden light of his True Power was instantly swallowed by the gray mist as soon as it overflowed from his palm, without even causing a ripple.

He turned to look at the shadow of the platform. Liu Jing's pale white dress was damp with raindrops, and stray hairs clung to her cheeks. Weariness etched on her brow, and struggle lingered in her eyes.

Once the purification field is expanded, nearly ten thousand ethereal spirits that have not yet triggered their instincts will collectively riot, turning the entire campus into a meat grinder, with consequences even more devastating than those in the illusion.

"They are not attacking."

Liu Jing's voice was extremely low, drifting over along with the faint fluctuations of purification power, carrying a hint of barely perceptible solemnity, "Looking for something."

Lu Yu squinted and looked over. Several shadowy figures of the executors moved along the base of the teaching building, their movements strange and cautious.

They didn't release aggressive tentacles or exude any aura; they simply rubbed their strange textures against the wall, leaving pale gray marks like earthworms crawling across it.

In the brief moment it paused by the window of each classroom, its whiskers gently swept across the glass, without causing any damage, but rather as if it were sensing something;

One of them burrowed into the laboratory, its whiskers brushing against the glassware in the reagent cabinet, and even skirting around the fragile beakers, without knocking over anything;

Another one scratched around the sandpit on the playground a few times, its whiskers picking up sand and then gently dropping it back down, as if it were confirming a certain location.

Their goal was vague yet clear; the soft sound of the flowing gray mist mingled with the delirious murmurs of the crowd, weaving a lullaby of despair.

Su Wan's silver light completely dimmed, and her body slumped softly beneath the sycamore tree. Her hair, soaked by the rain, clung to her neck, and she murmured softly, her voice as light as a feather:

"Lu Yu, do you ever think... that I'm not entirely useless?"

The expectation and unease in her tone were like needles, pricking Lu Yu's heart with pain. But the barrier of the illusion was like an invisible wall, preventing him from even taking half a step closer.

Zhao Lei's hallucination abruptly changed. Just moments ago he was patting his chest and shouting, "Brother Lei is forever a god!" The next second, his face turned deathly pale, the baton slipped from his hand, and tears streamed down his face without warning. He gripped the baton tightly, his pacing motions choked with sobs: "Don't drop the baton! Don't drop the baton!"

The illusion shifted to his most terrifying scene: during the relay race, he accidentally dropped the baton, and the boos from the whole class were like needles pricking his eardrums. Lu Yu and Liu Jing's sighs, the disappointed looks from his classmates, and his own utter embarrassment were magnified infinitely in the illusion.

Just as Lu Yu gritted his teeth, trying to use the resonance of the two paths to tear apart the illusion surrounding Su Wan and Zhao Lei, the gray mist in the sky suddenly surged into a vortex.

The group of high-level executors floated to the top of the teaching building, and countless fine tentacles extended from the gray mist, connecting everyone's illusions like a spider web.

A powerful suction force swept in, instantly shattering Lu Yu's dual-path power barrier, and the scene before him spun around him. He saw Su Wan's art studio, Zhao Lei's running track, and the math teacher's beach chair all twisting and merging in the gray mist, forming a huge, multi-layered illusion.

Liu Jing's purifying power surged wildly through her meridians, but ultimately she couldn't resist the suction force—in order not to arouse the ethereal spirits, she gave up resisting with all her might, and her consciousness, along with everyone else's, was violently pulled into this new illusory sea.

The entire campus vanished completely, and everyone fell into the same chaotic, advanced illusion.

Those detached obsessions, like countless threads, intertwine and entwine in the sea of ​​illusion, weaving a more dangerous and impenetrable cage.

Deep within the gray fog, the figures of the executors grew increasingly eerie. What exactly were they searching for?