Above the Blood Moon

When Floyd Karnes awoke, the blood moon was hanging directly in the center of the skylight of the Silvermoon Manor villa.

This was no coincidence; the skylight in his villa was specially made, with three layers of bulletproof glass sandwiched with a sophisticated polarizing filter, which could automatically adjust its angle according to the position of the blood moon.

This ensured that whenever he woke up, the first thing he would see when he opened his eyes was always that eternal sphere occupying the very center of his vision.

He lay on a mattress made of twelve whole human skins sewn together.

This is an "artwork" he acquired three years ago from a bankrupt art collector, supposedly from a primordial human sect that has since disappeared.

Before they die, these people voluntarily donate their skin, which is then specially processed and woven into bedding, symbolizing "dedicating their lives to a higher being."

The skin was very soft, and after a hundred years it still retained an eerie elasticity, and even had a faint warmth. Freud liked this feeling, liked the sensation of being gently enveloped by countless departed lives when he woke up every morning.

He slowly sat up.

His body is very light, which is the result of long-term use of the nutrition optimization system. His metabolism is precisely regulated to every minute and second, his fat content is maintained at a perfect ratio, his muscle density is 1.3 times that of an average person, but his weight is 15% lighter.

This system costs him 50 Star Alliance coins per month for maintenance, but in his view, it is a necessary investment.

"A person who can't even control their own body doesn't deserve to be called a human being." This was a phrase he often said.

Freud stood barefoot on the floor.

He walked to the wash area on the other side of the room, a space with mirrors on three walls, which resembled more of a religious altar than a wash area.

His "masterpiece" is right in the center.

The heads of two young women were found intact in specially made transparent containers filled with pale blue nutrient solution. Countless thin tubes, as fine as hair, were inserted from the base of the skulls, connecting to a complex life support system.

Their skin was so pale it was almost transparent, revealing blue veins underneath and blood flowing slowly within them.

The eyes on the skull were open, and the pupils were empty and grayish-white.

Floyd walked to the head on the left, reached out and turned on the tap. As the valve turned, the pressure of the nutrient solution changed.

Some mechanism inside the container was triggered, and the lips of the human head slowly opened, a stream of water with a faint minty scent flowing from its mouth and falling into the sink below.

At the same time, the eyes of the human head began to move.

From left to right, then from right to left, his eyes slowly moved with the rhythm of the flowing water, his pupils reflecting Freud's face, reflecting countless Freuds in the mirror.

They are still alive.

Water splashed into the sink, and a few drops landed on the woman's eyes, giving Freud the momentary illusion that she was crying.

However, he knew this was impossible, as he had already removed the tear ducts from both heads.

Freud looked at them, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"Good morning, my little work of art," he said softly, his voice echoing in the mirrored space, becoming countless overlapping echoes.

He reached out and scooped up a handful of water, splashing it on his face.

The water temperature was just right, and the coolness of the mint seeped into his skin, completely waking him up.

He carefully washed his hands and dried them with a soft towel.

Then, he walked to the mirror.

The man in the mirror was fifty-two years old, with white hair combed into a neat slicked-back style, and several almost invisible scars along his hairline.

Those are the traces of the neural interface implantation, and also a symbol of the implantation of the Level 1 Constructed Superpower Chip back then.

He simply wanted to better create his "artworks," which is why he installed the superhuman chip, and he has been unwilling to improve his superhuman level for so many years.

After all, this is a truth that everyone understands: the higher the level of a superhuman or the more parts of a modified body are modified, the more likely they are to be targeted by some unknown force and fall into complete madness.

perfect.

Freud nodded in satisfaction and turned to walk to the other side of the bedroom, where his private chapel was located.

The room was small, with walls painted entirely in dark red. There were no windows, and the only light came from a spine chandelier hanging in the center of the ceiling.

Twelve human vertebrae were meticulously pieced together, with each vertebra hollowed out and fitted with a fluorescent light.

The fluorescent lights emitted a cold, bluish light that scattered through the translucent bone, casting shadows on the walls.

Beneath the light was a black stone altar, upon which sat a sculpture.

A blood moon sculpture.

Below the blood moon are six humanoid sculptures, three men and three women, all carved from a material as pale as dead skin, with a smooth, reflective surface.

They had no eyes, no nose, no mouth; their faces were completely blank, as if some invisible force had erased all their features.

The sculpture's posture is also strange; it is neither standing nor kneeling, but a twisted posture, somewhere between struggle and submission, as if it is being invisibly pulled and tugged by the blood moon.

This is the classic Blood Moon Altar pattern, but it is not commonly seen in the remote Forgotten City.

Even on the neighboring planet, which is the most devout believer in the Blood Moon and is governed by the Ascle Company, one of the six major corporations, many people simply worship the Blood Moon without invoking the six gods.

Most people believe that the six former gods betrayed the Blood Moon. Although the book never explains exactly what they betrayed, betrayal is betrayal.

Freud walked to the altar and knelt on the cold, black stone surface.

Freud did not believe in these things, or perhaps his worship of the Blood Moon was deeper, which led him to make offerings to the six gods as well.

He closed his eyes and crossed his arms in front of his chest, forming a self-hugging posture.

This is a prayer posture he learned from an ancient book of a pre-civilization, which is said to allow one to dedicate oneself to a higher being.

Then he began to chant.

The sound was very low, but it had a strange penetrating power in the absolutely silent room.

It wasn't any known language; it seemed like a murmur composed of fragments from multiple languages.

"The blood moon is eternal... life is like dust..."

"Flesh and blood are weak... machinery ascends..."

"Clear class distinctions...well-ordered..."

"The inferior give...the superior enjoy..."

"Praise be to the blood moon! Praise be to the magnificent blood moon!!"

He repeated these broken, frantic words over and over again, his voice growing increasingly fervent, his breathing becoming rapid, and fine beads of sweat appearing on his forehead.

Where he couldn't see, the surface of the blood moon sculpture seemed to actually begin to glow faintly, as if in response to his prayers.

Ten minutes later, Floyd stopped.

He opened his eyes, and the data stream from his mechanical prosthetic eye flickered wildly for a few seconds before returning to normal.

Freud took a deep breath and slowly stood up. His knees were stiff from kneeling on the stone for so long, but he didn't care.

With the prayer concluded, the day's spiritual anchoring was complete.

The changing room is next to the prayer room.

Tonight, Floyd is attending the Mirror Lake Club's quarterly social gala, a place free of those annoying media figures, filled only with corporate executives, capital brokers, and a few acclaimed independent businessmen.

Everyone holds real chips in their hands, and behind every casual conversation may lie a transaction of a considerable amount of Star Alliance coins.

Floyd changed into a dark gray suit. Dark gray wouldn't be too eye-catching under the club's dim lights, but it would still contrast with the brightly dressed nouveau riche.

He received information that the president of Yadea Technology Company stationed in Forgotten City was confirmed to attend tonight.

This was the first time he had appeared at a semi-public banquet in six months. He had met him a few times before and had received praise from him for his decisive implementation of the employment regulations, as well as for the "intelligent brain".

The president of Yadea Technology Company, Loft, is a noble member of the upper class of the Olympus Ring.

He now desperately wants to sell his properties in the Forgotten City to a capitalist who can offer a good price, pack up all his collections and take them to the upper levels of the Olympus Ring to become a true advanced human being.

"Master." A soft female voice came from the doorway.

Freud turned his head and saw his personal assistant, dressed in a plain gray uniform, her hair neatly tied back, and with that ever-present, perfectly respectful expression on her face.

"What is it?" Freud asked calmly.

"Two documents need your review." The personal assistant held a metal tray with two data chips on it.

"One document is the final program and guest list for tonight's party, which has been updated according to your request. The other document is a cooperation proposal from the joint production company of the nutritional paste."

Freud raised an eyebrow slightly.

"A nutritional paste company?" He took the chip and inserted it into the neural interface on his wrist.

The data stream surged in instantly.

The first document was simple: the party schedule and seating arrangements, along with a guest list highlighting key figures. Freud quickly skimmed through it, memorizing a few key names.

Then, he opened the second document.

A holographic image unfolds, with the camera swooping down from high above to cut into the interior of a hemispherical domed building. The floor is covered with countless waterproof sheets, each piled with at least twenty corpses.

Workers precisely cut off the rotten parts and threw the relatively intact limbs into the conveyor belt.

The body was fed into a roaring cylindrical container, inside which blades spun.

The moment the body came into contact with the blade, the muscle fibers peeled off the bones like melting wax, the fat turned into murky yellow foam, and the bones were corroded into powder by another acidic secretion.

At the same time, an unknown number of cockroaches were poured in, along with various compounds and adhesives.

This is a production video of the Forgotten City version of the nutritional paste. It seems that the nutritional paste company wanted this boss of GG Company to experience the production process of the nutritional paste.

As the video ended, Floyd pulled out the chip, his brow furrowing slightly for the first time.

He looked out the window.

"livestock."

The word came to mind clearly. Yes, it was livestock. How could a creature that eats this kind of feed belong to the same species as him?

A chasm, deeper than species isolation, has separated them from themselves.