Transcending Godhood: I Extract Keywords and Crush the Gods

The adjutant nodded and stepped into the laboratory.

He had a lot to say.

He needed to tell the leader that the brothers outside were about to collapse.

He needed to inquire about the progress of the serum; even a half-finished product would be enough to keep the remnants of the army outside from rioting.

The words stuck in my throat.

The smell of blood mixed with the odor of chemicals in the air assaulted the adjutant's nostrils.

Four dissection tables were placed side by side in the center of the laboratory.

The shadowless lamps shone down from the ceiling, illuminating the scene on the platform.

After taking a clear look at everything in front of him, the adjutant stood rooted to the spot.

The four tables do not contain the simple corpses of divine beings.

On platform number one, a vulture over five meters long was disemboweled.

Dark gold entrails were exposed to the air.

The upper body of a demon was forcibly stuffed into the chest cavity of a demon eagle.

The vulture's pale white ribs pierced through the tribesman's shoulder, binding the two together.

The lower half of the tribesman's body had disappeared, and pus was flowing from the wound, sticking together with the flesh and blood of the demon vulture.

On platform number two, the middle head of a three-headed bat has been cut off at the root.

The head of a demon was sewn onto the incision, the rough metal sutures piercing through the demon's scalp.

Several transparent tubes were inserted into the top of his head, continuously injecting a dark blue nerve stabilizer.

The scenes on stations three and four were equally horrific.

The mangled bodies of the tribespeople were pieced together with various deformed native monsters.

The skin and flesh rolled up, and the bones intertwined.

They are still alive.

The tribesman whose neck was sewn onto the bat opened his eyes.

His bloodshot eyes rolled, looking toward the adjutant at the door.

His lips were distorted by the stitches, and a hissing sound came from his throat.

The adjutant recognized the eyes.

Carter.

A few days ago, Carter's left arm suffered a severe mutation and backlash, growing black scales.

It was the adjutant who personally led a group of men to restrain Carter and carry him into the laboratory.

At that moment, Chief Moor stood at the door, patting his adjutant on the shoulder.

He spoke calmly, telling him that these clansmen suffering from severe backlash had developed antibodies in their bodies that were highly compatible with the creatures of the divine realm.

As long as they are brought in and combined with the organs of native organisms, perfect serum can be extracted.

The adjutant believed him.

He even held Carter's unmutated right hand, telling Carter to hold on and that the leader would definitely save him.

Now, Carter has become a stitched-together monster growing on a bat's neck.

"Chief..." The adjutant's voice trembled as he moved stiffly, looking at Moore standing in front of the number four dissection table.

Moore had his back to him, holding a high-frequency cutting knife in his hand.

They are cutting open the skin of a demon vulture, preparing to insert a section of their tribesman's spine.

Upon hearing the sound, Moore did not turn around, nor did he stop what he was doing.

"Is the outside cleaned up?" Moore's voice was unusually calm.

The adjutant's chest heaved.

Blood rushed back to my head. My reason crumbled bit by bit.

"What did you do?!"

The adjutant drew his high-energy explosive gun from his waist, gripped it with both hands, and aimed it at Moore's back.

"I asked you what you did! Where's the serum you talked about! Where's the life-saving stuff you promised! What have you turned them into?!"

Mohr put down the cutting knife.

He turned around, his ashen face expressionless.

His eyes were so cold they were chilling.

"Put down your gun. Your actions constitute a disturbance."

Moore ripped off his medical gloves, which were covered in sticky fluid, and tossed them into the nearby waste bin.

"Change? How dare you even mention those two words!"

The adjutant's eyes were bloodshot, the veins on the back of his hand gripping the gun were bulging, and his fingers were pressed tightly on the trigger.

"They believe you! They were still calling your name when I brought them in!"

"You treated them like expendable resources! You chopped them up and fed them to these beasts!"

boom!

The adjutant pulled the trigger.

The dark blue high-energy energy shot straight at Mo'er's face.

Moor didn't even try to dodge.

He raised his right hand.

The gray essence of time magic surged in his palm.

The surrounding space trembled, forming an invisible barrier.

The laser beam struck the spatial barrier without even a spark.

The adjutant gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger repeatedly.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Beams of laser light poured out.

Moore's eyes turned cold, and he took a step forward.

A fleeting afterimage.

Moore crossed a distance of more than ten meters and appeared in front of the adjutant.

He swung his left hand and grabbed the adjutant's wrist.

Click.

The adjutant's wrist was broken, and the high-energy explosive gun fell to the ground.

Before the adjutant could retaliate, Moore had already grabbed his neck with his right hand, exerting force with one arm.

He was lifted into the air and slammed heavily against the hard metal bulkhead.

The immense impact displaced the adjutant's internal organs, and blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.

"Have you calmed down yet?"

Moore stared into his adjutant's eyes, his grip on the object of his affections perfectly controlled.

It makes the other person feel suffocated without breaking their neck.

The adjutant's legs dangled in the air, kicking wildly, while his only intact left hand clung to Moore's arm.

He glared and spat bloody saliva onto Moore's face.

"Cold-blooded madman...liar..." the adjutant managed to squeeze out through clenched teeth.

"You have shattered the pride of the Time Demons... We are wanderers of the stars... We are willing to die in battle..."

"I can be crushed by the strong... but I must never become this kind of mindless monster!"

Moore turned his head away, letting the bloody saliva slide down his cheek.

A hint of annoyance flashed in his eyes.

"Pride? Bottom line?" Moore sneered, making no attempt to hide the mockery in his voice.

"You're talking to me about pride? Go outside and look at those thousand-plus pieces of trash! Their genes would collapse just from breathing this air!"

"They huddle inside the energy shield every day, trembling with fear. Even the smallest insect at the bottom of the hierarchy can scare them so much they wet their pants!"

The adjutant continued to glare at him and yell, "But you're the one who brought us in!"

"For that meager amount of resources, you dragged 1,500 brothers into hell! Now you won't even leave them a proper burial!"

"You think I wanted this?" Mor tightened his grip, turning the adjutant's face purple.

"I want to get them out of here alive even more than you do! But I can't!"

Moore roared, finally tearing open a hole in his emotions that had been suppressed for days.

He pointed to the deformed sutures on the dissection table.

"You think I'm really researching serums? You think I don't know how cruel it is to cut them open?"

"I'll tell you the truth! The spiritual energy in this godforsaken place is inextricably linked! Its inherent laws repel all outsiders!"

"Anyone who hasn't reached the Diamond rank and hasn't awakened their racial mimicry talent is doomed to die if they inhale even a single breath!"

Mo Er loosened his grip.

The adjutant slid down the bulkhead to the floor, clutching his throat and coughing, gasping for breath.

Moore looked at him, his tone returning to its coldness.

"Conventional methods won't work. If you can't adapt to the environment here, you'll only be wiped out by it."

"Our only way to survive is to voluntarily abandon our original physical form."

The adjutant looked up, his face filled with fear as he stared at Moore.

Moore walked to the first autopsy table and patted the carcass of the demon eagle.

"I stitched them together, used stabilizers to suppress the rejection reaction, and then infused them with the spiritual energy of this divine realm."

"I want to use this spiritual energy to forcibly reconstruct the genes and stimulate their latent mimicry instincts."

Moore turned his head, his eyes shining.

"I will let them possess these divine beings! Retaining the souls and consciousness of the demons, they will don the skins of these monsters!"

"Only by becoming beasts in this world can we survive!"

The adjutant slumped to the ground, trembling all over.

He understood Moore's insane plan.

They abandoned their physical bodies as Time Demons and forcibly inserted their souls into the bodies of native monsters.

This is what Moore called "salvation".

"You're insane...you're completely insane..." the adjutant shook his head repeatedly. "This is simply impossible...the soul rejection will cause them unbearable pain..."

"In the end, they will only become beasts who don't even know who they are..."

"They have no choice!" Moore interrupted him sharply.

Mo'er rubbed his throbbing temples.

If it weren't for the fact that the Time Demon race's population has drastically decreased, every single laborer would be incredibly precious.

He would have slapped that annoying idiot to death long ago.

"Lieutenant, you've been with me for so many years, you should have seen the clan's core secret manuals."

Moore suppressed his murderous intent and tried to persuade the other party with reason.

"Three hundred years ago, our previous leader led the entire race into a high-level insectoid plane."

"The situation was even more desperate back then than it is now. We were trapped inside, and hundreds or thousands of our people died every day."

Moore walked up to the adjutant, squatted down, and looked directly into his eyes.

"Do you know how we survived in the end?"

The adjutant froze.

Of course he knows that history.

"The previous leader ordered the entire race to voluntarily infect themselves with the Zerg genes."

Moore spoke slowly and deliberately, tearing away the bloody veil of shame.

"We abandoned our bloodline and became monsters that were half insect and half demon."

"We infiltrate the swarm, devour their queen, and seize the very essence of the entire plane."

"That was our Demon Clan's most successful reverse raid ever!"

Moore stood up, opened his arms, as if embracing something great.

"Now, we're going to walk that path again."

Moore pointed to the laboratory door.

"This divine realm is more advanced than the Zerg plane of yesteryear, and its laws are more domineering."

"Integration is extremely difficult; the slightest mistake could cause one's soul to dissipate. But I have no other choice."

Moore turned around and picked up the high-frequency cutting knife again.

He turned to his adjutant, his tone carrying an ultimatum-like quality.

I'm giving you two choices.

Mohr held up two fingers.

"First, you take those disgruntled fools outside and step out of the energy shield. Go fight those insects and demonic trees. Go prove your pride and your bottom line. I will not stop you."

"Second." Moore lowered his finger and pointed to the empty space on the dissection table.

"By utilizing the unique characteristics of this divine realm and the laws of reconstruction here, we have merged with these monsters."

"A thousand years is enough time for us to utilize the resources here to break through to the Diamond level, and perhaps even the Transcendent level!"

Moore's voice was seductive and confident.

"If we can survive this thousand years, we will be able to break out of the Time Cocoon with invincible power."

"By then, who will care what we're wearing?"

In the laboratory, only the breathing of the stitched monster on the dissection table echoed.

The adjutant slumped to the floor, his mind blank.

Moore's words were like a sledgehammer, shattering his worldview.

He knew Moore was telling the truth.

Outside, there were swarms of insects covering the sky, and magical trees capable of draining even diamond-level experts dry.

Their remnants wouldn't even be enough to fill a tooth gap if they charged out.

But, accept reform?

The adjutant glanced at Carter on platform number two.

His eyes had lost their former brilliance, replaced by endless pain and a murky look as they were gradually consumed by his animalistic instincts.

If you become like that, are you still considered alive?

Moore did not urge him.

He stood still, the cutting knife in his hand swaying gently.

A faint but palpable killing intent locked onto the adjutant.

The adjutant felt a chill on his neck.

He knew that if he refused, Moore would kill him on the spot and then put his body on the autopsy table.

Compromise means becoming a beast, a stitched-together monster that even you despise.

He resisted, but couldn't even withstand one of Moore's moves.