Cthulhu America, I can see the kill line.

"Rain on me..."

"Rain on me..."

The rain poured down as Windat's figure disappeared at the end of the dock.

The raindrops were as large as beans, as if they were washing away all the sins of the world, and as if they were extinguishing the ever-burning flames of anger in Kong Jiu's heart.

Kong Jiu hummed a tuneless little tune as he dragged his giant axe across the wet ground, leaving a deep water trail.

He strode toward Farah, who lay in the pouring rain, his steps slow yet carrying a suffocating sense of oppression.

After the anti-psychic drones withdrew, the bleeding from his wounds gradually stopped, and his pale face seemed to regain some color.

However, Kong Jiu's eyes were even colder than the winter rain in Hills.

"Feeling like humming a tune? Looks like you're in a good mood, Mr. Kong?"

Farah lay on his back in the torrential rain, the icy rain constantly taking away the warmth from his body, yet he forced a smile that was almost broken.

Kong Jiu stopped in front of him, and the humming stopped abruptly.

"No."

He shook his head, his voice low and muffled like thunder, "Quite the opposite. I only hum a tune to suppress my anger when I'm in a really bad mood."

On the pulsating system panel before him, his sanity had plummeted to the danger zone.

Old Chad's unexpected death was like a dull knife, repeatedly tearing at his nerves, and anger devoured what little composure he had left.

If it weren't for that jade tablet forcibly locking away his last shred of reason, he would probably have already stormed down to the lower city, cleansing everything with blood and annihilating the entire Vortex gang.

He was in a terrible mood, so bad that he had to rely on fragmented musical notes to distract himself from being completely consumed by anger.

"So... I still have to die, right?"

Farah gazed at the massive axe, which still gleamed coldly even under the torrential rain, and his expression was surprisingly calm, with even a faint, bitter smile still lingering on his lips.

"Do I also have thirty seconds to give my last words and make arrangements for my death?"

There was no panic in the cult leader's eyes. If it weren't for the fact that he was in such a sorry state after his battle with Wintert, his eyes and tone would have sounded quite relaxed.

Kong Jiu leaned forward slightly, casting shadows over Farah's pale face.

In the downpour, cold raindrops fell down his chin, and he nodded slightly.

This silent action is the clearest answer to the previous question.

Farah smiled.

He did not show fear or panic; he simply braced himself with his hands on the ground and tried to sit up.

Unfortunately, the purple robe, soaked in blood or drenched in rain, swayed heavily twice, and Farah finally lost her balance and fell again, back into the filthy puddle of rainwater.

Farah, refusing to believe it, tried to get up again, only to fall back into the puddle once more, splashing dirty water everywhere.

After several failures, he smiled bitterly and simply stopped struggling, lying on his back and watching the gray sky with raindrops falling continuously.

With each breath, he seemed to have gathered enough strength from the fall, and slowly rolled up his sleeves.

Spreading from the wrist to the shoulder blade, the grotesque, spiderweb-like magic loops reappear on the skin's surface, shimmering slightly, yet their light is dim.

A faint, eerie blue light flickered in Farah's eyes, but it remained uncertain.

Clearly, the anti-psychic warheads deeply embedded within him were still stubbornly suppressing him, preventing him from using the forbidden evil power that had been obtained at the cost of thousands of lives.

"I admit that my understanding of the warp... was a grave mistake."

Farah gasped for breath, each word seemingly strained, "But for the past month, I've been constantly thinking... about how to save those people..."

Before he finished speaking, two illusory doors faintly appeared before him:

Inside one door, torture instruments stood in rows, and screams of agony filled the air—a true scene of hell.

Behind another door, however, lay a hazy, serene glow—a phantom of a false paradise.

"There is an organization... willing to accept these two subspace nodes..."

Farah's breathing became increasingly rapid, the blue light in her eyes flickering like a candle in the wind, and the two doors swayed precariously, as if about to crumble. "They... will find a way to turn the 'future' into reality..."

He coughed heavily, coughing up a dark red bloodstain mixed with fragments of some unknown organ.

The blue light in his eyes went out completely, and the door vanished like smoke.

If it wasn't staged, it seems that this cult leader, even without being executed by Kong Jiu, was doomed.

"Kong... after I die, can you... make contact with that organization for me?"

Farah lay in the filthy puddle, looking up at Kongjiu with earnest eyes, yet with a hint of unfathomable depth.

Kong Jiu stared silently at the fading shadow of the doorway.

After a long while, he slowly shook his head.

"No."

His voice was cold and hard as iron, "I can save those people, or rather, I will find a way to save them. But..."

His tone suddenly turned fierce: "I will never do as you wish, Farah. Never."

Farah opened her mouth: "Why...?"

"Because you are a cult leader who bewitches people."

Kong Jiu interrupted him mercilessly, his eyes filled with frost, "I won't believe a single word of your nonsense."

Having said that, he tightened his grip on the axe handle with his five fingers.

"Ready to hit the road, Farah?"

The axe blade was raised high, and raindrops slid down its edge, splashing up cold water droplets.

A hint of resentment flashed in Farah's eyes, but it wasn't strong.

He swayed and raised his arms again.

The magic loops shimmered faintly on his pale skin, flickering like breath, as if they were the last pulse of his life.

"Although I'm not ready yet... I have no objections."

Farah looked directly into Kong Jiu's cold eyes, his gaze suddenly becoming unusually calm.

"But Kong, do you remember how Oscar transferred his psionic energy to you?"

Oscars?

Kong Jiu paused slightly as he raised his axe.

"This method of imprint transfer... requires the voluntary transfer by the dying person. Do you remember, Kong?"

The resentment in Farah's eyes gradually faded, replaced by an almost fanatical sense of triumph, as if his grand plan was about to succeed.

"What do you want to do?"

A warning bell rang in Kong Jiu's mind, and his impulse to swing the axe suddenly cooled.

"You are unwilling to willingly hand over this power to a sinner... I understand, Kong."

The blue light in Farah's eyes suddenly intensified, unlike that of a dying person; rather, it was like a final burst of energy, burning out the last of his life.

"But in order to construct a complete 'Time Control'... dying before you is exactly what I desire..."

Before he finished speaking, a blinding blue light suddenly burst forth from his body!

"Indeed, it is my lifelong dream!"

For some reason, the dying Farah uttered these words with boundless joy.

That forbidden power, which had accumulated thousands of lives and carried his life's work, surged towards Kong Jiu like a burst dam.