Chapter 120-The Manga Pariah's Guide to Self-Salvation
As the word "trash" drifted lightly into Kiran's buzzing ears, he howled indistinct words in agony, indistinguishable whether from his body dissolving in the acidic slime or from his lifelong convictions and pursuits being trampled ruthlessly underfoot by the girl before him.
"No—no! They'll—they'll kill you! You—ah!"
Flesh melted under the black viscous creature's embrace. In his blurring vision, Kiran recognized it: one of last month's failed experiments, placed in a holy vessel yet unable to birth successfully as human. The vessel's dying horror lingered in his memory... and now it was his turn!
Amid the man's gut-wrenching screams mingled with the monster's whimpering cries, Ye Zheng looked down at the absurd scene. She shifted the sword tip at his throat forward slightly, halting the monster's upward devouring.
She needed to keep the head intact—she wanted everyone to see this hideous face clearly.
"Kiran, your end is no longer spiritual immortality amid flames with the Hope Project. Your head will become the emblem of the Hope Project's utter failure—the trophy of our victory."
The sword tip slid from the throat bulging with veins and Adam's apple to the side of the neck.
In his daze, the unbearable torment faded into near-numb senses. Kiran turned his head, catching sight of a face in the sword's reflection: a grotesque one, snot- and tear-streaked, features contorted.
In life's final instant, a fierce conviction surged within—not this! This shouldn't be his end. He was meant to stride into conclusion like a god before the burning base, in the presence of Percy and Sykes!
"You—you shouldn't be in our story..."
Kiran murmured his last unwilling words, his pupils dilating. Then a white flash filled his sight, as if heaven's gates swung open to an endless hell.
Drip drop drip drop—the mausoleum's emptiness held only faint, barely audible sounds.
Ye Zheng lifted the man's head.
Blood inevitably splashed onto her; she held it farther away.
The black monster on the ground had corroded the body completely. It seemed eager to crawl toward Ye Zheng, but a glance from her sent it wriggling back wisely.
Now, just take this head out, find Zhou Yun, resolve the West District's final matter.
Before exiting the mausoleum, Ye Zheng glanced back at the endless white spine. Things were far from simple, but she could only advance toward the truth step by step.
Entering the stairwell, a trace of worry lingered on Ye Zheng's brow. Kiran had mentioned other preparations—troubles likely awaited.
She ascended the stairs, intending to leave, yet they seemed endless, spiraling without end, the time spent far exceeding her descent.
Ye Zheng halted, lifting Kiran's head to eye level with a cold chuckle.
"Truly full of schemes."
After the girl calling herself "Ye Zheng" burst into the Hall of Saints, refuting the doctored divine words in the texts and slaying the teaching priest, Annie and the others returned to their quarters in profoundly mixed moods.
The base provided them comfortable lodging, lavish daily meals, and erudite instructors to impart knowledge. Once, this had filled her with boundless gratitude—surely the gods' supreme grace, and she would live up to their expectations.
But today, someone had intruded abruptly into this paradise, ripping away the ornate facade to reveal it as hypocritical lies: the gods had never demanded their deaths in devotion.
"I shall live eternally undefeated in darkness and despair, burning the old to embrace new birth." Annie murmured the original phrasing the girl had taught her, crossing out the book's falsified words.
The priests said the base was recently besieged by monsters, but Annie refused to call them that. She knew what they were: fallen breeds who hadn't succumbed to the demon dragon's temptation, predecessors who never returned.
Annie shuddered suddenly. Before, thinking of them evoked only sorrow, worry over whether she could become a holy vessel. Now, an inexplicable dread welled up, mingled with baseless anger...
Irritation drove her; Annie set down the book and pushed open the door, only to see Lily from next door hurrying away.
Over half an hour ago, she'd heard some noise—and a faint man's voice. Inquiring upon opening her door, Lily, grief-stricken, had refused to chat.
She'd never been one for talking to them anyway, Annie wasn't surprised. Unlike these orphans, Lily was said to be a noble lady; her room was more spacious and luxurious, and she received personal tutelage from Bishop Kiran...
Annie's brows lifted. Wait—that man's voice outside earlier sounded a bit like Bishop Kiran.
Gazing at Lily's receding figure, Annie steeled herself and decided to follow. Lily's state seemed off.
She trailed cautiously at a distance; the base's chaos meant no one minded them. Annie's expression grew more baffled—where was Lily headed? That direction was off-limits even to ordinary base personnel, let alone the girls.
A white-clad knight ahead blocked Lily, but upon her showing something, he let her pass.
A sharp gaze swept her way; Annie ducked back hastily, heart pounding. She couldn't follow further, but neither could she abandon it.
After deliberation, Annie decided to seek the dean nun's aid. She was their matriarch, always like a fairy godmother from tales—gentle yet authoritative, resolving all troubles.
Annie ran in another direction. At this hour, the dean nun was usually praying in a small chapel, rain or shine.
The nearer the pristine white chapel on the green sward, the slower Annie's steps. She swallowed, gazing at it.
The faint scent of blood overpowered the grass's fragrance.
The girl's limbs stiffened. She pushed open the heavy carved wooden doors with a creak, her fearful gaze fixed on the chapel's depths.
A thick metallic tang assaulted her. Beneath the pallid statue, blackish-red pooled on the floor; white and flesh-toned chunks lay scattered. Annie averted her eyes after a glance, like a fawn stumbling into a slaughter site.
"Annie, what happened? Did you come to find me?"
The elderly nun, with the innocent-faced young woman behind her, skirted the gore and approached.
Annie's lips parted soundlessly in panic, unsure if to ask what had transpired—especially seeing the young woman spattered in disheveled bloodstains. Steadying herself, she declared loudly, "Y-yes—it's Lily. Bishop Kiran seems to have sent her to the central control room for something."
At Kiran's name, Annabelle's expression dulled, the lines around her mouth turning stern without a smile.
"Weilai, let's go see. What more mischief does he plot?"
The young woman leaned on the old nun, nodding obediently. Glancing down, she saw a discordant blood fleck in the white hair and reached to wipe it, puzzled as it smeared redder.
Annabelle seized Zhu Weilai's near-crimson hand, sighing. No time to clean up first, it seemed.
A flicker of relieved amusement crossed the old woman's gray eyes. Perhaps Ye Zheng was right not to take this child—had she perished in the recent purge, no one might have stopped Kiran's base arrangements.
Under Annie's puzzled gaze, Annabelle didn't head toward the central control room in the courtyard but veered elsewhere, to the girls' dormitory building.
At its deepest end lay a small courtyard, flora withered and decayed, yet traces of former splendor remained.
Annabelle pushed open the tottering gate. In her aged voice, she reminisced, "This was the West District supervisor's residence back then."
"I once gestated here."
Forty years prior, pregnant and melancholic from her husband's ceaseless labors, the man—ever busy in the base—had brought her here for better care, calling it merely an ability research facility.
Later, unease grew; one day she intruded the lab, witnessing a fellow pregnant woman slain on the operating table by the monstrous child within.
Months later, Annabelle lost her unborn Lilian here, and her guilt-ridden husband to suicide. Thereafter, she sealed the place.
"That man built a tunnel in the back garden for quicker trips between work and home."
Annabelle crossed the dust-choked, abandoned parlor, opening the back door to lead the two girls to a basement, ushering them into the tunnel first.
As she closed the door behind, the elderly nun paused, gazing at her faded old home. Vivid memories flashed before her eyes.
"This is our atonement, John."
The door slammed shut. Annabelle turned no more, following the two girls quietly yet spryly through the not-overlong passage.
The small iron door creaked open, then shut softly. A petite figure slipped out nimbly.
Lucy tugged off the ill-fitting white robe, her orange ponytail bouncing free. She clenched her fists for courage and stepped into the thick fog.
The elderly nun grandma matched Ye Zheng's description perfectly, pointing out this secret exit from the base. Now, just deliver Ye Zheng's note to Zhou Yun—
But where was Zhou Yun?
Ye Zheng had said that once in the fog, she'd sense her presence—but beware, Zhou Yun might not be friendly.
The surrounding mist hung especially heavy; Lucy's thighs began to phantom-ache. Last time in such dread fog, she'd been hunted like prey by gun-wielding humans. Now she felt watched, something lurking to strike.
Lucy jogged deeper into the white fog, pulling out Ye Zheng's note and waving it.
"Auntie? It's Ye Zheng's friend—she has words for you."
"Hello, Auntie Zhou Yun. We really need to find you urgently."
...
Lucy called out several greetings into the fog, met with silence—not even wind. Doubting if too near the base, unwilling to appear, she summoned courage and dashed further.
She hadn't gone far when her body lightened suddenly.
A surge of mist, and the barren ground held only an oversized white robe.
Author's Note:
Too much iced milk tea today—period cramps are killing me. I'll add more tomorrow.
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