Someone once told O'Casey Griffin that adults cannot perceive many of the world's secrets because their dull minds and spirits cover their eyes.
"Then how can I obtain God's gift?" he asked eagerly.
"Beg," the man said. "Call out. Give everything you have, and if God hears your prayer, He will answer."
Want to survive.
Wanting to possess wealth that does not belong to you.
Wanting strength and power over others.
Then offer a sacrifice to the gods—that's how Ocasio-Griffin saw it. Over four years, he'd killed eighty-nine omegas, all by his own hands. He'd peeled back the flesh with a knife, revealing the pure, flawless human interior. With his rough fingertips, he'd caress the throbbing viscera, then pluck them out one by one.
At first, O'Casey's hands would tremble. The remnants of his humanity would condemn his crimes, and the spirits of the dead would haunt his dreams at night. But gradually, this man learned to peel off the last veil of morality and find pleasure in senseless killing.
The process of sacrifice is a process of domination.
Honestly, did O'Casey Griffin truly recite the name of God during those times? Perhaps he didn't. He was only thinking about himself, extracting twisted joy from this mechanical torture and pain.
But when Erica sat on top of the statue, O'Casey suddenly felt that the endless eternity and power he had been pursuing would no longer be a vague and elusive shadow.
God must have finally sensed his call.
God must have finally realized his loyalty.
The secretary tried to gently advise him, "It's too dangerous outside right now. Do you really have to go out? We should wait for orders from our superiors and a response from the troops stationed in space..."
O'Casey heard nothing.
He strode out of the room, hammered through the window, and leaped from the second-floor balcony. His feet stumbled as he landed, and his aged joints groaned under the strain. He ran toward Erica, looking disheveled, his black and white hair blown by the wind, but he didn't care. He then shouted, "Who are you?!"
Several black-capped sparrows flew down from the treetops and landed silently in front of the unnoticed camera. They flew high into the air with the handle in their beaks and rotated 180 degrees. Then they pecked the power button and the record button and pointed the lens at O'Casey Griffin's face.
Erica's voice came from above, clear as an oriole: "I am a servant of God."
A burning color flashed in the Archon's eyes. He took several steps forward, his old arms trembling, and shouted, "Are you here to pick me up?"
Erica asked, "What did you do?"
"I offered my pure life to God!" O'Casey trembled with excitement, his voice nearly roaring. "Four years, eighty-nine souls! I swear I've never been negligent for a single day! Doesn't God see my sincerity? Didn't the souls of those dead Omegas go to His kingdom?"
“…”
Erica lowered her head, not hiding the hatred in her eyes. She whispered, "Now God knows, everyone knows, and you will bear the consequences of your sins."
Her words were quiet, so O'Casey didn't hear them. He looked up at the girl perched atop the statue, over ten meters high, with a hint of hope still on her face. Before he could ask his question, the sparrows, clutching their cameras, spun in a circle and flew away into the rising sun.
The continuation of the beauty of the human world must have begun from the moment light shines on the earth and awakens the vibrant and kind people.
And in a place that the camera could not see, on the roof of the City Hall, which became the tallest building near the square after the statue collapsed, dark tentacles were like a waterfall formed by mud gushing out from an unknown space. In the blink of an eye, it swallowed up the entire building and continued to extend in all directions.
Inside, the secretary, lost in thought as he stared at his boss, felt his vision blur as he was suddenly plunged into pitch-black darkness, as if the power had gone out. Before he could react, something in the shadows passed through the window O'Casey had hammered down and landed on the marble floor with a clatter.
Then there was the sound of 'tick, tick, tick', water dripping on the stone surface.
It was also accompanied by a slight rustling sound of friction.
At that moment, the secretary imagined a series of scenes and feelings of wet and sticky mollusks such as octopuses, slugs, slimes, and mud monsters crawling up his trouser legs and wrapping around his body.
Maybe it will be accompanied by several thousand words of indescribable plot.
“Ahhhhhhhhh—”
Suddenly, a high-decibel scream was heard in the city hall, followed by the dull sound of a heavy object falling to the ground.
Azathoth: “…”
He deliberately raised one of his tentacles and lowered his head to make sure that there was nothing strange on it.
I didn't even touch him, what the hell is that human yelling about?
The secretary's scream woke O'Casey Griffin from his dazed state.
He shuddered all over and turned his head immediately. Before his brain could understand why this scene was happening, he was shocked to find that the nearest tentacle had reached his feet. The moment he looked over, it showed its fangs like a coiled snake. Although there was no sharp point, O'Casey's exposed skin felt a burning pain.
The next second, his eyes went dark and he lost consciousness in front of this doomsday scene that seemed like an imagined one.
Behind him, Erica bowed to Azathoth.
Farther away, countless black-hooded residents of Port Alplai closed their eyes and silently chanted. They couldn't comprehend, couldn't see straight ahead, couldn't rationally analyze what was happening, and only instinctively stood in awe, bowing in delirium to the origin of chaos.
"They are crazy...all crazy..." The sober people murmured to themselves, but stared at the scene as if they were bewitched.
A song-like humming sound seemed to be carried across the air. No one knew where the sound came from, or why it was born. It resonated and drifted through people's hearts, gradually flowing into the distance. Just at the end of the horizon, between the hundred-foot-tall buildings, where the sun rises, sparrows fluttered their wings and gently and steadily placed their cameras under the azure sky.
It will show this magnificent sunrise to those who are still working hard to live tomorrow.
**
Ford Hill drove his hover car around traffic control, not caring about the risk of a hundred-dollar fine or even the revocation of his driver's license, and rushed to his destination at lightning speed, just in time to witness the beginning of the end.
This was the spot where Erica had collapsed a building. Ford had initially believed she had learned to use improvised explosives under her teacher's guidance, but during his investigation, he found no trace of gunpowder in the rubble. Furthermore, he had repeatedly visited the bishop of the Alplait Church, questioning him about the secrets of the evil god, but he had repeatedly declined to discuss the matter.
However, this is by no means the most confusing part of the whole thing.
Is there really some hallucinogen in this world that can temporarily deprive tens of thousands of people of their sanity, forcing them to risk their lives coming to the door of the city hall to worship that unknown, terrifying, and yet unconcealable evil being?
He was worried and inexplicably upset, as if something particularly important or even life-threatening had been overlooked, or as if an invisible sword was hanging over his head. The scene he had just witnessed kept replaying in his mind, and he was even absent-minded while driving all the way to this unfinished building area in pursuit of the tentacles.
So much so that when Igor stretched out his hand to stop him from moving forward, the young man with blond hair and dark gray eyes had not yet come to his senses - "You can't go any further, Mr. Hill." Igor said politely.
The young man did not look at the person who came later than him, but instead fixed his eyes on Azathoth and the unconscious archon in front of him, with a hint of imperceptible worry in his eyes.
Ford paused.
"Igor?" He was clearly well prepared. He drew his weapon without hesitation and pointed it at Azathoth. A look of shock appeared on his hard, angular face. "Igor Sullivan? Why are you here?"
"No, I'm afraid we'll have to talk about 'reminiscing' later in court." Ford Hill didn't wait for Igor to answer. He turned around, gripped the powerful firearm, and continued to speak to Azathoth, who was wearing a hood and looked over at the voice. "The point is—who are you?"
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