Chapter 129 Destructive Magic Clash
You looked up at her, laughed, and exclaimed, "Wouldn't the professor be disappointed to see you like this?"
Becca was so engrossed in the incantation that she suddenly stopped after a long while.
"What did you say?"
"As a professor, you couldn't fight against some kind of mysterious witchcraft, and now your own child has to try to find a way to save her through this witchcraft?" You propped your head up and shouted, "Is it possible that everything you're doing now, whether it succeeds or fails, is denying her?"
Becca clenched her fist.
It seems this is the pain point.
Seize on this point and continue to provoke: "After all this, can you be sure that the professor will be the one who comes back in the end?"
As you spoke, Becca's face twitched; tears still clung to her eyelashes, but the sadness in her eyes was now completely consumed by madness.
"Shut up!"
"Shut up!!"
Speak up! Speak up!
She read aloud, “What do you mean by that?”
The forest fell silent instantly.
Becca, realizing what she had said, panicked and tried to continue her incantation.
You didn't give her a chance, but instead took the opportunity to ask again, "What do you mean by that?"
"bite--"
A bell tolled in your mind from who-knows-where, and the ground beneath your feet collapsed like a swamp, plunging you and Becca into a dark, round hole.
Upon landing, one is surrounded by dense vines and faceless onlookers, like memories of the rainforest, ghosts of natives, or... the shadows of those who have perished.
The sky is like pages turning in black ink, and the earth is like flowing red mud.
Sound carries weight here; every word spoken leaves an echo like a stone.
You and Becca are standing on the same ring.
The blunt force trauma to the back of your head is still painful, but you must stand tall and face the challenge.
You look down at yourself: a camel-colored sun-protective jacket, functional multi-pocket quick-drying pants, and a small name tag with a patchwork of the national flag and your name hanging on your backpack. What is this? You quickly realize that you are still following a certain pattern of keeping yourself here.
Becca, on the other hand, wore a dark blue, modified research robe, oddly shaped, which looked more like a combination of a lab coat and the robes of those indigenous civilizations.
She wore mud-covered military boots, but around her waist was a strange rope woven from grass and vines, with dark red dye seeping from the knots, making it impossible to tell whether it was plant sap or congealed blood.
Her face was painted with some kind of fine, totem-like lines. You subconsciously wiped your face with your hand to make sure that there was nothing on your face.
But just looking at Becca, the evil aura emanating from her seemed almost tangible.
“My mother will return, and you, you foolish, fearless brat from out of town, will obediently become the stepping stone to bring her back.” She launched the first attack.
You sneer: "Oh, really? But all you've done is drag others down with you. Is that righteous? If God exists, will He really help you?"
"God is definitely on my side!" Becca laughed wildly. "I followed in my mother's footsteps, figured out what she went through, and I'm still alive and well. Only those two unlucky guys, Fred and Ramon, got into trouble. This is proof that God is biased towards me!"
Letters, mixed with intonation, rained down on you. Damn, I never expected her to be so convinced of this path!
“You’re an outsider, a mysterious figure I can’t even fathom. What’s the point of you coming here? Go back to your country!” Becca threw out the words harshly. “Otherwise, you’re here to be used by me! Admit it, outsiders like you come to our land to become our nourishment!”
This statement won't hurt you much, because you know clearly that you don't belong here, and you have a clear goal and path. Most importantly, you are confident that you can successfully leave.
Her attack missed, so it's your turn to attack.
You pressed on: "Why don't you go back to where you belong? Let the dead rest in peace. If your behavior were posted on social media, your compatriots would probably just condemn you as a 'witch' and issue you a death sentence! They might even go further and curse your mother!"
A fleeting look of pain crossed Becca's face.
"You want to resurrect the professor, don't you? You keep talking about 'coming back,' but that body is just an empty shell. Believe it or not, her soul is dead, becoming fertile ground for another terrifying creature. And do you still want to continue being the cultivator of this fertile ground?"
Becca gritted her teeth: "She's not an empty shell! She's still here, she just... just needs some completion. I've read so many local myths, sacrifices, reincarnation, soul exchanges... as long as the ritual is completed, she can come back!"
You can see that Becca is just putting on a brave face. She is the daughter of a top professor. How could she be so illogical as to think that the same evil magic could bring the dead back to life and reverse cause and effect?
Taking a step forward, your voice even carried a genuine sense of regret: "What part of her do you mean by 'bring her back'? Her body? Her name? Even if she recounts her memories with you and acts very much like your mother, how can you know that this resurrected thing is still your mother's soul?"
Becca trembled slightly: "No... I can tell, I..."
You spoke slowly but firmly, “You said you wanted her to come back, but what do you want her to do with? She paid the price for her academic and career pursuits, and she probably doesn’t regret it herself; now you’ve gathered students in her name, causing this collective death. Even if she doesn’t have to be a fugitive in the future, her research career will be completely over.”
"Is this what she's hoping for? Becca! Look at me and answer me!"
Becca abruptly turned her face away.
She screamed, "You don't understand!"
But she has already been overwhelmed by your words and emotions, leaving her unsteady on her feet.
"This 'box' may be a fighting arena, but I just want to tell you, end it, stop being so stubborn, accept what has happened, and don't let one tragedy trigger more tragedies." You try to move forward and get closer to Becca.
You're not sure if you can do these things.
This box scenario, which only pops up when emotions are running high because of a fixed phrase, is something you've used many times, but you haven't yet tried to "reconcile" with the other person.
You easily stepped into Becca's other half.
The closer you get, the more Becca backs away.
Her composure seemed to crumble along with her posture, as three jet-black tongues emerged from the vines in the background, enveloping half of Becca's body.
You reach out and peel her out.
“Becca, let’s give up on this, okay? We don’t need to fight like this. These past few days, even if this isn’t a real summer camp, I can still feel that you are a very serious researcher. You yourself are the best continuation of your mother’s existence, instead of like this.” You cupped her face in your hands.
Becca's tears rolled onto your hand. You didn't know that in her vision, the delirious phantom overlapped with you. For a moment, she couldn't tell who you were. Was it Professor Shia?
“I…I just…she never had time to spend with me when I was little, but it’s okay, I will try my best to get to her side and become her most loyal and caring research partner.” Becca said this to you, but you felt that in her unfocused pupils, it was as if she was looking at someone else.
"She said I wasn't good enough to join her team, but if I were by her side, she would never have become like this... I love her, I..."
“Yes, she loves you too.” You patted Becca on the shoulder, your voice heavy. “She would want you to move beyond your research career, rather than be trapped in the past.”
Becca burst into tears. Since she can no longer respond to you, you have naturally won.
The scene box cracks open, and you return to reality.
The box that was hanging above your head fell to the ground with a thud, and the five students who were suspended in mid-air also fell to the ground, sprawling out in a circle, all crooked and twisted.
You went up to check on them, and thankfully, they were all breathing. Even Carlos, at least, still had normal flesh and blood.
However, those marks still remained on his body, indicating that simply interrupting the ritual using the universal rules of the instance was not enough to completely remove them.
Becca knelt on the spot, breathing faintly, her head bowed as if she was still pondering what you had said.
You approach her and grab her shoulder: "Alright, cheer up. Do you—know any other spells? Maybe, you can—bring them back?"
Seeing Becca's distraught state, you closed your eyes briefly and said, "Let's leave them for now. I'll call for help. Let's get out of here and back to the city first. Let's finish this project. I can testify that something inexplicable has happened. You should... you should be alright."
Becca seemed not to hear her, looking down at the ground, her lips trembling slightly. If you leaned closer, her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible, yet she still uttered those broken incantations.
You immediately became alert: "Shut up—"
But it was too late.
The next second, black blood gushed out of her mouth like a burst pipe, the turbid flow shooting straight to the ground.
Her body began to convulse violently, and her blood bypassed you, flowing like a stream towards the small box.
You have no choice but to hide yourself first.
A sudden gust of wind arose, and the box burst open silently from its center!
Like a sleeping monster finally awakened, its "breath" draws in the presence of everyone around it—not the wind blowing objects up, but the collapse of space itself, drawing life into the cracks of the box.
The bodies of the five students were the first to be pulled—
"Run!" you shout, trying to bring them back to their senses.
They struggled, but it was too late.
Under the red moon, an ominous black wind coiled around their limbs like ropes, like inverted silkworm threads, dragging them toward the center of the bone box.
One by one they screamed, broke down, and wailed, and you... could only watch.
Should we use props to help them? But we can't use props in front of the "locals," otherwise who knows what the consequences will be!
But... the situation is probably out of control right now, isn't it? You'd rather the story go something like this group of people suddenly coming to their senses because you used a tool beyond their comprehension, and then changing this terrifying situation.
"Ghost Bride, please!" Black spiritual hair rose up with the voice, wrapping around the first person who was about to be sucked into the small box—Tony.
The fine threads lashed around her ankles, wrapping tightly.
You grit your teeth, grab the ends of the green hair with both hands, lean back, and together with the strength of the green hair, pull her outward with all your might.
The air was thick with the stench of blood, and a low, grinding whisper emanated from the bone box.
“Mikui—”
“Mikui—”
…
What does this mean? This doesn't seem to be a spell, but rather a native language?
It's out of control!
You're afraid that if you listen or think too much, you'll be influenced! So you just pull with all your might!
The black hair was so strong that it truly withstood the power of the small box.
But just as you were about to laugh—
A soft "click" sounded.
Tony's leg was torn off.
Just as you were falling backward due to inertia, looking like a mess with stars in your eyes, Tony, and everyone else, were torn apart and squeezed into that bone box.
Your eyes widened, and the black hair was flung back into your hand—the end of which was wrapped around a pale, calf.
You can't even scream.
You only realized that it had started raining without you noticing, and it soaked you from head to toe.
If you raise your hand to look, the color of the rain is even darker than your skin.
Ah, it's blood.
"sorry…"
It's Becca's voice.
You look up abruptly, and Becca is still kneeling on the ground.
The small box was already closed, indicating that the person had eaten their fill.
"Grab my hand, let's get out of here now!" Ignoring your previous injuries, you crawled forward with all your might, grabbing Becca and trying to leave first.
This place is absolutely terrifying—
Huh?
Becca's hands were soft, as if they had no bones.
Looking at her face again, her lips were bluish-purple, and her pupils were completely dilated.
Becca looked up at you. Her eyes were so empty they seemed to suck you in, and thin, black threads were beginning to trickle from the corner of her mouth.
You realize something's wrong and jerk back, letting go of her hands. Becca collapses to the ground, coughing up a mouthful of thick, black stuff... you don't even know what it is anymore.
It wasn't a liquid at all; it was more like a surging, vibrant mass of spore strands.
You seem frozen in place.
"...I can't take it anymore." Her voice was hoarse, yet surprisingly, it carried a hint of relief.
You look at her, and the spores spread along the corners of her mouth, seeping out through the gaps in her skin, as if weaving a cocoon that emerges from the inside.
The hand you just held was already swollen, its flesh visibly churning like waves.
"Cough cough—" All the injuries you sustained today came into play at this moment, and you choked on a mouthful of acid.
"Can you...can you still think?" You tried your best to stay rational, completely unaware that your voice had cracked. "How can I save you? You should know your condition, right?"
She nodded and smiled again.
“I realize… I was so foolish… Was I always thinking about her ‘coming back’? Now I understand… She’s always been inside me… ever since I first led a team to experience her path…”
“I was infected back then, so that’s how it is.” Becca rambled on, “Fungi are indeed such amazing creatures, so that’s how they parasitize.”
You open your mouth, but you can't utter a single word.
After a long pause, you finally managed to blurt out, "What time is it? Stop worrying about all this scientific stuff. Is there any hope for you...?" You didn't even know what you were asking.
Just keeping talking to yourself will make you feel safer.
Becca's skin color was darkening from the joints where they used to be, and fine, mycelial-like threads were crawling under her skin, spiraling up her neck.
She curled up like a pupa about to hatch.
"Kill me," she whispered. "With fire. Only flames can stop the spread of the mycelium."
She looked up at you, and for the first time, a genuine plea appeared in her eyes.
“I understand now… how my mother feels. I’ve really been doing the wrong thing all along,” she said, until the whites of her eyes were covered with tears.
Your hands are shaking.
She's transforming, you know. Her skeleton is collapsing inward, her eyes are starting to blur, and her skin is even taking on a translucent quality, as if it's about to crack open at any moment and a completely different "her" will crawl out from inside.
She quieted down, like a sleeping child.
With trembling hands, you rummage through your backpack and pull out a lighter.
I pressed the button several times in a row but no spark came out, and I even burned myself on the last attempt.
But anyway, you still managed to start a fire.
The flames spread the moment they came into contact with those dark things.
The damp weeds and bushes were not set ablaze; only Becca was reduced to ashes in the flames.
The moon regained its white and lustrous color.
You can't breathe.
It's all over, but you feel no sense of victory. You just want to vomit, just want to cry, but there's nothing you can do. You sit in the mud, your face covered in blood and spore fragments, staring at the deserted camp in the distance.
We need to leave here.
This is the only one you can think of.
You stood there for a long time, long enough for the rain to stop. The sky didn't clear up; the dark clouds just pressed down from a different angle. You were soaked to the bone, your hands were white, and there was still blood, whose origin was unknown, under your fingernails.
You don't quite remember how you got up from the mud.
Your ears are ringing constantly, and you're walking on soft, damp, decaying earth. All the trees in sight are sick.
The bark was peeling off, the branches were bent, and it was breathing out a salty, bloody smell.
You return to the dilapidated center of the camp, search through the ruins, and finally find the satellite phone.
As you trembled, you opened the waterproof box and stiffly pressed the start button.
Press and hold for three seconds, and the screen lights up. The signal is weak but still present.
But you don't know how to use this kind of thing.
You had no choice but to continue searching, hoping to find any instructions. You turned the tent upside down, and finally, tucked away in the crack of an already soaked instruction manual, you found a crumpled emergency procedure card.
You immediately enter the emergency contact code and send out a signal that reads "Expedition team lost contact - helicopter support needed".
You paused suddenly when you pressed the send button.
Your brain is about to stop working.
How do you explain this? How many people died? What did you do? How do you say that Becca begged you to kill her, that you couldn't save anything, and that the professor and the others were no longer human?
You deleted and re-entered: Multiple infections, mental abnormalities, extremely poor condition, only one survivor. Request immediate evacuation.
send.
You stare at the "Sending" message flashing on the screen, feeling almost no emotion.
You feel like you're reporting someone else's lost luggage.
Sent successfully.
You toss the satellite phone into your backpack, sit down, and watch the tent fabric flutter in the wind.
All you know is that in this "trial" where you were the only outsider, you were the only one who survived.
But what awaits you?
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Author's note: Look in my eyes! Tell me why, baby why (Sorry)
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