Chapter 428: Setting the God Ablaze
This novel is translated and hosted on bcatranslation.com
In a realm where the boundaries of reality and madness blur, a figure struggled through a labyrinth of thorny, needle-like gaps. Occasional slivers of light illuminated its path, casting an ethereal glow on its journey. This figure, Agatha, wavered between determination and despair, as if daring to bridge the chasm between sanity and madness.
How long had she wandered in this chaotic realm? How much had the corruption of the ancient deity seeped into her being? Was she still whole, or merely fragments on the brink of being consumed by the anarchy around her?
Agatha felt adrift, unable to discern her surroundings or her own form. She was like ink diffusing in water, her edges blurred and indistinct. It felt less like walking and more like floating through a dense, dark medium that mirrored her own substance.
She sensed everything pushing towards a limit. The basic particles of life—were they truly the building blocks of all existence? These particles had shaped her current form.
Ice melts into water and evaporates into the air. The replica formed from these elements was destined to return to the metaphorical “ocean” from which they came. The “individual will” housed in this form would eventually become a mere pinpoint of light in this chaotic “ocean,” feeding other wandering sparks lost in the thorny maze.
She was merely a facsimile, a phantom. She held memories of a twenty-four-year life: memories of her birthplace, her comrades, and everything she loved and hated. But what truly belonged to her in those twenty-four years might amount to just three days or even less.
Governor Winston’s voice echoed in her mind, filled with resignation and sorrow. “There’s no meaning…”
A being of true existence had etched such a statement in the boundless darkness. In contrast, an imitation with only three days of existence dared to venture through the darkness, aiming to confront the ancient god.
“How absurd…” Agatha murmured, her voice dissolving into the darkness, creating subtle ripples. At the same time, a relentless stream of data flooded her mind, a mysterious will composed of binary “0” and “1” inundating her psyche.
She was aware that she was on the verge of dissolving into this vast consciousness. Even if this space held only the ancient god’s fleeting thoughts, its immense magnitude was beyond her fragile mind’s capacity.
But that was fine. She had made it.
She had navigated the enormous thorny wilderness and reached the depths of the darkness.
Before her stood a vast “tentacle,” like a towering pillar supporting the sky. Its surface was intricately etched with dark blue lines, serving as a monument to ancient truths against the backdrop of chaos.
Agatha lifted her gaze and reached out, seeking to make contact. Black fragments and dust twirled and hovered around her.
Her skin, mapped with countless wounds, bore the marks of her grueling passage through the thorny thicket. A black substance, resembling sludge, seeped from her, rising like a spectral mist, diffusing, and eventually dissolving into the surrounding void. The floating fragments and dust were remnants of her essence.
In this moment, Agatha felt like a cracked puppet, marred by a network of fissures, so horrifying that no amount of bandages could conceal her appearance.
In comparison, the primordial god’s “tentacle” remained unaffected, indifferent to her touch.
It emitted no formidable energy or intimidating traits. It didn’t even respond to her provocation. Her fingertips registered only a subtle coolness, a soft, slightly rugged texture.
Was this indifference because the tentacle was merely an echo from the ocean’s abyss? Or was her existence too insignificant to draw the ancient god’s attention?
Agatha furrowed her brow, pondering what she could achieve in these final moments. After a prolonged period of contemplation, she realized she had no tangible goal.
She had reached her destination, unraveled the enigma of this darkness, journeyed through the spiky labyrinth of the ancient deity’s thoughts, and glimpsed the true essence of the profound god hidden in the core of this darkness. She even dared to touch the god’s tentacle with her own hands.
There was no more truth to discover, no remaining objectives to pursue. This final journey seemed less about fulfilling her duty as a gatekeeper and more about satisfying her own stubborn resolve.
Now, it was time to rest.
Agatha sighed softly, letting her body relax. She leaned against the gigantic tentacle as one might find solace against a robust pillar.
“I likely won’t have a soul to accompany me…” Agatha pondered aloud in the darkness. A peculiar thought crossed her mind, but she dismissed it with a light-hearted chuckle. “Of course not. If I truly had a soul, crossing that boundary would wreak havoc for the ‘gatekeeper’ on the other side… And what would happen to ‘her’ if I crossed? You can’t cross that threshold twice…
“I wonder what’s happening at the cathedral… Did those who ventured into the well return? They probably don’t need to worry…”
In the enveloping darkness, she immersed herself in contemplative dialogue, unable to stem the flow of her musings, unintentionally vocalizing her innermost thoughts.
Her introspection was abruptly cut short by a foreign sensation—a sudden surge of blistering heat that jolted Agatha out of her reverie.
It felt as though she was engulfed by a formidable inferno, threatening to annihilate her very soul. Her thoughts, poised on the brink of merging into the chaos, were abruptly rekindled. She squirmed within the illusion of being consumed by flames, oblivious to the unfolding sequence of events. Yet, in the next moment, a familiar voice echoed within her mind: “The beacon has been lit.”
It was her own voice.
Agatha’s eyes sprang open in the consuming darkness as a piercing green light streaked across her vision, blurring the boundary between illusion and reality. A vision unfolded before her—she saw herself teetering on the precipice of a boundless abyss, simmering with a menacing black sludge and surrounded by monstrous minions and demonic entities.
Within this flame-engulfed corridor, a revelation struck her—she became aware of another consciousness, another ‘self’.
The other ‘her’ acknowledged her presence too.
She now understood what was expected of her—there remained a task that required her attention.
Agatha pivoted sharply, her gaze fixed on the enormous tentacle before her. A radiant smile bloomed across her face, the brightest one she had mustered since her arrival in this darkness, and a blazing light reignited in her eyes.
Taking a decisive step forward, she extended both hands towards the tentacle. The flames swiftly enveloped her entire form, but the scorching torment felt more like a revered tribute than agony. She flung her arms wide open in an embrace that seemed more welcoming than a lunging attack.
Boom!
A terrifying roar echoed through the darkness as the two forces clashed, the flames engulfing the distorted space in an instant. Amidst the escalating symphony of the spiritual fire, the colossal tentacle transformed into a blazing beacon, trembling violently within the conflagration.
Agatha felt her flesh rapidly decomposing in the fiery blaze. Her body, originally fashioned from corrupt substances, was now part of the purifying process orchestrated by the fire. But she harbored no fear. Instead, she strained to lift her head, casting a backward glance toward the path she had traversed.
The “thorny wilderness” was also ablaze. Amidst the swiftly spreading spiritual fire, it took on an uncanny, yet entrancing, resemblance to a fiery tree crown.
“Farewell… Governor Winston…” Agatha murmured to herself, tightening her grip on the tentacle within the fire, serenely awaiting the final chapter of her existence.
Yet, as her consciousness teetered on the edge of extinction, she registered an anomaly.
The fire had consumed both her and the tentacle. For the first time, within the passage sculpted by the spiritual fire, she felt a reaction from this “ancient god’s extension”.
In surprise, she lifted her gaze, studying the intricate designs on the tentacle’s surface, observing the flames as they danced upon it, and sensing the deluge of information rushing into her mind from the spiritual fire. It was as though countless eyes had opened on the tentacle’s surface, each urgently imparting pieces of knowledge and information.
Ultimately, the entire spectrum of knowledge and information coalesced into a whirlpool in her mind—
11101001… 11100101 10001000… 10010011…
Endless chains of “0” and “1” seized the remnants of Agatha’s consciousness.
But this time, she managed to decipher their cryptic narrative.
“Error… Clone…”
In a state of astonished disbelief, she pieced together the enigmatic message relayed by the ancient god’s extension, fathoming its intentions and subsequently unraveling an astonishing revelation.
With her gaze fixed on the tentacle she had set ablaze, she wondered, “Could this… be merely another illusion?!”
In the following moment, the lingering spark of her consciousness was devoured by the relentless, emerald conflagration.
All that, just to destroy an illusion of a minor part of an ancient god’s body?
Enforcing proper boundaries is important.
I agree that the gods have a problem with personal boundaries…
For example, Zeus from Greek mythology – raped and reproduced with anyone.
Also in the metaphysical sense of the term.
This minor god as you call it, it simply is, it’s neither good or evil, but since it just is, it might be the most dangerous of them all.
translation of the binary is ” ?? ” which mean die or death in English
seems like the blog doesn’t recognise Chinese words
This whole thing had better not be a fning simulation. If it is, I’m betting it’s the CCP’s doing, like how once My House of Horrors got popular enough to show up on their radar, it changed abruptly. Dumb af anti-superstition law.