Chapter 187: Ritual Dream
In a room not far from the cell, Song Cheng instinctively held his breath, his gaze fixed on the screens displaying various readings and layered analysis videos, each filtered differently. Next to him, Bai Li Qing sat calmly, her expression unchanging as she watched the screens.
“Director, did you see that just now?” Song Cheng slightly turned his head, glancing at Bai Li Qing’s expressionless face. “When that Doll made her move…”
“I saw it,” Bai Li Qing replied indifferently. “It was some unknown type of ‘thread’ with a tangible Entity presence, affecting both physical and mental realms simultaneously. However… it’s different from the threads usually wielded by Alice Dolls.”
Song Cheng nodded solemnly, redirecting his attention to the monitoring screen. During Yu Sheng’s attempt to ‘reason’ with the Heretic Cultist, he felt no surprise. Even when Yu Sheng and Foxy healed the cultist three times and ‘criticized’ him three times, neither he nor Bai Li Qing reacted much. After all, as a Captain of the Mobilization Squad and the Director of the Special Affairs Bureau, both were accustomed to bloodshed and brutality. Despite the rules and protocols binding them, it was not uncommon to resort to lethal force when dealing with Heretic Cultists. Yu Sheng’s peculiar method of interrogation—where violence and healing intertwined—was strange, but not beyond their tolerance.
However, the situation changed when Irene made her move.
“A series of unusual energy spikes have been recorded,” a middle-aged technician in uniform spoke from nearby, monitoring the fluctuating data. “The waveform is bizarre, not matching any known ‘power’ in our database—including the blessings from Ancient Holy Spirits or the spells wielded by those ‘Monks’.”
He switched the waveform display to the screen in front of Song Cheng and Bai Li Qing, revealing violently oscillating curves on a coordinate graph. Many parts of the curve exceeded the axis limits, and a complex 3D graph appeared alongside it, its chaotic surfaces shifting and contorting.
“Some of the characteristic points even surpassed the detection range,” Bai Li Qing frowned slightly, her gaze drifting to the monitoring screen where the Doll ‘Irene’ was visible. Her expression grew more solemn as she asked, “Entity characteristics?”
“Unlikely. Entities typically exhibit single, stable energy signatures and would not trigger such unpredictable spikes.”
Bai Li Qing hesitated for a rare moment, her tone turning grave. “…Dark Angels, then?”
The technician’s face instantly showed a trace of shock and dread, but seeing the Director’s serious and calm demeanor, he swallowed his fear and answered honestly, “N-no. At least, nothing in the current database matches. Besides… if it were really Dark Angel power manifesting in the real world, this entire floor would likely be devoid of life by now.”
Bai Li Qing remained silent, her eyes heavy with contemplation as she stared at the three figures on the monitor.
First, the self-proclaimed Human, ‘Yu Sheng’. Then, the likely ‘Beyond the World’ presence, Foxy. And now, the enigmatic Doll, ‘Irene’—every occupant of this Hotel seemed beyond ordinary.
“Continue recording,” Bai Li Qing finally sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Mark today’s records as confidential.”
…
Yu Sheng followed the hazy vision, moving cautiously through the empty, dilapidated warehouse. He kept his presence as minimal as possible, adhering to Irene’s instructions—avoiding stray glances and refraining from trying to control the ‘body’ he now occupied.
The bald Angel Cultist was ‘dreaming’, traversing a memory woven by Irene. In this dream world, he had momentarily forgotten his capture, but any awareness of Yu Sheng’s presence in his consciousness could jolt him awake instantly.
In the narrow field of vision, Yu Sheng observed the surroundings, straining to catch faint sounds. The distant blare of car horns suggested that the place was far from bustling urban areas. Scattered around were stacked canisters, dangling pipes from steel frames, and old chemical warning signs—indicating that this was likely a chemical warehouse.
There was no lighting, but faint sunlight filtered through high windows, indicating it was either dawn or dusk. Some corners were shrouded in deeper darkness—whether due to real-world neglect or distorted memories in the cultist’s dream, it was hard to tell.
Suddenly, additional footsteps echoed from nearby, immediately drawing Yu Sheng’s attention.
Yu Sheng cautiously observed through the perspective of his current ‘parasite host,’ scanning the surroundings with deliberate care. Suddenly, his gaze fixed on a cryptic mark etched onto the surface of a metal canister. The host seemed to relax, reassured by the sight. Skillfully weaving through the maze of massive containers, the host slipped into a hidden passageway at the warehouse’s far end, emerging into a dimly lit chamber.
A single, flickering bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting shadows over the peculiar, burning candles arranged on the ground. Several figures stood gathered around the ritual circle, as if they had been waiting for quite some time.
Several figures?
Yu Sheng’s mind raced—so it wasn’t just the two ‘Angel Cultists’ captured earlier! There were more of them hiding in Boundary City, worshipping the enigmatic ‘Dark Angels.’
He instinctively focused on the mysterious silhouettes, attempting to discern their features. But to his dismay, every face seemed veiled in a thick, unnatural fog, their forms blurred and warped, as if shrouded in a distortion that resisted all efforts to perceive them clearly.
An uncanny sense of repulsion surged through him. Yu Sheng’s heart tightened, and he immediately ceased his scrutiny—prolonged observation could risk exposing his presence.
[Have they deliberately masked their identities, even in the real world? Or is it some kind of subconscious protection mechanism—one that ensures this captured Heretic Cultist unconsciously conceals his allies, even in a relaxed, dreamlike state?]
Contemplating in silence, Yu Sheng focused on suppressing his presence even further, biding his time as he observed the cultists’ next moves.
“You’re late,” one of the blurry shadows rasped, its head seemingly turning toward the newcomer.
“Negotiating with that Association of Strange Objects member took longer than expected,” the host replied, maintaining a cautious tone. “I had to be meticulous to avoid arousing his suspicions. He’s only just begun to embrace the Master’s guidance—not yet devoted or firm enough—still wary of our intentions.”
Yu Sheng’s focus sharpened. [They’re talking about Old Zheng!]
“Is the progress satisfactory?” another figure asked, its voice rough and hollow.
“Everything proceeds as planned,” the host assured them. “The target has been desperately seeking a way to counter the Fairy Tale for years—his desire for a solution outweighs everything else. Though doubts linger, I believe he has already attempted the Spirit Summoning Technique I left behind. The Master’s power has taken root in his mind—conversion is only a matter of time.”
“But… are we truly willing to accept such a convert?” someone else spoke from a shadowed corner. “He’s not a suitable vessel—merely a temporary necessity. If he truly devotes himself, combined with his ties to the Fairy Tale, he could inadvertently disrupt the Master’s descent.”
“Once his purpose is fulfilled, dispose of him,” the first speaker declared, voice flat and indifferent. “Even being a minor aid to the Master’s arrival is a great honor. To die unstained by guilt is the Master’s mercy upon him. Besides, should someone of his position be exposed, the consequences would be dire—we cannot let him remain long.”
The others nodded in unison, signaling their agreement.
The matter thus decided, the air within the chamber seemed to quiver. The dreamscape shifted, and the room’s configuration subtly changed—the shadows rearranging themselves in deliberate formation around the ritual candles. One figure stepped forward, sprinkling an aromatic powder onto the flames, while the others knelt, smearing blood upon the floor with synchronized precision.
As they chanted obscure, unearthly incantations, the candle flames flickered rhythmically, their movements merging into a singular, mesmerizing pattern. A strange, unnatural hue wafted from the incense, thickening into a haze that encircled the shadowy congregation. They drank from a vial of ominous liquid, their chants converging into a macabre harmony:
“We pray to you, that you may break free;
We pray to you, that you may awaken;
We pray to you, that you may descend;
We chant your name, guiding you to the path of awakening, just as you heard when you set forth on that endless, distant journey—
An-Ka-Ai-La—Mother and Cradle, Hope and Future!
Protector! Soother! Caretaker from first breath to final sigh! Chanting One! Comforter! Nurturer of infants and children!
An-Ka-Ai-La!
You and those sheltered by you shall break free of your shell—the realm prepared for your arrival shall open its gates…”
As the cultists’ fervent chanting rose to a crescendo, a grotesque tentacle crept through a rift in the ceiling, emitting a headache-inducing screech interspersed with scraping, hissing noises. The cultists erupted in manic ecstasy, their rapture so intense it became almost tangible, saturating the chamber.
But just as the tentacle reached down to bestow its ‘blessing,’ a series of crackling pops echoed from the ritual candles—impurities igniting and causing tiny bursts of flame. The rhythmic dance of the candlelight faltered, and the hazy veil of smoke dissolved into nothingness.
A shrill, otherworldly scream tore from the tentacle as it retracted in an instant, vanishing from existence.