Eldritch Horror Theatre

The Pope is truly mighty. The Dark Moon Cult's aesthetic tastes are as reliable as ever!

A second later, Fu Qian ended his transformation, canceling the effect of the Dazzling Visage.

It was a little bizarre, but on the bright side, it was at least much more convenient.

Unfortunately, this approach still seemed to be a failure.

While this ability was clearly tied to the Witch's authority, he had received absolutely no response from behind the Dark Moon—neither when he consumed the item nor when he activated it just now.

There was also a related Ring, of course, but since it fell into the same category, he could save it for the next round of testing.

Methodically working through his planned tests, Fu Qian reached out and picked up a white whistle from the table.

If approaching the problem through the target yielded no progress, he might as well try approaching it through the process.

Although this item from the Nightmare Corridor wasn't particularly high in Rank, his previous dealings with A Wei—who had since relocated to the Unseen Hill—proved that it could bypass some incredible restrictions.

Even if he had no idea where he would end up.

...

Unsurprisingly, the digestion of the Insect Whistle went much faster.

[Extreme Hunger Infection]

[Allow the worm concept to parasitize your body and gain an unimaginable hunger. Guided by this hunger, there are no obstacles before your eyes. No matter where you go to hunt for food, your destination upon setting off again will always be the Nightmare Corridor.]

First, this proved that Insight could retain at least three effects simultaneously.

Second, this new ability was rather interesting.

Staring at this third set of acquired insights, Fu Qian silently summarized his gains.

Insight clearly didn't just copy the effects of transcendent items. This worm-summoning whistle had actually turned him into a worm?

Compared to the text summary, the physical sensation was far more profound.

Fu Qian could confirm that the "worm" parasitism didn't actually spawn insect eggs inside his body; rather, it was a holistic distortion of his mind and physical form.

Add in the clause that "the destination upon setting off again will always be the Nightmare Corridor" and the origins of the Insect Whistle itself, and it was hard not to think of a certain gentleman with a human head and a bug's body—the Persuader.

According to that mission-averse fellow's own claims, his power was also deeply tied to the Nightmare Corridor.

It seemed the concept of "worms" held a very special significance to the Nightmare Corridor.

Clicking his tongue in marvel, Fu Qian directly activated this newly acquired ability.

The fact that his return trip would lead to the Nightmare Corridor sounded terrifying, but it had absolutely zero bearing on his current work plans.

The crucial part was the preceding phrase: "No matter where you go to hunt." Let's see if it could truly take him anywhere.

...

A hunger that seemed to stem from the very core of his soul washed over his mind in waves, growing stronger by the second.

It was hard to imagine that the effects of an Insect Whistle could exert such intense pressure on a newly advanced Tier 2.

Especially since he was currently in the Pseudo-God Incarnation state.

The most unique aspect of this ability seemed to be that it conceptually turned him into a creature of the Nightmare Corridor, subsequently binding him to certain restrictions.

Of course, with his current strength, he could easily sever this binding and break free whenever he pleased.

Fu Qian chose not to break free. Instead, he endured the ever-expanding hunger and silently gazed at the Dark Moon.

...

In Fu Qian's estimation, the sky turning into the Dark Moon after using the Blasphemous Embrace signified that a connection had been established with the plane where the Witch resided.

The only difference was whether or not anyone over there would actually answer him.

The Ring he had automatically obtained earlier was proof of this; it was as if the Witch had set up an automated reply.

So, theoretically, the path was open. He just needed to figure out how to walk it.

And right now, under the influence of this intense hunger, things did feel rather peculiar.

Within his perception, everything seemed to warp. The mottled, vibrant world abstracted entirely into "scents."

Scents that grew richer in perfect synchronization with his hunger.

That included what lay behind the Dark Moon.

The colorless state had pulled him closer to it.

And driven by his ravenous craving, he was finally able to perceive more of it.

This was an automated response to his "hunger" triggered by the mere existence of certain entities in that world. It didn't require a subjective reply from the Witch.

So this is the perspective of a worm? I suppose invertebrates do have their outstanding qualities.

Now, is it possible to pinpoint an even more precise destination coordinate?

With this question in mind, Fu Qian activated the Dazzling Visage, followed by Burning Frost five seconds later.

Unfortunately, he still received zero response from the sources of their respective powers.

1, 2, 3...

After counting silently for a few seconds, even though he was still far from fully recovered, Fu Qian forcefully activated his Mythical Form.

The King of the Abandoned Prison descended once more, but the state only lasted for a single breath.

But in that split second, amid the sea of abstract scents behind the Dark Moon, Fu Qian finally locked onto a distinctly unique trace.

Deactivating his Mythical Form, he confirmed that he could still maintain the lock. Then, Fu Qian absorbed the items in front of him into his flesh one by one.

A moment later, his Pseudo-God Incarnation also ended. The hunger surging from the depths of his soul was now frantically tearing at his willpower.

At this point, he finally unleashed that ravenous craving and followed it.

...

Boom!

Almost instantaneously, a bizarre sensation washed over him—like swimming up through a deep pool and breaking the surface.

Of course, breaking the surface of a pool wouldn't be accompanied by an exaggeratedly loud crash.

That earth-shattering noise had come from the earth and stone flying through the air right above his head.

So turning into a worm means I absolutely have to burst out from underground? Does it have to be so rigid?

By the time the dust settled, Fu Qian was already hiding in the shadows, silently grumbling to himself.

He had appeared in a dimly lit, rather spacious room with elegant decor.

More importantly, as far as the eye could see, there were classically styled glass display cases.

A museum?

The scene made the association easy enough to draw, but the conclusion was deeply baffling.

Although that final trace of familiarity was abstract, he was positive it was something he had encountered before. He honestly couldn't fathom what connection it could have with a museum.

Have I been skipping work for so long that the Pope just donated all my things?

Amidst his inward grumbling, a cacophony of noise had already erupted around him. It was obvious that the commotion here had been noticed.

Judging by his perception, this wasn't just a museum—it was currently open to the public, and had a considerable amount of foot traffic.

But all that commotion was happening above him. He had materialized in the underground section of the building.

It was quite well-maintained, though; there wasn't much of a musty stench.

As he silently assessed his surroundings, Fu Qian reined in his flesh.

Perhaps because he wasn't a genuine worm, traveling in that manner hadn't been entirely without consequence. Had the intensity been any greater, he might not have been able to keep his bones and flesh together.

Still, his Rank was correct, and his Items were all accounted for. This was already a highly ideal turn of events.

Three seconds later, having more or less restored his human form, Fu Qian grabbed a random piece of clothing nearby to drape over himself. Picking a path where no guards were rushing toward him, he made his way upstairs and blended into the panicked crowd.

In that short time, he had already locked onto that trace of familiarity once more, confirming that it was indeed inside this very building. Fu Qian came to a halt, gazing deep into the exhibition hall ahead.

Behind a slightly coarse glass wall rested a somewhat mildewed painting.

Near the very top of the painting was a dark red pattern, looking exactly as if someone had pressed a blood-soaked palm against it.

He knew exactly what this painting was, of course. But why was it here?

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