Eldritch Horror Theatre

Creak!

Without breaking stride, Fu Qian reached back to pull the door shut, even taking a moment to casually straighten his cloak.

The face slumbering on the couch was all too familiar. He had seen it in the mirror just two days ago.

Pope Nelgria... securing an audience with her truly wasn't easy.

He hadn't even had the time to go back and change clothes.

Although his cloak was a product of his own professional design, it was far too riddled with holes to conceal the mangled flesh beneath.

The overload from his recent use of Mythical Form was already making itself felt.

The wounds left by the Hazy Saw had never fully healed to begin with, and now their recovery had ground almost to a halt. In some places, the healing rate had even dropped into the negatives.

It manifested as the wounds seemingly taking on a life of their own, crawling and spreading outward.

The reason he hadn't taken that time to make his audience a bit more dignified was simple: the Pope on the couch seemed to sense his arrival the moment he opened the door.

It manifested as a faint, almost imperceptible breathing, her body rising and falling in subtle rhythm.

...

Empty of believers, the Great Hall appeared even more solemn.

By the time Fu Qian walked unimpeded to the foot of her seat, the Witch—who seemed to be the source of all the world's dim light—was already waking from her deep slumber.

She drew a long, slow breath. A moment later, her soul-stealing eyes slowly opened.

Fu Qian made no sound, yet a smile still bloomed across her pale, enchanting face.

She didn't even lower her arm to sit up straight. Instead, raising her magnificent, intricately patterned sleeve, she leisurely extended her left hand.

With marvelous synchronization, Fu Qian reached the side of her seat and obligingly extended his own hand.

Her fingers were slender and ice-cold, but the sensation lasted for only an instant.

Starting from the fingertips in his grasp, the figure before him quickly grew illusory, scattering like frost.

Fu Qian's expression didn't change.

He had known from the very first moment that the figure on the seat wasn't real.

It was a rough painting, paired with the one outside.

It seemed the Witch had used this method to leave a farewell behind for him.

This was also why he hadn't hesitated.

The shadow before him had been simply too faint. Had he been even slightly slower, it likely wouldn't have had the strength to reach out by the time he approached.

And this grasp seemed to signify that his escort mission had reached its end.

But only seemed to.

Riiip!

A tearing sound shattered the silence.

His cloak, already riddled with holes, was completely ruined.

A hideous, gaping maw emerged from beneath it, aimed directly at the rapidly fading figure on the seat, and swallowed it in a single, unhesitating bite.

Protecting the sovereign meant protecting the sovereign. As he'd said, he wasn't here to offer condolences.

His vision was instantly plunged into complete darkness, accompanied by a familiar sensation.

The silent Dark Moon Church began to collapse once more, rapidly dissolving into smears of paint.

He was no exception.

And, as before, Fu Qian offered no resistance.

...

When the transformation finally ceased, the Dark Moon Great Hall was indeed gone.

He was back in the Art Gallery, standing in the exact same spot and staring at the exact same painting, as if his mind had merely wandered for a moment.

Only his shredded cloak and the unretracted fangs beneath it stood as records of his recent audience.

Cough! Cough!

Pressing a hand to his chest, Fu Qian took a deep breath, only to break into a violent fit of coughing a moment later.

Along with this rare exertion, chunks of ruptured organs spewed from his mouth and splattered onto the floor.

...

Not bad at all!

Fu Qian felt rather gratified by this change.

The unretracted teeth on his chest weren't the result of his previous wounds being so severe that the maw couldn't close.

This change was caused by fresh injuries.

After he swallowed the Pope's shadow, Insight hadn't yielded its usual harvest. He didn't even receive a single word.

Instead, what took its place was a torrential drain on his life force.

It was as if eight fully powered water pumps were recklessly spraying his blood everywhere.

Under normal circumstances, Fu Qian would have been confident in his ability to resist it; he was a newly promoted Tier 2, after all.

However, compounded with his current condition, "adding insult to injury" didn't even begin to describe it.

Fu Qian could sense with absolute clarity that his Life Countdown had begun.

After all that searching, this result could only be described in one way—fantastic!

To Fu Qian, gaining another of the Pope's relics, abilities, or items through Insight would have been completely meaningless.

The current outcome was just about the second-best possibility.

The absolute best outcome, naturally, would have been receiving a detailed message left by the Pope—complete with street name, stairwell, and apartment number—stating that this seat was in peril, and ordering her Templar Knight to hurry and save the sovereign.

But given the current situation, as Fu Qian saw it, only one part of that message remained: this seat was in peril.

Things getting worse was still a form of change.

No matter how faint it was, what he had swallowed was effectively a fragment of the Witch's power, allowing him to forge a connection with her.

And the ensuing reaction was a frantic drain on his life force.

If the Witch had truly dissipated completely into the river of time, it was hard to imagine how she could still cause such an effect.

Even if it were the transmitted rot of a corpse, there still had to be a corpse to begin with.

It seemed this escort mission had finally yielded a breakthrough.

Although there were no further details, it seemed safe to assume that the Pope's true body remained in this world.

The only problem was, as the old saying went, he was running out of time.

He wouldn't last more than twenty-four hours; Fu Qian was quite certain of that.

By this time tomorrow at the latest, his life would reach its end.

He could no longer activate Mythical Form, and there would be no improvement to his condition in the time he had left.

Cough, cough, cough...

Another violent fit of coughing took over, triggered by Fu Qian finding a wound and thrusting his fingers inside to grope around.

A moment later, he slowly pulled out a bloodstained, curved object that resembled a bone.

Of course, it wasn't a bone.

Before transforming into worms to travel here, Fu Qian had stashed almost all his items inside his flesh, with the sole exception of the Aberrant Color Lantern, whose risk assessment was too high.

The Blasphemous Embrace was naturally no exception.

It was just a pity that even after a day had passed, and even while he was practicing medicine during the mission, it remained completely unactivatable.

Its only significance, it seemed, was serving as a Key to this world.

Yet he hadn't taken it out now just to swallow it and engage in turning waste into treasure.

Wiping off the blood and setting it aside, Fu Qian plunged his hand back into the wound and grabbed onto a certain one-hundred-and-twenty-degree corner.

The Sweet Dream Head Cage.

This product of The Corridor, capable of shielding him from observation, naturally hadn't been left behind either.

It was just that because of its slightly excessive size, Fu Qian had had to pay strict attention to its logical placement when stowing it inside his flesh, even forcing himself to relive the agonizing memories of organizing his backpack back in the day.

Given his current physical condition, using his hands to manually extract it was less strenuous.

Clack!

Slowly yanking the hexagonal cage out of the wound, Fu Qian didn't even bother wiping off the blood this time before dropping it directly onto his head.

It had no effect.

His life force continued to pour away like an avalanche.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!