Eldritch Horror Theatre

The probability of a cranial war had increased again.

Fighters of this caliber didn't grow on trees. Pulling out two in the time it took to catch a breath undoubtedly defied common sense.

Even more coincidentally, they were both old acquaintances he had immediately thought of.

His earlier deduction—that everything was a side effect of eating the mushroom, manifesting whatever he thought about—suddenly became much more reasonable.

But let's not forget what he had just said: the side effect was exactly what he wanted. So—excellent.

Roar!

Another Gospel Shockwave. Facing the old friend who welcomed him so warmly, Fu Qian's response was equally explosive.

"Come, help this seat continue to deeply develop the brain."

Rip—

Fu Qian clearly confirmed that the Gospel Shockwave had no effect on the Female Sword Saint, merely tearing ripples through the surroundings.

While transferring the attack here caused no impact, a different shockwave physically pierced his body from all directions.

...

It really was the Female Sword Saint.

It was quite a challenge to the imagination, because Fu Qian knew perfectly well that this abstract attack was thrust out solely by the single opponent in front of him.

It was just that in this special realm, as if receiving some kind of buff that aligned with the profound laws of heaven and earth, it had directly turned him into a pincushion.

The upside was that through this bizarre encounter, Fu Qian seemed to gain double the opportunity to confirm his opponent's identity.

Hollow pits served as eye sockets, and mycelium wove through her inside and out. While she lacked any human skin, she still retained certain basic female features.

And the weapon bent on hacking him to pieces was the true Mushroom Sword he had seen last time—unfortunately, the only thing that shattered was the sword itself.

The Gospel Shockwave hadn't hit its target, but he still had the Biochemical Demonic Arm.

His injuries didn't affect his movements in the slightest. At that moment, thousands of tentacles erupted from his right arm, wantonly ravaging everything before him.

Since he hadn't deliberately maintained its biological traits, it lacked a bit of its usual eerie feel, but its sharp, fierce lines provided an extra visual impact.

Coupled with the inherently abstract structure within the fungal field of vision, Fu Qian's self-evaluation at that moment was that he had seemingly transformed into an alloy drill, recklessly tearing at this world's reality.

And the Female Sword Saint was undoubtedly the most direct point of contact.

Of course, she wouldn't just stand there and take a beating. In fact, she displayed an even more overflowing murderous intent than the other sword path saint.

When the Gospel Shockwave failed to take effect, the omnidirectional Body-Slaughtering Sword had already struck again.

The visual effect this time was even more peculiar. Bizarrely, it converged onto a single plane, transforming into a zero-thickness spinning blade that directly sliced open the Tyrant's neck.

Bang!

An astonishing achievement. Unfortunately, the price she paid was that her physical form no longer possessed any female features, or even a human outline.

Under the terrifying bombardment, she scattered, spreading from a point into a line before directly blooming into a firework.

The most important part was the point at the center of that firework. It was as if a hole had finally been chiseled through some indestructible barrier, followed by a terrifying siphon effect.

The sky-filling mycelium representing the "world's reality" didn't disappear because of this, but like shattered tempered glass, it instantly disintegrated into a different structure.

...

An interesting experience.

Landing a single successful strike was nothing to brag about, but the new elements displayed before his eyes did win a bit of Fu Qian's appreciation.

Although the Mushroom World was fractured, it hadn't been destroyed. He could still walk through it; the visual experience was simply more bizarre and grotesque.

It wasn't strange. To some extent, this seemed to be a continuation of his previous assessment: at its core, this was still a cranial war within himself.

Normally, fighting such a brutal battle would only leave one's will increasingly muddled and chaotic, not clearer and clearer.

But it didn't matter. The goal remained the same; total chaos was exactly what he wanted.

Casually catching his falling head, he adjusted the angle and tossed it back onto his neck. Fu Qian's forward momentum wasn't affected in the slightest.

Such composure wasn't simply due to the strong regenerative abilities of walking the flesh-and-blood path. For the level of a higher entity, simple physical damage was inherently a superficial thing.

The Female Sword Saint's strike just now had actually caused deeper devastation; losing his head was merely a secondary manifestation.

For example, even though his head was currently reattached seamlessly, the sword path saint's killing power was actually still surging violently within the Tyrant's body—commonly known as hidden injuries.

If this happened a few more times, even this mechanical remake version of himself would likely have to spend some effort stabilizing his condition—so, how about a few more times?

Under the continuous slaughter, Fu Qian grew increasingly expectant of the Fungal Emperor.

Regardless of whether this was a war inside his own brain, what triggered all of this was still the "poison" he had actively swallowed.

And if "He" standing at the pinnacle of this power wanted to use this method to erode the Tyrant, shouldn't "He" show a little more sincerity?

As for the argument of, "You're the one who ate the poisonous mushroom, what does it have to do with me?"—did you think this seat's Insight was just for show?

The King of the Abandoned Prison had always been the proactive party in this incident.

You can make me see the mind-polluting indescribable, but you don't have the qualifications to make me unsee it—Crack!

He still didn't use the Flame of Frenzy unique to the Tyrant, nor did he activate any halos. Mechanical tentacles, several times more numerous than before, were already tearing at the rift again.

Proving that a Combat Power of the sword saint's caliber could appear was enough. There was no need to waste effort continuously imagining opponents; creating obstacles was the Fungal Emperor's job.

Fu Qian adopted the simplest and most brutal method: to continue crushing the so-called "world's reality" to see what would try to stop him, and what might burst out of it—nothing at all?

He didn't pointlessly hold back; at that moment, Fu Qian's strength showed great respect for his opponent.

So much so that the already crumbling, fractured reality instantly triggered a stress response.

Specifically, it was like a divine punishment descending after violating heavenly laws. Every single fungal thread trembled, assuming the most severe posture to tear the offending tentacles to shreds—

What responded to them were even more tentacles...

Then came an even harsher divine punishment...

And an even more torrential wave of tentacles...

Two seconds later, the sky-filling mycelium simultaneously disintegrated into ash.

And Fu Qian, looking at the Academy that seemed to have reverted to its original state in an instant, expressed deep suspicion about the drop rate.

...

It was a competition of pure power with no technique to speak of, but that didn't prevent the process from being intense.

Even in the back-and-forth exchange, one could completely sense a bit of the majesty belonging to a higher entity.

To the point that it left no doubt that, after shattering the "reality" and committing a monstrous crime, he would be forced to directly face the divine wrath of the disturbed entity.

Yet, there was nothing.

The nighttime Academy was somewhat desolate. The sky full of flying ash didn't even fall to the ground; it just left behind a vast, clean expanse of white earth.

There really was nothing left.

At a certain moment, Fu Qian raised his hand and sniffed between his fingers just like before.

The originally pungent smell was completely gone, not a trace remaining. Even on his own body, the magic brought by the mushroom had long since entirely dissipated.

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