Eldritch Horror Theatre

Daniel was probably dead.

At the sudden prompt, this was Fu Qian's first reaction.

At the same time, his movements didn't pause in the slightest as he continued to methodically manipulate the jewelry box in his hands.

Fu Qian wasn't particularly surprised by the outcome.

He wasn't the blindly optimistic type. His opponent this time was practically the will of the world itself.

Taking down Stan merely resolved the most conspicuous threat. Countless more could follow; they just needed time to be properly guided.

They would bear down on him like boulders from all sides, eventually leaving him nowhere to run.

So the mission's failure was no surprise. He could easily imagine the next one being even more inhuman.

Picking one more lock now meant gaining one more sliver of hope.

In the very next moment, the new mission prompt came to an abrupt halt.

Snap!

At the same time, the door beside him opened on its own, without having been unlocked.

...

That made perfect sense.

You interrupt me once, I interrupt you right back.

Under Medea's watchful gaze, Fu Qian finally stopped his work and slowly stood up.

The new mission never got the chance to appear, but one could guess it would have been impossibly difficult. It didn't matter now.

He had ultimately won this race to an unknown finish line.

Through the open door, he could still only see the same pile of junk. Nothing seemed to have changed.

Yet in Fu Qian's eyes, it looked like a gaping wound gushing blood.

Without wasting another second, Fu Qian stepped forward and grabbed the door handle.

But as he reached forward, he found himself blocked by an invisible barrier.

[Select a disaster]

An unprecedented prompt appeared before his eyes.

It was followed by a series of lines.

[Rain of Chaos]

[Insect Swarm]

[Mind Tide of Fear]

[Witchcraft Hour]

[Return to Reality]

[Heavenly Ice]

[Ancient Guardian]

Had it really deteriorated to this extent?

Looking at the seven options before him, Fu Qian felt a sudden pang of lament.

It seemed this Furnace really was about to be reduced to nothing but Residue!

He had originally thought his relentless sabotage would, at best, push things to the absolute limit and give the Warehouse a chance to force a passage open.

Now it seemed that opening this passage would inflict devastating damage on this world.

It was like punching a hole straight through a pane of glass.

[Rain of Chaos, flames of death descend from the heavens, all creation becomes scorched earth]

Clearly, he needed to select a disaster before he could pass through the door. Without hesitation, Fu Qian began to examine the seven options.

[Insect Swarm, boundless and inexhaustible, without beginning or end]

[Mind Tide of Fear, a plague of the mind, a tide of agony]

[Witchcraft Hour, myriad fallacies converge upon one body, sacrifice one person, the world continues]

[Return to Reality, illusion no more, face the chaos]

...

Reading through the list, most were undeniably apocalyptic in scale, but the fourth option caught Fu Qian's attention.

Myriad fallacies converging upon one body—this style was far too familiar.

The meaning was clear enough. It meant sacrificing one person to harbor all the chaos the world could no longer bear, dumping all the fallacies onto them to gain temporary stability.

It was like wiping away a debt through death.

Fu Qian had zero fondness for this Furnace that had nearly cremated him.

But it was just a cold world will. Even destroying it held no real sense of revenge.

Thus, the only two options that truly piqued his interest were Witchcraft Hour and Return to Reality.

And the contrast between them was extreme.

Witchcraft Hour clearly meant sacrificing one person to maintain the status quo.

Return to Reality's description was too brief. He guessed it might feel like a dream shattering, forcing a direct confrontation with reality?

Was the true essence of this world chaos after all? Was this heavily patched utopia the result of a desperate effort to hold things together?

Fu Qian released the door handle and turned to look at his two captives.

For such a momentous decision, it was better to hand the right to choose back to the Natives.

"I have a question for you two," he said.

Hmm?

The moment Fu Qian spoke, Medea and Stan instantly pricked up their ears.

"A blissful illusion or a harsh reality—which do you prefer?"

...

Was this guy crazy?

Fu Qian could read that exact meaning in their eyes.

"You have thirty seconds to consider, then you will each give me your answer."

He offered no further explanation.

"Of course, if you've already made up your minds, feel free to answer early."

"You lunatic... I should have realized it sooner... You're exactly like Edral."

The moment Fu Qian finished speaking, Stan—his chest covered in a massive bloodstain—gnashed his teeth, verging on a breakdown.

"You think you can judge me from on high? What a joke! People like you completely deserve to die... continuing to exist in this world will only make you a menace!"

"Is that your answer, Sheriff Stan?"

As the target of this verbal assault, Fu Qian wasn't annoyed in the slightest. Instead, he listened with a completely serious expression.

"It seems locking Edral behind that door didn't weigh on your conscience at all."

"His death only saved more people."

"Understood. And you?"

Fu Qian turned to look at Medea.

"I... I don't know..."

Under Fu Qian's pressing gaze, Medea—whose mind had clearly short-circuited—couldn't articulate a coherent reason.

"Alright, voting concluded. The current score is one to zero."

"Compared to Sheriff Stan, your resolve is severely lacking!"

Fu Qian shook his head in disappointment, turned around, and selected Witchcraft Hour.

"There's still room to salvage this. If you take me back, you and Daniel will both be fine—"

Having finished his tirade, Stan suddenly changed his tune, once again urging Fu Qian to turn back before it was too late.

"Daniel is already dead."

Fu Qian cut him off directly.

"It's a pity. It seems your subordinate had some ideas of his own!"

...Daniel was dead?

Before Stan could even digest this information, he was shocked to see Fu Qian reaching a hand toward him.

Radiating an indescribable glow, a finger tapped his forehead.

A bizarre impact instantly swept through him, and Stan lost control of his body.

In the next moment, the bones beneath his skin began to squirm as if they were alive.

Riiip!

Like tearing leather, a wound split open across his forehead, branching outward. His blood-soaked skull rapidly elongated, unfolding like petals.

So this was the legendary act of bearing the world's sins? It looked more like pure chaos had been injected into his body.

As Stan twisted beyond human recognition and collapsed into clumps of grotesque tissue, Fu Qian withdrew his finger and turned forward. The invisible barrier had vanished.

He stepped through the door. The light dimmed, and in the next moment, Fu Qian found himself standing in the familiar Warehouse.

[Mission complete, 1-005 Containment successful]

Hmph!

Listening to the prompt by his ear, Fu Qian raised his head and looked up.

"I'm saying this right now—the workplace injury compensation for this one is going to be massive!"

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