Eldritch Horror Theatre

"Who gave you the courage to speak to Camus Greda at this distance, let alone for more than ten seconds?"

Inside the Cafe, Camus's tone had drastically changed. His previous terrified demeanor was completely gone.

At the same time, the tentacles originally binding him had morphed into a bizarre, eyeball-covered mass, losing their hold entirely.

Faced with this unprecedented spectacle, Fu Qian simply looked him up and down with curiosity, in no rush to react.

"Just as I thought. You aren't normal."

Camus let out a cold sneer.

"Does your body feel like it's in chaos? Like you're gradually losing control?"

"I knew it. How could a normally advanced Demigod fail to manifest their Mythical Form even in a situation like this?"

"Although changing one's appearance is nothing to a transcendent, as a veteran specializing in soul abilities, I can clearly sense the youthful vigor in your consciousness."

"What an unexpected bounty. To think someone outside the Council could actually achieve this! I'm sure Crow Feather will be incredibly fascinated."

"Who is Crow Feather?"

After letting him gloat for a moment, Fu Qian finally asked.

"Good question!"

Hearing this, Camus let out another string of cold sneers.

"I'd like to know that myself, actually."

"Weren't you so curious about what we were doing here? He organized this entire operation."

"When the time comes, you'll be brought before him as my puppet. I'm sure he'll be quite interested in you."

"Alright, enough nonsense. The Night Watchers will be here soon. We don't have much time. Do you want to know what just happened to you?"

What happened?

Fu Qian silently scanned his surroundings. He noted that absolutely no one in the Cafe had been spared; every patron was completely lost in a state of oblivious revelry.

Camus had already been targeted, but even setting that aside, it was hardly surprising that a commotion like this would attract the Night Watchers.

"I don't."

A moment later, he withdrew his gaze and shook his head.

"...You don't want to know?"

Realizing what Fu Qian had just said, Old Man Camus stared at him in disbelief, nearly choking on his own spit.

"I prefer a little hard-won muddleheadedness. I've always been an easygoing guy."

Fu Qian's face was the picture of perfect reason.

"By the way, if you know time is short and the Night Watchers are on their way, why are you still wasting time dawdling with me?"

...

Seeing Camus fall suddenly silent, Fu Qian gave a wink.

"Sorry, but I have zero obsession with dying fully informed, so I won't be listening to your victory speech. Go ahead and make your move."

How could someone be this infuriating!

Fu Qian's response had clearly shattered some cognitive boundary for Old Man Camus.

The elderly man's eyes bulged, displaying a thoroughly unreasonable level of fury as he glared at Fu Qian like he was looking at his father's murderer.

"Why haven't you made your move yet? Hurry up."

Fu Qian even started urging him on, flashing an incredibly punchable smile.

"Could it be... that if I remain in the dark, your puppet scheme can't proceed?"

...

"You're not stupid, I'll give you that. But so what?"

Faced with Fu Qian's provocation, Old Man Camus gritted his teeth, practically admitting it.

"Even if you figured that out, do you think you have any way to resist?"

"Because of the gap in our Ranks, I normally wouldn't be able to do anything to you."

"But over my long life as a transcendent, I've spent plenty of time figuring out how to deal with monsters like you who rely purely on flesh-based power."

He raised a hand. Dense, blood-red lines squirmed across his skin, spreading outward.

These eerie lines crisscrossed, carving his skin and flesh into indescribable patterns that made his body look like an amalgamation of countless bizarre aberrations.

Merely looking at it made one feel as though their own flesh and blood were being warped.

"Of course, the best solution of all came from Crow Feather."

"Trust me, the Council's accumulated research into flesh-based power is far beyond your imagination."

"This is the Divine Blood Curse. Its power is said to stem from the blood of a True God, and it was one of the Origin Council's very first harvests."

"Once afflicted, without targeted preparations, not even a Demigod is immune to it."

As Camus spoke, the thumb on one of his hands began to thrash wildly as if it had a life of its own. A few seconds later, it tore itself completely free and dropped onto his wrist.

The nail on the severed thumb rapidly elongated, transforming the entire digit into the shape of a legless beetle.

"I just activated the Talisman I received from Crow Feather. Both of us are now cursed."

His thumb-beetle crawled forward a few paces before burrowing beneath his flesh, rapidly skittering around under his skin.

Yet, in the face of this horrifying spectacle, Camus didn't seem to care in the slightest.

"The physical body is far less reliable than the spirit. It's a shame you idiots will never comprehend that."

A moment later, a normal-looking, illusory phantom of a thumb materialized on his mangled hand, somehow completing its own existence.

"This curse targets flesh-and-blood structures almost exclusively. Comparatively speaking, my resistance to it is naturally much lower than yours."

"But the problem is, a stable physical body is far less important to me than it is to you."

A hint of malicious satisfaction colored Camus's voice.

"To be honest, if you had just let me leave earlier, I wouldn't have resorted to such a risky method."

"Now that we are both cursed, our bodies are in a semi-uncontrollable state."

"And under these circumstances, my advantage can finally be brought to bear."

"Have you noticed? My voice can manifest in your consciousness without me even opening my mouth. And this is just the beginning."

"The Seed of Corrosion has already been planted. Soon, you won't be able to tell which thoughts are your own and which are suggestions from me."

"You guessed right. I actually need you to be aware of this, because any psychological attempt to filter your thoughts will only accelerate the process."

"If you remained completely ignorant of it, the efficiency of the corrosion would actually be much slower."

"But what good is guessing it? The moment I say it out loud, you inevitably start overthinking it."

By now, Camus's body had mutated beyond recognition.

"Anyway, I originally only planned to borrow your identity to hide out, but now it looks like a truly unexpected bounty."

"Rest assured, once I assume total control, I'll suppress the curse. I won't let such a rare puppet completely break down."

Is that so?

Fu Qian glanced at the tentacles now covered in eyeballs, then back at the triumphant Camus, clicking his tongue in amusement.

'I can understand how you feel, old man, but a desperate struggle is one thing; excessive self-hypnosis is just a bad habit.'

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