Chapter Twelve: The Twisted Man and the Altar

Suspended above the altar, beneath her feet lay a heap of bones.

She awakened from faintness, her eyes opening to see her companion’s body already collapsed in supplication. He whimpered, his hands crushed into bloody pulp.

A blaze of fury ignited within her, but just as she reached for her waist, the fire abruptly stilled.

“The gun—is it still there? The gun is still there!” Her gaze sharpened, fixing upon Chen Qing before her. “Why?”

“Why?” He shrieked with laughter, writhing and twisting on the ground.

“Go on, shoot! If you dare, pull the trigger!”

“You—” Her words faltered as the red-robed High Priest stepped out from behind Jiang Wan. Within that shadow, beyond the cross, he walked silently, passing over Jiang Wan’s firearm, deliberately positioning himself at the end of its barrel.

“High Priest… High Priest.” Chen Qing murmured, his limp arm flailing at the priest’s feet.

“You have not fulfilled our agreement,” the priest said in a deep voice, heavy and resonant, nothing like a woman’s.

Jiang Wan’s expression shifted again. “Chen Qing! Are you truly determined to walk this path of darkness?”

“The agreement…”

“Yes. You have not completed what we agreed upon.”

“Yes, you must die.”

The High Priest crouched, revealing his face beneath the dark robe before Chen Qing.

“I must die.” He looked into the priest’s eyes, and in that moment, his pain seemed to dissolve.

“Chen Qing!”

She raised her gun, aiming at the two figures before her.

“When you killed those sacrifices, didn’t your hand stay steady?” The High Priest smiled, a cold, mocking smile. “Now, what’s this act of mercy?”

“Sacrifices…” Jiang Wan paused, stunned. “Dead?”

The priest turned, crushing Chen Qing beneath his foot. The terrifying force shattered the altar and tore Chen Qing’s chest open, skin and flesh alike.

“Chen Qing!”

“What a clever scheme,” the priest said, his laughter chilling. “One hundred and twenty souls lost in a single night. But I must admit, your choices have been effective… Three months of accumulated effort, all wasted.”

He stepped up to Jiang Wan, pressing his bleeding chest against her gun.

“You truly deserve death.”

He smiled, his right hand gripping the barrel.

“Come on, pull the trigger.”

He drew a deep breath. A gunshot shattered the silence of the chamber, echoing endlessly. She squeezed the trigger; smoke and fire confirmed the act.

She squeezed the trigger, yet the symphony of blood and flame failed to materialize.

Her face paled; his eyes widened in disbelief.

He glanced at his chest, where a shallow wound had opened, but it was not a bullet wound.

“Blanks?”

The High Priest stared at his wound, momentarily stunned, then burst into laughter.

“So merciful.”

“How… how can this be?” Jiang Wan stammered, watching as Chen Qing staggered to his feet nearby.

Her gut twisted in revulsion. She drew a blade from behind her—the very one used in the brain-exchange ritual.

“You cannot kill me…” he whispered. “But you can kill your companion. Do that, and we’ll let you leave.”

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“You’re dreaming…”

“Don’t worry… If you kill him, we’ll make sure you forget everything as you leave. See? It will be as if nothing ever happened. All will be well. Why waste your life?”

Before the High Priest could finish, Jiang Wan’s blade flashed, but it barely traveled halfway before being caught fast in his shoulder blade.

He neither resisted nor dodged.

Even as the girl’s weapon fell upon him, the muscle in his shoulder sprouted fleshy buds, pushing her blade away with irresistible force.

“You see… you have no choice.”

His blood-soaked hand clasped the arm holding the blade, gently pulling it away.

“Kill him… complete the ritual, and I’ll let you go.”

But as she watched the High Priest’s eyes become glazed and vacant, a gunshot snapped her back to reality.

“What… what’s happening!”

She regained her senses; a bowl-sized wound now gaped in the High Priest’s chest.

She peered through it, seeing the figure standing behind him—the one who had been sprawled on the floor, as lifeless as a dead dog.

She saw… two Chen Qings.

“He cannot harm ‘me,’ for upon ‘me’ rests the mark of this organization.”

She recognized the familiar voice, her fear deepening.

She watched as Chen Qing picked up a knife, approached the other “Chen Qing,” and sliced off his face, smiling with satisfaction.

“Because the ritual must continue, he needs you to kill me—myself. That’s why you’re still alive.”

She was bewildered, her mind reeling.

“What is happening! Who are you?!”

She screamed, nearly breaking down.

“Me? I am myself.”

“But I’ve deceived you in many ways.” He smiled, fixing his gaze upon the High Priest, whose wounds were already healing, and raised his gun once more.

“You keep your dogs well. Even now, those below dare not approach.”

“Bang!” Another shot rang out, severing the priest’s left hand.

“Tsk, homemade flintlocks are indeed lacking.”

Chen Qing shook his head, returning to where he had stood previously.

There, a blood-soaked operating table awaited.

He sat, pulling a knife from his pocket.

Jiang Wan watched, stunned, as the blade flew toward the fallen Chen Qing.

He hadn’t even time to cry out.

“I offer sacrifice! All bones and spirits in this chamber!

I offer sacrifice! All reason and life of the living!

I offer sacrifice! With the wails at the threshold of death!”

His voice grew sharper, transforming into a shriek.

“No… no! How can… how could you?!”

The High Priest’s face changed dramatically at the words.

“My desire! Grant me the power of Maza!

My wish! Bestow me the body of Grean!

My request! The strength of Fema!

Let what I seek be bestowed upon me… with the bones of a thousand as offering.”

He spoke low, the High Priest alternately laughing and panicking.

Before him, a blue slime appeared, floating in midair.

It slowly opened its mouth, revealing a shrine within, upon which rested an unknown portrait.

The portrait was studded with iron nails; the face obscured, but the scars upon it faintly recognizable.

He whispered; the candles on the shrine flared to life.

The light twisted the slime’s form, and wherever it shone on the remains, flesh melted into liquid, seeping into the ground.

“I’ve spent half a year gathering sacrifices… half a year’s work!”

He grit his teeth, his wounds healed.

He looked to Chen Qing, who raised his gun once more.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

Three shots rang out, making Jiang Wan and the High Priest squint.

But as the gunfire faded, none were wounded.

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“Heh… at this range…”

“Look behind you.”

Chen Qing grinned, pointing to the tunnel where they had come. There, a flicker of fire began to bloom.

“What have you done! You bastard!”

His face changed as he stared at the inferno—this was where the organization had invested heavily in construction.

Now, flames devoured it all.

A violent rumble shook the chamber, the floor vibrating.

The High Priest began to panic. “You’re insane… utterly insane… This place is destroyed! You’ll die too!”

Chen Qing laughed, joy unrestrained. “Hey, over a hundred people dying with me—it’s a bargain.”

He rolled off the table; the High Priest’s expression shifted again. “You never planned to make it out alive!”

With those words, the High Priest rushed past Chen Qing toward the door behind him.

“Those documents…”

He muttered, as the floor trembled anew.

He pushed open the door; within, the researchers lay collapsed.

They were not dead, but as good as.

Their limbs sprawled outward, skin and flesh sprouting countless buds forming tendrils, consuming the room, rooting themselves to the building like creeping vines.

Then, behind him, sounds erupted.

A towering entity barged in, hunting the stunned members, tearing and devouring their bodies, awaiting their corpses to regrow.

Hundreds… Under the vast altar, this had become its most satisfying feast.

…

Upon the altar, Chen Qing grabbed Jiang Wan’s arm, charging into the inferno. Thanks to the entity’s arrival, a path was trampled through the flames.

They ran for nearly a minute, emerging into the outer hall.

She looked at Chen Qing, her expression shifting from fear to unfamiliarity, then to withdrawal.

“What have you done!”

He turned, smiling. “Guess? Guess what lies I told you along the way?”

She bit her lip, unsure where to begin.

“I actually lied about nothing—except the door.”

He didn’t look back, heading toward the tree.

“But in truth, I didn’t even lie about the door. I truly couldn’t unlock it without damage.”

“You… what did you do…”

“Remember how we got in?”

He stroked the tree, pulling out a bottle of black liquid.

“You remember… you… destroyed the cameras… you!”

Chen Qing laughed. “If I can disable electronics outside, why not here?”

He poured the liquid over himself; his pupils gleamed with an uncanny light.

“At the start, when we entered the garage, I was carrying an EMP bomb. Not powerful, but enough to stop electronics for half an hour.

In that garage, there were many used sedatives—mostly ether-based gaseous ones. I brought them along.

Then, we descended here, found those uniforms in the second chamber.

In the third cell, we discovered they’d been injected with something like scopolamine.

And finally, I had my unique artifact—F13, the Thousand-Faced Lord. Of course, I gave it that name myself.

When used, this artifact draws one’s behavior and thoughts closer to those of the person being mimicked.

Now… do you understand what I’ve done?”

He laughed softly, tearing a bone spike from the tree.

He looked at Jiang Wan, using the spike to pierce his forehead.

He jabbed his chest with the sharp end, then pulled out a leg bone, gritting his teeth as he stabbed it into his thigh.

“What are you doing!”

She stared at his self-destructive acts. The slime reappeared before them.

A third eye grew upon him, alien and marine in nature.

Yet when closed, there was no trace of a fissure.

Flesh buds sprouted from his chest wound, weaving into tendrils that sealed it.

His thigh absorbed the bone; his body straightened, firm and upright once more.

“What… have you done…”

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