Order, Die!

Everything you saw, everything you heard, everything you touched, everything you could perceive was now "dyed" crimson. *Bang!* *Bang!* *Bang!* Wraiths and priests continually burst apart, adding fresh brilliance to the surrounding red. It was not a sweeping, wholesale slaughter, yet this roulette-like randomness instilled an even heavier dread, for no one knew whether they would be next. The once-clamorous world seemed to have had its volume turned off, falling so dead silent it felt as though everything had sunk to the bottom of a blood-red pool. Those trying to flee felt as if they were mired in mud. Even though their bodies were not physically bound in the slightest, every movement felt like slow motion—a distortion, or rather, a warping of self-perception. From waking to moving, from pushing open the doors to leaning her torso out, throughout the entire ordeal Rielsa had displayed scarcely any resemblance to the gods of legend. Yet only now did the divine facet truly emerge. Bede stared at the blood-red world around him, standing in a daze for a long while before tears slipped from the corners of his eyes. Then he picked up the paintbrush beside him. In an instant, his movements returned to normal, and he began swiftly applying strokes to the paper. To an artist truly obsessed with art, the bestowal of such inspiration was a genuine miracle. For this single instant might well be enough to overturn everything he had previously known about "beauty." Piaget held the wine bottle, looking around incessantly. *The color matches—so where is my Linda?* "My dear." A familiar voice sounded from behind Piaget. He turned at once and saw the wife he had yearned for day and night standing before him. "Linda!" Piaget rushed forward. Linda looked at her husband running toward her and smiled gently. "My dear, I'm sorry, but you can't touch me, because..." Linda was pulled into Piaget's embrace. She was taken aback, yet the sensation was so tangible. Though perplexed, the familiar warmth of her husband's embrace caused her instinctively to abandon all thought, raising her arms to hold him tight. "That Mural God is a fraud! She doesn't deserve everything you've given for her! She tricked you away from my side! She's so hideous, so filthy, so depraved! "Linda, I hate her, I curse her, and I hope she sinks into damnation forever!" This was Piaget's primal hatred born of love; even if she was a god, she was still the object of his wrath. "My dear, the Mural God is a magnificent existence. Only after drawing close to her did I realize how tiny I truly was, and truly perceive the vastness belonging to a god. "My dear, I love you, and my heart aches for having left you, but I will never regret choosing God." "I know, I know, Linda. I know my wife chose faith over love. I know my wife abandoned me. I accept that my wife is a madwoman, twisted by obsessive belief. "Yet I still love you. From the first moment I saw you, I was captivated by you. Linda, I will remain lost in you for the rest of my life. "Do you know? As a psychologist, I've always known perfectly well that there are huge issues with our relationship, our marriage, and even our psychological states. "We're like two lunatics, yet we fit each other so well. "You can praise your god all you like, and I can curse that god all I want. That doesn't stop us from holding each other right now." "My dear, before meeting you, I never thought I would marry, nor that I would ever experience falling in love with someone. I belong to the Mural God, but within my heart, you left your mark long ago." Mr. Bede, who was busy painting, couldn't help calling out: "Hey, if you two are going to recite lines from a stage play, could you do it somewhere else? Don't disturb an artist devoted to his craft while he's creating!" Linda looked at Mr. Bede and said, "Mr. Bede, something is very wrong with my memories. I need you to help me sort them out." Without looking up, Mr. Bede asked, "What problems?" "The memories starting back in Ruilan, from when you instructed me to take part in that god descent ritual." "What about it?" "After I died, my soul clung to the pigments, clung to my husband, clung to our home. Because of my husband, I was drawn out back then. He couldn't tell what was real, and neither could I. That was the first disruption. "The second disruption was when the god descent ritual began, and my soul suffered turbulence. "The third disruption happened while I stayed beside God. God's breathing caused me to lose myself for a time, and I also bore a portion of God's memories." Mr. Bede shouted, "And so? Are you flaunting your relationship with God to me? I won't get jealous, really, I won't!" "There is something I want to ask you about Mr. Karen. I've pondered it for a long time, and when I saw Mr. Karen again, I realized that the nexus of every memory disruption centered on him." "What does Karen have to do with this?" "Wasn't what descended in that god descent ritual an evil god?" "That matter is in the past," Mr. Bede answered. "No, it is far from over. Its repercussions continue to this very day. Bede, I need you to answer truthfully. I want to reconstruct my memory and perception of Mr. Karen from you." Bede finally set down his paintbrush, turned to look at Linda, and asked, "Did God send you here?" "I don't know, because I have already merged into God's consciousness." "Very well, ask." "That oversized god descent ritual—did it summon down an evil god?" "There was no evil god. There was only Karen. Karen returned, using that oversized god descent ritual to bring his dead self back to life." "No evil god?" "None." "Then is Mr. Karen still Mr. Karen?" "Of course. Who else would he be?" Linda shook her head and chuckled. "You are lying to me, Bede." Then her expression turned grave, her voice sinking. "Bede, you are lying to me." "I'm merely answering your questions." Linda asked, "Do you not know who Karen really is?" Bede countered with a question of his own, "Do *you* know who Karen really is?" "His true identity is beyond your imagination." "He is my daughter's fiancé." "I think you should carefully consider your own identity." "I think the one who needs to consider their identity is you." "The Mural God is right ahead, watching you." "Yet ahead of me, I see no Mural God of my heart." Linda argued no further. Instead, she looked at Piaget and said gently, "I must go." "You're leaving?" "Yes, I must return. God is not yet ready to descend. I will enter slumber with God once more and await the next true descent." "I want you to stay." "But I want to remain by the Mural God's side." "You can keep the Mural God in your heart." "Yet I cannot deceive myself." Linda gently pushed Piaget away. Her form began to dissipate. Seeing this, Piaget immediately stepped forward and grasped his wife's hand; the dissipating Linda began to coalesce once more. The crimson around Piaget began to fade. This lightening was not dissipation—it seemed rather to be absorbed. "Is it because deep in my heart, I still cannot bear to part with you?" Linda looked in confusion at her hand held by her husband. "Perhaps the Mural God wants you to stay—to remain by the side of the one who truly loves you. We can go back to Ruilan and live our lives just like before. If we don't spend point coupons, we aren't short on money at all." "No, I feel ashamed of this, because I am not loyal enough to God." Linda exerted force again, shaking off Piaget's hand. As her form swiftly retreated, it began to dissipate rapidly once more, as if even a moment's hesitation would prevent her from leaving. Piaget stood frozen in place, lost and despondent. "Though it might not be the right time to say this, I think you should move on from this relationship. I know indulging in your own melodrama can be addictive, but to an outsider, it just looks rather ridiculous." Mr. Bede spoke as he picked up the bottle beside him, then cursed, "Dammit, you secretly drank it all!" Piaget walked over to Mr. Bede and asked, "The Mural God can't descend anymore?" "She descended, but failed. This crimson now is less God's wrath than God throwing a tantrum." "Yet I feel I've taken a step closer to my Linda." "Next time, between you and the Mural God, who do you think Linda will choose?" "The Mural God." "And will you still strive to chase after the next time?" "Of course I will." "Yet the outcome will never change." "I think... not necessarily." "Whatever you say, as long as you're happy." "The Mural God's descent is ending in failure. Why aren't you sad?" "Because I didn't listen to a certain short-sighted fellow and insisted on keeping the money for next week's rent and our return boat tickets." "Oh, hearing that makes me feel considerably cheerier too. What are you painting? You looked as though you'd been struck by some immense inspiration just now." "Mm, yes, immense inspiration." "May I see?" "Of course, take a look." Mr. Bede unrolled his newly finished painting before Piaget. "Where is this? Hmm, what scene is this? Why does it feel... a bit too ordinary? I thought you would paint something that makes one's scalp tingle at first glance." "This is the layout and design for my daughter's wedding venue. In a little over a month, my daughter will awaken from her slumber, and I must prepare a gift for her." "I mean, with the inspiration you just received, *this* is what you painted?" "Yeah. It suddenly struck me that using red as the primary tone for a wedding venue would look quite nice." ... The Mural God climbed up from the ground. Around her, people continually burst apart like fireworks, like chaotic piano keys playing a parting dirge for her. She looked at her scarred hands, somewhat bewildered and somewhat infuriated. She knew she could not win this fight. Not only would she fail to obtain enough food on this island, but she would also end up choked to death by the food itself. Throughout endless ages, she had been obsessed with doing only one thing; therefore, she didn't know how to fight. Of course, the present situation had little to do with whether she knew how to fight. She was simply too weak, and too hungry. She looked around, seemingly hesitating. Linda's figure materialized on her shoulder and spoke in a low voice, "God, are you lost?" Rielsa gave no answer. She turned around and began walking back toward the Gate of Samsara. This vast blood-red hue could not last long. In fact, it had already faded by half. Since she could advance no further, retreating was the only choice. Even though she had left total devastation in her wake. Yet, as she strode toward the Gate of Samsara, wisps of golden luster continually spilled from her battered body. She froze, seemingly unable to believe this was happening. ... "Rielsa's divinity is dissipating!" Lord Dal shrieked. "Divinity... dissipating?" No church scripture would ever record the concept of "dissipating divinity," for they all took it for granted that gods were eternal. How could a book praising a god ever analyze divine death? "Divinity is the bedrock that sustains a godhead. Once divinity dissipates beyond a certain threshold, the godhead will no longer be able to remain intact—which means there is a danger of falling from the divine throne. "Before, no matter how severe Rielsa's injuries were or how weak she became, she was still a god. But if this continues, she will still be Rielsa, but 'Mural God' might no longer refer specifically to her." "Could that happen to you too?" "Not me. Because on my path, there is only myself. That's why I can never become truly powerful and could easily perish, but I never need to worry about being replaced." "Being... replaced." *So that's why there was misdirection and deceit during God's Revelation?* Lord Dal paced in place. "No, I can't wait any longer. I'm afraid Rielsa will choose to self-destruct right now!" "Self-destruct?" "I bet she doesn't even know why her divinity is dissipating, but she definitely won't allow this state to drag on. She has only two choices right now. One is to retreat inside the gate, using this world of Samsara to enter slumber again and build up strength for the next emergence. But that very likely means losing her godhead, becoming merely a rather powerful entity who can no longer be called a god. "The other choice is to end herself immediately—to perish right here and die as a god. "That way, as long as believers of the Church of the Mural God endure, who knows how many years later, she might still have a hope of returning. Though the timeline is immeasurable and the risk is high with a very low success rate, she can preserve her 'godhead'—not a godhead in the traditional sense, but keeping her name bound to the Mural God. "In fact, the one who returns in the future might no longer be her; she would only be able to search through doctrines and scriptures to piece together her former memories." What a god feared most was not falling... but being forgotten. "Which one do you think she'll choose?" "What do you think? Looking at it from human nature." "Applying human nature to a god?" "A god in such dire straits is no longer a god, don't you get it? No, no, I have to go to her right now and have her paint for me before she blows herself up! I can give her a promise to safeguard her next return. I'm sure it'll work—she's at her easiest to negotiate with right now! "Hahahaha, yes, exactly! Now is the perfect moment!" A teleportation array appeared beneath Lord Dal's feet. He said, "Kid, I promised to shelter you and your companions. Let me tell you now: there are teleportation arrays leading to the various altars here. You can figure it out yourselves. Leave on your own in a bit—I won't see you off. If all goes smoothly, I can seize this chance to have Rielsa paint my past and future images, and then leave the Gate of Samsara directly to claim true freedom! Haha!" "You're just going like that?" "Yeah, because there's no time to waste. I can't wait until Rielsa self-destructs; then it'll be too late for everything. Otherwise, I would have liked to ask you a few more questions." "Ask me?" Lord Dal balled his fist and lightly thumped his chest. He had made this very gesture toward Karen earlier, and that split-second contact had yielded him plenty of sensations. "Your bodily structure bears traces of my primary body's habits. Although his aura isn't present, and it could fool anyone else—even other gods—it can't fool me." "This..." "It seems my primary body thinks very highly of you, even willing to help remodel your body. Then again, you brat are indeed worth investing in. Of course, your family must have offered immense concessions in exchange, or someone as stingy as him would never bother putting in so much effort." In truth, there had been no exchange of interests—he had merely been turned into a dog. Karen said, "I have always been grateful to him." "Alright. Once I get out, I'll pay a visit to my primary body, and I'll come visit you too. When the time comes, don't forget your promise. Tell my primary body I have no interest in killing him to prove my uniqueness—that's far too cliché. Instead, I'd rather call him 'brother'; after all, without him, I wouldn't exist. What I look forward to most is probably lying side by side with him, just chatting." *His dog bed probably won't fit two.* "Alright, I will pass it on to him." The teleportation array lit up. Lord Dal chuckled again. "If I hadn't sensed how meticulously your bodily structure was crafted—so painstakingly it's as if he remodeled it for himself, with absolute sincerity that could never be coerced—I'd almost suspect my primary body had become your dog. Heh." "You jest. How could that be possible?" "Indeed, how could that be possible? No matter how talented you are, what kind of insignificant thing are you that my primary body would willingly serve as your dog?" The teleportation activated, and Lord Dal vanished. Standing where he was, Karen looked at the ice water in his hand and let out a long breath of relief. ... Romir's eyes widened as she stared in horror at the Mural God, whose figure had come to a halt. Inside the black hole, many Samsara Elders cried out in alarm as well. ... "Kred, if Rielsa chooses to self-destruct, what will the result be?" "My Lord, Samsara Valley will be completely contaminated, just like the God-Burial Grounds!" "Good. Then let us look forward to it." ... The divinity upon Rielsa continued to dissipate. Her arms had already dropped limp, her body sliding toward the end; she was on the verge of perishing. Yet right at that moment, she sensed an aura. She raised her head and looked inside the Gate of Samsara. Inside the gate, Lord Dal was flying toward the portal at top speed, deliberately releasing his aura. He wanted to signal to Rielsa that he was coming—wait for him, don't rush! Rielsa's eyes instantly turned profound, piercing across an unfathomable distance, until finally, a pair of crimson eyes materialized directly ahead of Lord Dal's flight path. "Phew..." Seeing that Rielsa had finally "seen" him, Lord Dal halted at once and addressed the eyes: "Rielsa, I know there was bad blood between us in the past, but I think we can set our grievances aside for now and discuss cooperation. After all, I didn't actually cause you any harm back then, did I?" At this moment, Rielsa saw Lord Dal's appearance across the immense distance inside the gate—specifically, his face. In her ears, she also heard Lord Dal's voice. In the next instant, Rielsa, who had been poised to self-destruct on the spot, flung both arms upward and let out an earth-shattering roar of fury. Without the slightest hesitation, she charged straight into the Gate of Samsara, sprinting toward Lord Dal's location. "No, no, no! Don't come inside the gate! How can you paint me inside? I need you to paint outside! Don't come in!" To a god, even an immense distance was traversed in a mere flash, not to mention that Lord Dal was not far from the Gate of Samsara at this moment. Rielsa's battered form swiftly barged into Lord Dal's field of vision. "We can talk! Don't get so agitated! Have you lost your mind?!" Rielsa unleashed a wrathful bellow: "Order, die!" Lord Dal: "..."