Creating a God!

Alfred lightly tapped the temples of the two white-robed men with his fingertips. Immediately, a rapid succession of crisp snaps rang out. The bodies of the two white-robed men began to contort. First their feet twisted around, followed by their legs, then their waists, and finally up through their chests, while their heads remained completely motionless. There was not the slightest scream, only a continuous series of crisp cracks. It sounded oddly satisfying, like the pleasant sensation of cracking one's own knuckles—immensely relieving. Or like skewers of meat and cartilage sizzling with grease over glowing charcoal on a barbecue grill. Thump! The two twisted human braids fell to the ground, bringing an end to the celestial broadcast. Alfred looked at Xili and said, "The young master is back and wants a late-night snack, yet you were absent. As a maid, this is a dereliction of your duty." "Yes, Mr. Alfred. Please, I beg you, Mr. Alfred—my family is still upstairs! On the sixth floor, they're on the sixth floor!" Xili felt no shock at the power Alfred had just displayed. In her heart, she even took it as completely natural. If the funeral parlor was hell, then she was the maid of hell's household. After all, she had seen dead people walk past her like the living more than once, and they could even... eat the food she cooked with her own hands. Alfred looked up toward the upper floors of the gray-and-white building. To tell the truth, he didn't particularly want to save anyone else, even if they were the family of his household's maid. His humility and prudence had always been reserved for his young master and those close to him, because the mood of those around him could provide the young master with a more comfortable environment. Regardless, when Karen had first met Alfred, Alfred was a presence who exerted immense pressure on him—not merely through strength, but through his personal bearing. Moreover, Alfred keenly sensed that beneath tonight's barbaric violence lurked an inexplicable, bizarre undertone. Reason told him that taking Xili and leaving immediately without causing any further complications was the most prudent course. Yet Alfred always considered matters with his young master at the center. His young master might not care especially deeply for this maid, but he was well-accustomed to her, and she had quickly learned which dishes he favored. If her entire family died tonight and she fell into depression, would she still be able to cook delicious meals for the young master? "The fifth floor, is it?" "Yes, Mr. Alfred! The room where this bedsheet rope hangs down! My parents, my uncles and aunts, my aunt and uncle..." By the end, Xili's voice dropped unconsciously, because even she felt she was asking to save far too many people. Alfred tossed the keys to the hearse to Xili and said, "Take your little brothers and hide in the car." "Yes, Mr. Alfred." Alfred raised his hand. The ground beneath his feet silently caved inward; the two twisted corpses slid into the hollow and were quickly covered by a layer of earth. Immediately after, his figure vanished from the spot and reappeared inside the room. Bang! Gunfire and screams rang out together. When Alfred walked out to the corridor, he saw the building's residents fleeing in disarray as the white-robed men charged upward. Individual bravery often proved powerless against an organized mob, especially when the other side had come prepared with weapons. To confront organized violence, one had to respond with equal organization. He hoped they would learn this lesson—if there was a next time. Xili's relatives fell back in panic and crowded into the room. When the children had climbed down, the women had not followed; instead, they had grabbed whatever could serve as a weapon and rushed forward alongside the men to fight for their lives. By now, Xili's father and the other male elders were nearly all injured. Her father had taken bullets to the shoulder and leg, blood welling out profusely. Outside, having breached the barrier at the stairwell, the white-robed thugs began sweeping through room by room to hunt and slaughter the occupants. Alfred now had two choices. He could lead Xili's family straight down the stairs, butchering every Holy Fire Believer he encountered along the way. He had possessed that capability back in Rojia, let alone now. However, the consequences of killing so many people in succession were severe. It was an outright violation of the Code of Order: deviant demons and churches were forbidden from interfering with the normal operation of human society. Yes, this damned ethnic slaughter was considered part of human society's normal operation—as were acts of war. These were all matters the Code of Order strictly forbade meddling in. Alfred was certain that if he carved a bloody path straight down, the price would be becoming a wanted fugitive of the Church of Order by tomorrow. That would bring no small amount of trouble to his young master, especially when he had already sensed something unnatural about the flames burning tonight. Therefore, Alfred chose another approach. His figure appeared in the doorway, his back to Xili's relatives. At first, the sudden appearance of a man in a wine-red suit startled Xili's family, but they quickly regained their composure. Alfred sighed and said, "Fortunately, I dislike white outfits. Now, climb down along the bedsheet rope." No sooner had he spoken than a group of white-robed men rushed to the door. But in their eyes, the room was already engulfed in a raging inferno, tongues of flame licking outward. "Damn it, who set such a huge fire?!" "We're supposed to drag them down to burn! What a waste setting a fire here!" Then, when a second group of white-robed men arrived at the doorway, they saw the blazing fire as well, so naturally none of them ventured inside. Although Xili's relatives were bewildered by this, even if the devil himself had descended to save them at this moment, they would have accepted without hesitation. The women began climbing down the bedsheet rope first. Outside, screams continued to echo without pause. Some had worse luck and were unable to receive the kind of protection Xili's family enjoyed. In fact, tonight, not only in these gray-and-white buildings, but in virtually every settlement of purple-haired people, the exact same scene was unfolding. The unfortunate were countless. Alfred took out a cigarette pack and drew a cigarette from it. This pack was brought back for him by the young master, who had said he sold all the other cartons and kept only two complete ones—one for Alfred, one for himself. Click. He lit the cigarette, took a drag, and slowly blew out a smoke ring. Alfred reached out and took down a painting from the wall beside him, tossing it onto the floor. Two nails jutted from it. Everyone else had climbed down, leaving only Xili's father, whose injuries were simply too severe for him to manage the descent. Just then, a white-robed man passed by the door holding a dripping machete. Alfred reached back, seized the man by the throat, and slammed him downward. The man's forehead impaled directly onto the nails in the floor; after a brief convulsion, all life fled him. Immediately after, Alfred walked over to the window, grabbed Xili's father by the shoulder, and carried him down. *** "Dad! Dad!" The originally spacious hearse was now crammed full of people—all of them Xili's family. Xili's father was the last to be tossed inside by Alfred. The bleeding refused to stop, leaving Xili and her mother pressing hard against his wounds. Alfred started the car, grumbling with some displeasure, "The car is filthy now." Xili immediately said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Alfred! I'll clean the car, I will!" Alfred opened the hearse's glove compartment, retrieved a vial of energy potion and a bottle of white powder, and tossed them to the back. "Apply the powder to the wounds to stop the bleeding so you don't mess up the car. Drink the other bottle. And stop wailing—it distracts my driving." "Yes! Thank you, Mr. Alfred!" Xili quickly poured the powder onto her father's wounds. Once applied, the bleeding stopped immediately. She then passed the remaining powder to her uncles and aunt's husband so they could treat their own injuries. Xili's mother fed the energy potion to her husband. His complexion, pale from excessive blood loss, showed signs of recovery, and his wounds no longer felt so agonizing. At that moment, the children in the hearse began to cry. They had been terrified by tonight's horrors, holding it in until now; once one started, the others joined in. Alfred spoke up: "Whoever cries again gets thrown out." The children fell silent instantly. From the sides of the road, several purple-haired people ran out, seeming to plead for a ride to escape, but Alfred paid them no mind, steering straight around them. The passengers inside saw this, but none dared plead on their behalf. Finally, the hearse pulled up to the funeral parlor. Alfred didn't park outside; instead, he drove directly into the mourning hall and honked the horn three times. Soon, Pike and Dincomb came running over. Madame Lake emerged with Dora and Doreen, and everyone set to work treating the injured. Alfred stepped out of the vehicle and walked into the backyard, finding neither hide nor hair of his young master in the study or bedroom. Purr came riding out on Kevin's back. Seeing Alfred searching around, she said, "Karen went out, shortly after you left." "Did the young master say where he was going?" "Nope. Mm, you went to pick up Big Butt—are those all her family?" "Yes, all of them are Xili's family." "Why are they in such a wretched state?" "An organization in the city is carrying out an ethnic cleansing targeting purple-haired people." "Oh, that again?" Purr sounded entirely nonchalant. "It's like a circle; every era repeats the same cycle." Kevin nodded his dog head in agreement. "I feel something is unusual this time. In terms of atmosphere, something feels off." "Oh? In what way?" "I said the atmosphere." "Evidence?" Purr flicked her tail. "Whatever. Are they hurt badly? Do you need my help?" "One took gunshot wounds—Xili's father. I believe Madame Lake has a way to dig the bullets out, but I can't guarantee he'll survive the procedure." "Naturally. I'm sure Big Butt wouldn't want Madame Lake handling her father either." "Woof!" "Fine, fine. For the sake of my exquisite daily afternoon tea, I'll go take a look at her father. I wouldn't want her preparing food for me with a mournful face—that would be a crime against elegance. Stupid dog, let's go. Let's take a look." "Woof!" Kevin trotted off, carrying Purr. Alfred walked into the study, picked up the telephone receiver, and dialed Fanny's number. "Hello, who is this?" "I am Karen's valet. I would like to inquire about my young master..." "The captain went to find Karen. They should be together right now." "Understood. Thank you." "Is something wrong?" "No, I was just checking. As you know, things are a bit chaotic outside." "Chaotic? I didn't notice anything. Oh, maybe it's because I live in an upscale neighborhood?" *** Rows of swordsmen marched forward in two columns. Their armor was structurally indistinguishable from that of the Order Knights, yet the edges were trimmed with gold. As they marched toward this place, they brought an immensely terrifying pressure, even though there were only eighty of them. Bishop Bern stood respectfully with a contingent of subordinates. This was a special guard unit—a force under Order's banner, yet outside the control of the Holy See. They were Temple Guards, answering only to the will within the Temple of Order. Friction between the Temple and the Holy See was nothing new in any orthodox religion. Between the supreme nerve center overseeing the church's daily operations and the most powerful, noble group within the faith system, friction and conflict were inevitable. Even if the High Priest was due to condense his godhead and enter the Temple of Order tomorrow, today he would still represent the Holy See in resisting—or even countering—pressure from the Temple. During the tenure of the previous High Priest, Rasma, the authority of the Temple of Order had severely oppressed the Holy See. Outside of public occasions, High Priest Rasma hadn't even had the right to sit in the presence of Temple Elders. The current High Priest, Norton, was far firmer in dealing with the Temple of Order than Rasma had ever been. Not only had he recorded images of the Samsara Temple Elders' humiliating disarray during the battle of Samsara Valley, rubbing them onto scrolls and sending them into the Temple of Order for their viewing pleasure, but he had also declared during his inauguration ceremony: "The Temple of Order is a place to serve God, while the Church of Order is the place that executes God's will." At the time, no one had taken those words seriously, but time had proven he meant every word. Originally, everyone, including Bishop Bern, assumed that under this High Priest's reign, the Temple's power would contract and refrain from interfering excessively in church affairs. Now, however, it seemed they had miscalculated. The Temple of Order's guards had suddenly descended upon York City, issuing orders directly to the York City Regional Administration bearing the official seal of the Temple Council of Elders. The high-ranking leadership of the grand York City Region had directly submitted under the Temple's imposing pressure. Accompanied by the guards, a man in a black robe wearing a gold mask strode in. Bishop Bern immediately led all his subordinates to kneel prostrate: "Greetings, Temple Envoy." "Who issued that notice?" Bishop Bern pursed his lips and replied, "Reporting to the Temple Envoy, all region-wide notices are issued in the name of the York City Regional Administration. It was reviewed by the Regional Board of Bishops and approved by the Chief Bishop." "Heh, Wolflen? I thought you would cooperate fully, but it turns out your cooperation was only a sham." "Reporting to the Temple Envoy, issuing the notice was also done to cooperate with you, Envoy." "Cooperate with me? Do you take me for an ignorant child?" "We beg your forgiveness." "We are guilty." Led by Bishop Bern, the group of senior priests began asking for pardon. "Where are the people from the Church of Principles?" "Reporting to the Temple Envoy, our guests from the Church of Principles are in the A-3 Secret Cavern sector." "Activate the teleportation array." "Yes, by your command." *** This was a crystal cavern. The space was immense, and at its center stood a newly arranged altar adorned with various floating apparatuses. Nearly a hundred priests wearing robes of the Church of Principles bustled about, with over a dozen wearing vestments signifying the rank of bishop. The Temple Guards entered and assumed formation. Immediately after, the Temple Envoy walked in. A gray-haired bishop of the Church of Principles approached and demanded: "Why did you issue that notice?" "Bishop Monbara, you misunderstand me. It wasn't at my request—the region issued it on their own initiative. What can I do with those bureaucrats?" "Has the Temple of Order's control over the Church of Order fallen to such a low point?" "I know you mean to mock us, but to a certain extent, that is also a virtue of our Church of Order." "It is precisely this notice that could very well cause this long-prepared experiment to fail! Any new god and new faith is born in the cracks between existing belief systems and church hierarchies. If we blindly create too lenient an environment for it, it won't even have the strength to break through its shell. It would be like a hothouse flower—easily dying the moment it's moved outdoors." "Yet what's done is done. If worse comes to worst, we can pick another observation site for the experiment. Right now, on behalf of the elders behind me, I want to inspect your research findings." Bishop Monbara clapped his hands. A fissure opened in the center of the altar, and a massive crystal sphere floated out. Inside, a cluster of shifting colors churned violently, while ribbons of color from the surroundings converged toward it continuously. Amid the swirling colors, the faint silhouette of an infant seemed discernible, though extremely abstract—like an oil painting washed out by rain. The only somewhat distinct feature was that the infant's neck was strikingly red. "Can it coalesce?" Bishop Monbara shook his head. "Earlier, the projected success rate was calculated at 0.1 in ten thousand." "And now?" "After that notice went out, our calculated success rate dropped to 0.1 in ten million." "Destined to fail, then?" "In truth, such figures have no practical meaning. They merely represent our attitude toward how things unfold. In short, from theoretically somewhat possible to theoretically nearly impossible." "Then what are we still bustling around here for?" Bishop Monbara raised both hands, saying with intense excitement: "In reality, from the beginning, there has only ever been the difference between one and zero. Because what we are attempting to create is—a 'New God'!" *** The rooftop of the department store in the Hammer District, York City. Neo and Karen stood side by side. Below them was a massive, torch-bearing procession of Holy Fire Believers marching forward. "You know, originally I thought this was nothing out of the ordinary. Setting aside that it's taking place in York City, the capital of the Wien Empire, its ferocity doesn't even come close to the tribal massacres carried out by the empire's colonial troops. What really made me sense something unusual was that notice. If the region hadn't issued it, I'd probably be in bed catching up on sleep right now." "So, Captain, you mean..." "Just like when the Church declared war on Samsara last time, I feel there's a veil of secrets over this. I want to try peeling it back and see what's really underneath." Karen said, "However, the regional administration issued a notice forbidding any Order priest from interfering with the normal operation of society." Neo shrugged and smiled. "What do orders given to Order priests have to do with a remnant of Light like me?" With that, Neo spread his hand, a ball of radiant light fire coalescing in his palm: "Tonight, I praise the Light." Neo looked at Karen again. "And what about you tonight?" Karen opened both hands: the depth of the Dark Moon, the warmth of the Light, the vastness of the Sea God, the ice and fire of Allen, the faith of his family, the mystery of Samsara... Even Qianmei emerged and circled about. "Why don't you pick one for me?"