Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 212 The Undercurrent of the Dead Tide
When the world tilts and destiny is overturned

Do you still dare to look the master on that throne in the eye?

boom--!
The silver gate slowly closed behind them, its deep echo like a seal falling, the sound as somber as a god's sigh, completely sealing Si Ming, Zhuang Yege, Vera, and Selian into this twisted and deathly silent hall.

The world behind the door fell silent, as if all of reality had come to a standstill, leaving only the nightmarish, frozen theater beneath our feet.

A deathly silence fell over the hall.

It was as if even time dared not flow here; the black sky hung silently on the dome, like an abyss without stars.

The air was as heavy as mercury mixed with molten iron, making it difficult to breathe.

Broken gears were embedded in the four walls, with tattered metal and decaying runes intertwined within. The blood-red patterns on the walls seeped out dark machine oil like wounds, mixed with the nauseating smell of rust.

The throne in front of us stands in the deep shadow of the central stage of the theater.

Like the remnants of an old god, forgotten before the eternal curtain falls, it still gazes upon those who come with a mysterious majesty, awaiting the stage to rise again.

Click——

A sharp, rattling sound of gears turning broke the silence, like the soft crack of a dead man's bones, piercing the darkness.

As the sounds grew louder, the throne, inlaid with broken metal and fragmented incantations, slowly rose, as if a grand absurd drama was slowly unfolding.

On the throne, a humanoid figure slowly rose. It was neither human nor machine; it was something cruelly stitched together.

The black metal was inlaid with rotting flesh and blood, the mechanical arm bones intersected in curved arcs, and the silver threads hanging from the shoulders seemed to be connected to an invisible hand in the darkness, controlling this puppet-like body.

It opened its eyes.

Empty and lifeless, the eyes devoid of light, yet radiating a godlike gaze and tranquility, as if looking down upon four souls awaiting judgment.

“...A puppet king.” Vera whispered, her voice barely audible, yet like a cold wind whistling through a steel blade.

“That’s Leo’s…remnant soul? No, that’s him reforged into a secret body.”

Zhuang Yege's voice was deep and resonant, as if piercing through the ghostly echoes in the theater. He listened quietly, and the wails of those suppressed souls resounded in his heart.

That was neither human nor god.

It was an existence composed of the misalignment of the world's power, the stitching together of the power of life, and the weaving of the power of destiny—a "life remnant" pieced together by defied laws.

The throne trembled in the next instant!

The puppet king slowly raised his hand, and at that moment, the entire hall suddenly changed—metal wires fell silently, piercing out from the ceiling, walls, and ground at the same time, and hanging into the void.

In an instant, the space was enveloped by countless silver threads, as if the whole world had become a giant puppet theater, with every inch of air being manipulated.

—Expanding the domain!

[World-type Mysterious Card No. 1407]

The Lament of the Marionette Throne

An invisible force field spread wildly, violently distorting space. The surrounding walls began to dissolve as if eroded by ink, turning into a thick, black liquid like an oil painting.

The dome gears spun violently, and the piercing shriek sounded like the wailing of a mad god.
The theater lights flickered on and off, like a constantly shifting dreamlike stage.

The false doors, walls, and corridors grow and collapse continuously, as if the essence of this palace is not material, but a rehearsal space constructed by the dream of the world—a stage hell that is repeatedly performed and repeatedly collapsed by countless scenes.

They were trapped inside the theater.

The puppet king is the only audience—and also the judge.

“Domain interference…we have entered his theater.” Vera’s tone was grave, her eyes sharp as needles.

"Then let me break it."

Zhuang Yege stepped forward, his robes billowing like the night.

He raised a card with a dark blue life pattern engraved on it, its silver edge already cracked, the inscription flickering slightly in the light and shadow:
World Series No. 1229 - "Yellow Springs Crossing: Death Tide Realm".

His voice was like a sword slicing through the void of the theater, cold yet firm: "Star rating: High-level. Card owner, activate permissions."

click -

In the Destiny Star Chart, the fourth Star of Reason suddenly ignited, like a meteorite exploding, unleashing a soul heat powerful enough to shake the laws of the domain!
Zhuang Yege spread his arms, his black robe billowing in the waves of deathly energy. A ghostly blue flame ignited in his pupils, a light belonging to the underworld, an annihilation color that could only be reflected in the depths of death.

"Domain Expansion - Crossing to the Underworld: The Realm of Death Tide".

The card shattered in his palm, and the pale blue dust scattered across the theater like a shower of stars that summoned souls.

The next moment, the edge of the theater suddenly rolled back!

A deep blue tide of death surged forth from beneath his feet, like a raging sea, swallowing the ground, walls, and dome inch by inch.

Those were raging waves from the underworld, the anger of the dead, and the souls that had been robbed of their lives reclaiming "life".

Countless shadowy figures emerged from the dead tide, roaring in the water, their forms appearing and disappearing.

That was not an illusion, but reality—every undead was once a victim devoured by the "puppet god" behind the throne.

Now, they have returned as a tide of revenge.

Two fields collided in an instant!
One is a "puppet theater" constructed from a world of dislocation and illusionary scenes, and the other is a "dead tide realm" woven from ghosts and the power of death.

A deafening impact!

The entire Paper Palace was torn apart as if struck by thunder. Illusion and death clashed and tore at each other in the center of the theater. The sky and earth changed color, and light and shadow reversed—reality began to collapse.

The theater lights were extinguished in the instant the tide of death surged, and the pitch-black curtain instantly swallowed the stage, stripping away even the last ray of light in the air.

The phantom doors crumbled in the water like fragile paper, the theater walls peeled away like a dream, the sound of collapse seemed to echo in the depths of a nightmare, and a false shriek lingered as they tore apart.

The tide of death, like a raging sea of ​​the underworld, devoured all illusions. Wherever it passed, the fictional terrain of the theater was dissolved, and the structures beneath the stage used to create illusions were being torn apart inch by inch.

The theater dome began to shake, and the gears that hovered on the ceiling trembled violently, spinning wildly, the sparks from their friction being swallowed by the blue flame mist brought up by the tide.

The mist was cold and dense, like the breath of the dead, slowly rising from the dome.

"The power of the dead... can erode the structure of a domain!"

A glint flashed in Vera's eyes, her tone filled with disbelief and shock.

“The tide of death is reversing and building order… The theater is beginning to crumble!” Her voice was low, but it sounded like an alarm bell.

Sure enough, the puppet king's throne in mid-air began to sink slightly.

It is no longer a god looking down on all living beings, nor an audience dominating the stage.

The invisible threads that once tugged at its form were now being severed one by one by the departed souls, the sound of breaking like rain striking jade, crisp and terrifying.

The suppression of the illusion gradually crumbled.

Si Ming stood in a corner of the theater, looking up at the broken dome, a faint but sharp smile curving his lips.

“Well then—” his voice held a hint of eager excitement, “it’s our turn to go on stage.”

"I am coming."

With a flick of his fingertips, a playing card flew out of his sleeve like lightning in the interplay of light and shadow.

The card's surface shifts between black and white, like intertwined threads of time and space, spinning rapidly in the air before accurately piercing a lingering illusory tentacle.

"Spades - Illusion Collapses."

The card exploded instantly, flames bursting from its center like blinding sparks burning in the void. The light instantly engulfed the surrounding illusions, and the false puppets that crawled out of the floor were forcibly deconstructed before they could even take shape, scattering into wisps of debris.

"Plum blossoms—highly poisonous."

The second card soared through the air, its sharpness cutting through the wind, and struck the thread node behind the throne.

The green toxic fog spread rapidly from the point of contact, like a ghost corroding iron, silently infiltrating the power supply components.

The poison is not chemical, but a concretization of a concept of fate—"corruption," a "reverse backlash" against the structure of life.

"Square - Burning".

The third card fell to the ground, creating a violent whirlwind of fire. It embedded itself in the metal panel at the edge of the throne, instantly igniting a raging inferno.

The intense heat ignited the remaining curtain, the burning fabric flying like wings of the dead, and billowing smoke rose into the air, engulfing half of the sky, as if the theater had self-immolated.

"Red heart - cut."

The last playing card traced a sharp, crimson arc through the air, like the scythe of death wielded by the Grim Reaper, precisely severing the crisscrossing steel wire structure in the puppet king's lower abdomen. The violent jolt caused the king's limbs to slightly lapse in control, the puppet system momentarily malfunctioning and his movements becoming sluggish.

"High-level Fate System," Si Ming murmured softly, his eyes burning with unwavering determination.

"The Gambler's Lament - Unbound Cursed Item".

"Gamblers do not break the deadlock by force, but by disrupting it with their moves."

Before he finished speaking, his figure suddenly blurred, instantly transforming into several afterimages, swiftly weaving through the shattered shadows of the throne.

The afterimages kept changing—some were upside down under the ceiling, some were flipped and decapitated in the air, and some were bound in a vicious cycle of their own making. It was not acrobatics, but a chaotic calculation of some kind of fate.

He is wrestling with "control" itself.

"He's disrupting the judgment!" Vera's pupils contracted, her words laced with shock.

“Each suit of the playing card he throws corresponds to a kind of intervention in fate… He is really gambling with his life.”

A rare look of shock and respect appeared in Zhuang Yege's eyes.

"He... is challenging a 'god of control' as a gambler."

The puppet king finally let out his first low roar.

It was a kind of "anger" that did not come from the vocal cords, but from the resonance of steel friction and gear vibration.

Its structural perception began to spiral out of control, and the once precise, choreograph-like wire control system was disrupted by fate, making it unable to maintain absolute control.

It finally understood—the "person" moving among the cards wasn't just playing around.

With each card that falls, he is forcing himself to step down from his lofty throne and personally enter this disrupted game of fate.

"The holy name is reversed, and all beings echo it."

Vera slowly opened her eyes, her voice low yet clear, like a prayer emanating from the heights of an ancient clock tower, abruptly settling the chaotic rhythm of the battlefield and bringing a sense of inexplicable solemnity.

She pulled out an old card from her hand. The edge of the card was engraved with divine words written backwards, and the characters were embedded deep in the card, as if they had been sealed away by time.

On the card is a six-winged angel hanging upside down in the sky, its wings burning with the dazzling light of destiny, a glorious intersection of revelation and end.

High-level Fate-type Mysterious Card - "Hymn of the Upside-Down Angel".

“My Lord, Vera Castile.” She calmly uttered her name, as if announcing the start of a ritual, “Mystic Code activated.”

With a flick of her wrist, the third star of reason on her destiny chart suddenly lit up, its faint yet pure light emanating from her wrist bone, climbing along the veins to her palm, immersing the card in the radiance of fate.

That light wasn't burning; it ignited a possibility of "choice."

She flipped the cards with her right hand and whispered a secret message.

In an instant, the void trembled, and an upside-down holy book emerged from the sky, its pages turning like flowing water.

The text above is written with lines of indistinct poetry, unreadable and incomprehensible, yet it seems to directly interfere with the "next segment" of the world through language.

It is not a rule, but possibility itself—this is the true meaning of the mystery of fate.

"Mysterious Entry 1: Echo of Substitute Death"

She whispered the familiar words, her voice like a divine oracle in the dead of winter.

[Effect: When an allied target within range is about to suffer fatal damage, a causal exchange is automatically triggered, transferring the damage to other units on the field that can withstand it (enemies or summoned creatures are prioritized).]

Suddenly, the puppet king swung his claws, and an illusory blade made of silk threads took shape in the void. Like a stage curtain, it fell from mid-air, carrying a godlike pressure, and pointed directly at the God of Fate!
"It came so quickly." Si Ming's brows twitched slightly, but his tone remained calm, as if he had anticipated that moment would arrive.

But before the blade could strike, a loud "whoosh" echoed through the void—the sacred text turned a page.

An invisible hand of destiny quietly manipulates reality.

The Phantom Blade abruptly veered off course before it could strike the Fate Master, as if pushed aside by some force outside the rules. Instead, it struck a metal puppet suspended in mid-air. The puppet hadn't even completed its defensive stance before it was torn in two, the fragments falling to the ground with a clatter.

Si Ming spoke in a low, hoarse voice: "...To die in someone else's place, that's certainly ruthless."

Vera did not respond, but simply lowered her eyelashes as if her prayer was not yet over.

"Secret and mysterious entry two: Blessed by fate."

[Effect: Upon activation, allies gain a 'Wings of Fortune' concept shield for ten minutes, which can withstand one severe attack or status failure. The trigger probability is 80%, and the fate deviation is adjusted to a favorable direction.]

Three pale golden feathers drifted silently from the phantom of the upside-down angel, like divine pronouncements taking form, and landed without a sound on the shoulders of Zhuang Yege, Siming, and Selian.

It is neither a spell nor a physical shield, but rather the "favor" of the dimension of fate itself, a mark bestowed upon the lucky.

“I cannot create domains,” Vera said calmly but confidently, “but I can rewrite the ending.”

"In the next ten minutes, each of you... has an 80% chance of living a life more fortunate than you deserve."

"Step aside."

A low, husky yet sharp voice rang out. Selene walked forward slowly, her voice filled with undisguised ferocity and impatience—the kind of pressure that belonged to a natural predator.

The vampire princess's cloak billowed, fluttering in the broken air currents of the theater. Fine, spiderweb-like blood threads were wrapped around her limbs; they were the concrete form of the blood force, a curse, and a weapon.

With a flick of her wrist, a sharp blade materialized between her fingers—a deep crimson, slender as a crescent moon, its edge menacing.

In the afterglow of the stage, where embers and death intertwined, her figure, like a burning meteor, rushed out with pure killing intent, aiming directly at the puppet king!

"...A low-level illusion dares to block my way."

Her growl was like a roar from the abyss, and in the next instant, blood-red light exploded like exploding stars!

Before the phantom puppet that was about to meet her could even fully take shape, it was torn in two by her blood claws, the remains exploding like fireworks.

Her charge not only shattered the illusion but also shook the entire structure of the "play." Wherever her claw passed, the puppet king's divine status finally began to crumble.

Its body paused slightly, and it was forced to take a step back.

The throne sank slightly.

At that moment, for the first time, it lost its superior, judgmental composure.

It raised its head.

Anger finally surfaced in those empty, metallic eyes.

Its originally indifferent, mechanical face trembled slightly, and the metal wires suddenly retracted, tightened, tangled, and rewoven, like a group of snakes dancing.

Its massive body slowly rose to its feet, and a series of "click-clack" unlocking sounds came from deep within the gears, like the horns of apocalypse, echoing in the world theater on the verge of collapse.

It finally "got serious".

"You've angered it." Si Ming grinned, as if teasing, yet also as if reminding. "Congratulations, Your Highness."

“It doesn’t deserve to look down on us.” Celian sneered, her eyes like blood-red ice crystals, and casually waved away the blood flames at the tips of her claws.

The next moment, the spatial structure of the entire theater underwent a dramatic change.

The ground cracked, metal pipes spread rapidly like blood vessels, the ceiling folded and collapsed, and paper scrolls fell like snowflakes. The theater—no longer existed.

Instead, a battlefield reconstructed by "power and command" has emerged:

Forced domination array, already connected.

—The puppet's loop is about to begin.

The puppet king rose completely from his throne, hundreds of strings dancing in the air, his figure plummeting like a broken puppet, only to suddenly regain his footing halfway through.

It spread its arms, its steel claws outstretched, gleaming coldly!
It no longer needs to be hidden.

No longer a spectator.

It will personally step onto the stage and tear apart those who dare to disrupt the "script".

The throne slowly collapsed behind it, transforming into an evolution altar, with a mysterious aura surging violently, like an apocalyptic ritual conspired by gods and demons about to descend.

"On its throne, it needs no words."
Because puppets can't speak—

It only knows how to use its hands.
Let me make you understand who is—

The screenwriter of the final chapter.

(End of this chapter)