Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 250 Star Plague Crown - Silent Gray Light
We are not facing monsters.

Instead, he was facing a madman who was about to become a god.

The shadow of the epidemic surged like a tide, rippling like the deep-sea folds where rotting flesh rolled up, spreading across this enclosed space of plague.

Those Nicholas who crawled out of the flesh walls had the same expression, the same steps, and even the rhythmic frequency of the star plague patterns on their skin was accurate to the second.

They showed no hesitation in their actions, nor any fluctuation in their emotions.

They are not “individuals”.

They are "expanding".

Stardust and miasma flowed slowly across the ground, like a silent, fine rain, nourishing everything without a sound, yet permeating the entire space into gray lesions.

They are not combat units, but more like "spiritual yeast" released before some kind of ritual begins—breeding in corruption and colonizing in nightmares.

"This is not a battle," Si Ming said in a low voice, his tone unusually tense.

"This is erosion."

He turned around abruptly, his gaze sweeping across the surroundings like a blade.

Those shadows of the plague, like the shadows of doctors projected into the deep well of hell, slowly peeled away from the hanging mannequins, from the walls of the plague tubes, from the infected bed frames, and even from the shells of failed patients on the altar.

Their steps were slow and deliberate, yet none of them stumbled, as if each step had been rehearsed a thousand years ago.

“…The 'self-recursion' of the Cataclysm.” Lynn exclaimed in horror.

She practically spat out those words through gritted teeth, “He’s using his cosmic calamity instinct to disintegrate himself into controllable fragments of will…like cell mitosis, replicating himself.”

On the operating table, the real Nicholas still stood atop the platform, head bowed, eyes closed, silent like an unrevealed statue.

He did not make a move.

He did not speak.

He does not need it.

The star-marked crown on his head rotated every second, each rotation seeming to cut through some unseen "conceptual space".

With each rotation, new shadows of the epidemic slowly "hatched" from the spores behind the operating table, like syllables split from words, surviving by dragging their breath in the grammatically incorrect sentences.

"These plague shadows..." Si Ming's voice suddenly turned cold, the playing cards in his hand already gathering power, "are not illusions."

"It is a 'consensus body' possessing a differential of the will of the Star Calamity."

"Someone has to stop them."

His gaze swept over the crowd, finally settling on the most familiar figure.

"Celian."

The vampire girl slowly emerged from the miasma, her smile like the moonlight that had finally cleared after a long wait—dangerous yet beautiful.

She looked at these phantoms of "doctors," her eyes filled not with fear, but with a long-suppressed desire and fighting spirit—the kind of excitement that belongs to a predator.

Siming raised his right hand, igniting two nodes on the Star Chart of Reason, and whispered the contract:

"The Bloodthirst of the Wild Hunt, the pact with Princess Selian—I hereby break it."

Blood flames exploded!

It was as if a gaping hole had been torn open in the entire plague-stricken space, and the originally oppressive atmosphere was instantly disrupted by her.

Selene's hair danced wildly, her eyes blazed with crimson flames, sharp claws automatically spread and grew from her fingertips, her joints cracked, and chains of power shattered from her spine.

She chuckled softly, her voice like the drumbeats before a musical movement, carrying a strange and cruel pleasure.

"Finally—they let me out."

"You know, I've long wanted to taste these 'self-proclaimed gods' for a long time."

She slowly pulled the card from her waist—[No.47·Moonlit Flute Player].

The World-type mid-tier spell card, before its sound even rang out, the Dream Realm had already arrived.

The flute brushed against the fingertips, producing a silent melody.

A slight vibration in the air.

The next second—the illusion unfolds!

[Illusionary Realm Generation: The Evil of Fanlou]

The entire battlefield of the epidemic was instantly engulfed in the core of the illusionary dream.

All the pandemic-affected individuals are simultaneously trapped in two realistic simulated scenarios—a sea of ​​fire and a sinking sea.

Flames burned their limbs, scorching their nerve pathways, while seawater surged over the boundaries of their consciousness, suppressing their nerve reflexes.

Not an illusion.

It's not about "experience".

They are “experiencing hallucinations in reality”—a multidimensional simulation of pain constructed from the world-building core!
Nicholas opened his eyes and moved his fingers for the first time.

"...Illusion rule construction formula".

"She constructed the core of the dream."

His tone was calm, as if he were evaluating a student who still had some new ideas.

"--pity."

"Dreams will not kill gods."

As soon as she finished speaking, Celian leaped up like a crimson moon falling in the night!
The sea of ​​fire raged and the waves surged.

Her figure was like a sharp red line, tearing wildly through the shadows of the epidemic!
Each time it swept past the body of a plague-infected shadow, its claws slashed across the neck bone, leaving a trail of overlapping blood flames and illusions!
She is no longer fighting the enemy—

She is playing a piece.

Using the shadow of the pandemic as the strings and dreams as the stage.

That wasn't an attack, it was "hunting gods".

The clone of Nicholas, who originally used the threat of the Star Calamity as a means of coercion, struggles painfully like a fragile believer in the "dream" she constructed.

She turned to look at the operating table, a slow smile playing on her lips.

"god?"

"You are nothing more than a patient who hasn't even recognized his own illness."

The shadow of the epidemic surged like a disease wave, but briefly fell into chaos under the focus of the dream core.

But the restriction was still suppressing their bodies—

The left hand of the God of Fate remained silent and lifeless, as if sealed in a pathological splint by star marks.

Lin Wanqing instinctively wanted to leap, but her feet felt like they were rusty shackles.

Lynn felt as if a finger in the air was gently pressing down on his throat, and every word "I" choked on his tongue.
Duan Xingzhou's gaze could only be lowered, unable to look up at the sky that should belong to people;
Gregory was more like a clock about to collapse, its gears stuck between flesh and bone, unable to even cough up the pain.

At this moment, the ban is not just a rule.

It's like an invisible pair of surgical forceps slowly pressing a person into a hospital bed, cutting away their "freedom" inch by inch.

A cold glint flashed in Si Ming's eyes, and he gritted his teeth and whispered, "We haven't turned the tables yet."

"We just—took an extra breath."

Selene swept through the front row of the Plague Shadows like a whirlwind, tearing the five Star-Scarred Plague Shadows into a shower of ashes.

Red hair burned like sparks and blades in the plague fog, flute music was like blades, and illusions were like blades.

But just as she was about to pounce again, her shoulder paused—her body began to tremble slightly.

The burden on her dream core began to backfire, and even someone with a pure bloodline like her was experiencing "battlefield dislocation fatigue" from the continuous illusionary construction.

Si Ming stepped forward, shielding her behind him, his voice low but decisive: "That's enough. Don't push yourself."

Selene licked the plague blood from the corner of her mouth, her smile still arrogant, but she didn't refute. She simply snorted and slowly retreated back into the mist.

Just then, Lynn's voice came from the depths of the thick fog, calm in tone, yet sharp as a blade piercing through the mist:
"I come."

She slowly emerged from the miasma, her short, silvery-white hair plastered with blood and sweat, the stray hairs on her forehead like floating pendulums, each step as precise as the gears of a spell she had set.

She slightly raised her right hand, and a silver pocket watch hung quietly in her palm.

The pocket watch vibrated slightly, and the star map inscription appeared. The gray streaks and star trails of the gray tower resembled a command map waiting to be triggered, and pale blue starlight trembled between her fingers.

She didn't turn around, but simply said softly, "It's time to break the ban."

Si Ming's pupils contracted slightly as he recognized the starlight and breath in that fleeting moment: "You want to... use it now?"

Lynn nodded without hesitation, his tone as calm as if he were reading a death sentence he had already written: "If we don't break free from the shackles, we will only die in our dreams from discipline."

She gently turned the gears of her pocket watch, the silver hands ticking away, the sound of time like a dying respirator.

"Anchor point - setting".

Five silver lines appeared on the star chart, cutting through space like fine threads threading a needle, precisely locking into the nodes of each person's destiny.

"Execution: Review".

—A silvery light appeared!
At that moment, the plague space seemed to have a bone flute string plucked.

Everyone's nerves trembled slightly, as if their consciousness had been pushed into a river flowing against the current.

It wasn't an echo in my ears, but a whisper from the depths of time:
"go back."

It's not about running away—it's about returning to that unpolluted place.

Si Ming's throat tightened, and his heart pounded as if it had suddenly been released from a high-pressure syringe. He blurted out, "You... this is not the current anchor point."

Lynn's voice wasn't loud, but it was like the morning sun shining into the intensive care unit:

"This was something I set up the moment I was admitted to the hospital."

"At that time, there were no restrictions. There was no pollution. There was no divine interference." "The 'us' at that moment were the most complete versions of ourselves in this battle."

She extended her right hand and pressed the button in the center of the pocket watch, which was inlaid with the gray tower seal.

—The star pattern exploded!
The silver thread shot out instantly, piercing through the plague-stricken space and precisely piercing the root of each person's life line!

【Secret Entry Two: Retrospective Execution】—Activated!
Time cannot be reversed.

But the state of the "world" was rewritten.

Five seconds of silence felt like falling into an abyss.

Then—the air in the entire White Plague Chamber began to change from "dull and numb" to "clear and transparent," the pulsating cells on the fleshy floor stopped trembling, and the writing on the incantation walls returned to its original structure.

Si Ming felt a long-lost touch in his left hand. He clenched his fists, and strength surged back into his nerves like a flood.

Lin Wanqing exerted a little force with her feet, and in the next second she leaped up lightly, landing as swiftly as the wind.

Duan Xingzhou looked up and saw that the starry sky was no longer a prison of the pandemic and rules.

Gregory's life-patterned star chart lit up again, starlight overflowing from his palm. The old man slowly opened his eyes, and the dim gray spots in his pupils were finally gone.

“This is…” Lin Wanqing murmured.

"……daytime."

Lynn added softly.

Si Ming turned to look at Lynn, a genuine respect appearing in his eyes for the first time.

“You… are the successor of the Gray Tower.”

She didn't speak, but slowly put the pocket watch back and pressed it to her chest.

The mud from the epidemic had not yet completely receded from their feet, and the plague still lingered in the corners, but at that moment—their feet finally trod upon their own "will," rather than the patients' beds.

Even if it's only thirty seconds.

Even if the next moment is still a storm.

In the depths of this purgatory, they finally rediscovered their own human form.

It's not a rebirth—it's a resurgence.

It was a true "collective awakening".

Si Ming clenched his fist, feeling his long-lost left hand awaken again, a warm current flowing through his nerves, as if the oppressive fate had finally been loosened.

With a flick of his fingers, the playing cards tumbled in his palm like blades, shimmering with the cutting light of destiny's trajectory.

"Wanqing!" he called out in a low voice, hoarse yet resolute, "Point the way!"

Without hesitation, Lin Wanqing pointed to the thickest part of the epidemic's impact.

The next moment, Si Ming spread his arms, and the cards flew out like shooting stars.

【The Elegy of a Fated Gambler】×3
[Hearts - Realistic Construction] [Square - Explosive Fiery] [Spades - Tear]

The playing cards drew blinding arcs of light in the air, and the spinning runes, like lightning, stripped illusion and truth from reality, blasting together into the depths of the pandemic!
boom! !

The gray mist exploded into countless starlight, as if the gap between reality and illusion constructed by the cards' "words" had been torn open in an instant.

Some images of the pandemic spontaneously combust in reality, while others disintegrate on the spot in hallucinations, with nerves ruptured and language centers collapsing—but death is real.

Duan Xingzhou seized the opportunity and charged forward.

He summoned the [Butler Robot - Special Type] again. This time, the butler was no longer restrained; its metal arms were fully extended.

The heavy shield transformed into a charging arm, crashing into a plague-infected figure attempting to block the road!
Yi Ying's sternum was shattered by the blow, but she did not fall. Instead, she took three steps back and "corrected" herself into a standing posture at an angle that was not in line with her physiological structure.

Duan Xingzhou gritted his teeth and growled, "Don't even think about touching them... Even an ordinary person has the right to resist!"

Lynn's [Misty Valley Grey Wolf] followed, billowing gray mist, and with a pounce, swept across the left flank of the Plague Shadow, the wolf's shadow moving like a ghost.

Lin Wanqing stood at the edge of the battlefield, loudly calculating:

"The pandemic has delayed our thinking—by 1.6 seconds! Don't wait for them to move, strike first!"

Her tone was sharp as a knife, precisely cutting into every decision the team made!
Siming instantly caught the rhythm and used the mysterious term "True Lies" to pre-emptively construct an attack signal on the mind track of the plague shadow.

In that instant, he leaped up, stepping onto the shoulder of the Plague Shadows, and his card slashed out like a crack of light, severing the throats of five Plague Shadows in succession!
They advanced like a tidal wave, step by step approaching the Star Plague Platform.

But Nicholas—the "statue" standing in the center of the altar—remained unmoved.

He closed his eyes and spread his arms, like a priest waiting for the sacrifice to be completed. Every tremor of his body was a feedback of data from the deaths caused by the plague.

His bones gradually became transparent, star-like marks clung to them, and gray words emerged beneath his eyelids, flickering like a curse:

[Fate] [Out of Control] [Gravity] [Dry Hair]

Gregory's steps were heavy as he supported Lynn, his cloudy eyes burning with determination: "He's not fighting... he's advancing."

Si Ming murmured, "These plague shadows were, from the very beginning, a sacrificial structure."

Lin Wanqing was about to speak when Gregory hissed, "Stop talking—we must stop his ascension! He'll become the second... Time Eater!"

They rushed to the foot of the operating table.

Duan Xingzhou was covered in blood, the steward had been torn apart by the plague, Lin En had been shot in the back, Si Ming's left arm was numb and burning, and Lin Wanqing's legs were weak but she gritted her teeth and persevered.

Gregory was breathing heavily, like an old bellows.

They all came.

But—it was too late.

—

Nicholas opened his eyes.

His left eye, the "Plague Core Eye" eroded by the gray star, spun beneath his eye like a fragment of a star remaining within a god's body.

His right eye, the "Pupil of Fragmentation," is where hundreds of unfinished phrases are reassembled in his pupil, like the manuscript of a plague god being repeatedly smeared in his consciousness.

He hovered above the operating table, the six-pointed plague array fully lit, and the plague shadows and corpse ash poured into his body, like the Milky Way pouring down, the gray light turning into blood.

With a single exhale, the mist exploded like a wave, instantly freezing the "behavioral permissions" of the entire space.

Lynn was unable to move; his limbs were stiff as if he were locked in a steel shell.

She was conscious, but couldn't even make a sound.

Syllables are blocked, language is swallowed up.

The God of Fate threw out a playing card—but it "stopped in mid-air".

It's not that we've stopped, but rather that we're frozen in the "possibilities before we can act."

He saw it clearly—

Their every reaction had already been written into Nicholas's "sacrifice script".

At this moment, they are merely "passively executing" the script.

—

His true form, the calamity of the stars, was fully revealed.

Nicholas's body is reconstructed into a web of meteorites, his flesh and blood transform into a "language data cortex," and his fingertips release "pathological codes."
Every footprint left underfoot marks a new orbit of catastrophic events.

He looked down at the crowd, smiling serenely, like a doctor inspecting a patient's bedside after a successful surgery.

"You are all doing well."

"A clean confrontation, a real struggle, and the most appropriate data."

"It was a perfect ritual."

He opened his mouth and whispered, like a priest petitioning the gods:
"Post-operative promotion has been completed."

"Next step - to perform the 'sacrifice to the gods and kill' ritual."

Lin Wanqing trembled slightly, her hand shaking so much that she couldn't even pull out the notebook.

Lynn's eyes were red, as if she wanted to break free from the body that had been injected with a "silencing agent".

Duan Xingzhou wanted to roar, but even his anger was frozen in his lungs.

Gregory's astrological chart was "prematurely burned out" by the light of the celestial catastrophe, its radiance dimming like a withered lamp.

Siming was also frozen in place, the card still hovering between his fingers—but it had lost its landing point.

Only Nicholas—surrounded by the crown of the Star Plague God, bearing the plague of sacrifice—bowed his head, gazing tenderly at the God of Fate.

It's not mockery, it's not sarcasm.

It is gentleness, it is compassion, it is a doctor's gratitude to the antigen patient.

"Thank you."

"The Cataclysm needs a beautiful gambler like you."

"Only with a proper ritual can it be perfect."

Space is sealed off, language is frozen, the Destiny Deck has burned out, and the timeline has been erased—

They became the footnotes on the final page of the gods' script.

But the night was not yet over.

The gambler's fingers were still trembling slightly.

—Have the rituals of sacrificing to gods and killing people truly come to an end?

"You think you're stopping the planetary disaster?"

But you were already part of its injection sequence.

(End of this chapter)