Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 278 The Domain of Rift
Behind each door,
Perhaps there's an exit hidden there, or perhaps there's another lock.

But those who are alive will always try to ring the bell.

Even if it's just an echo of fate.

The morning sun slanted down, casting a warm and messy patch of light across the half-collapsed camp walls onto the charred stone bricks.

The light was like the first spotlight as the curtain was drawn back in a theater, cutting a clear line through the dust and rust in the air—the edge of hope and the unknown.

Vera stood before an open map, her back ramrod straight, her entire being seemingly embedded in the desolation along with the sunlight.

She held a mysterious, fragmented page in her hand. The edges of the card were charred into triangular pieces by the flames, and the aura still retained a slight heat from the burnt-out alien energy.

“We found this in the abandoned buildings in the northern industrial area before the game ended last night,” she said, her voice still clear and crisp, with her usual calm and composed judgment.

But beneath this calm demeanor, there was an imperceptible sense of oppression in his tone, as if he were silently conveying some unsettling conclusion.

The group sat around the folded cloth pattern in front of her. Si Ming sat at the front, resting her chin on her hand, her expression calm yet focused.

Natasha leaned casually against a broken beam on the ground, occasionally turning the parts of the explosive gun in her hand.

Zhuang Yege, Yushinin Nobuna, Lin Wanqing, and Duan Xingzhou stood on the left and right, each with a different expression, but none of them uttered a word. The air seemed to freeze along with the markings on the map.

It was an area roughly circled in red pen, the lines trembling slightly from the speed of the hand, with a line of small text drawn along the edge:
【Abnormal Gate Overlapping Area - Original Number Z-217】

Vera slowly placed the burnt-edge card in the center of the map, as if entrusting a certain fate to the consensus of the group.

“Last night, we discovered a ‘door remnant’ here.”

She paused, as if weighing how to express the next, even more horrifying truth.

"It's neither a portal to a mysterious dungeon nor a normal entrance to the storyline."

"Instead... a broken portal—"

The moment those words were spoken, a suffocating tension filled the air.

“There are many of them, stacked in a misaligned manner, with extremely unnatural overlapping angles.” Her gaze lowered slightly. “The state is unstable, and the residual energy flow is extremely complex.”

“At least eighteen ‘gate remnants’—three of which can still trigger local spatial oscillations under the stimulation of minute energy flows.”

Si Ming frowned, his gaze sharp as a blade: "A trap set by Madman Thirteen?"

Vera shook her head, her voice carrying a certainty colder than she had guessed: "No. More like... an abandoned experimental site of secret remains."

She slowly swept her gaze across the crowd, each word like a hammer blow.

“But they are still ‘alive’.”

Silence, brief yet profound.

Natasha suddenly spoke, breaking the silence with an untimely ease in her tone, yet unable to conceal the underlying urgency: "I have already contacted Ruoli."

She raised her hand, pulled out a light blue communication card from her tactical backpack, flicked it with her finger, and the card spun half a circle in the air before landing steadily in Si Ming's hand.

The card surface still bears traces of life patterns, a frequency unique to Ruoli.

Like a compressed prayer, it leaps and flickers on a cold surface.

“She said she needed a stable anchoring region with a ‘gate laminar superposition structure’.”

“And the area we found…” she smiled softly, but her eyes were as deep as the bottom of a well, “just meets the minimum requirements for building the ‘Star Bridge’.”

Si Ming's gaze tightened instantly, and the faint weariness vanished.

“In other words,” he said slowly, but each word was clear as a nail,
“That gate area—may be our first and...last chance to connect to the outside world.”

His gaze swept over the crowd, his eyes reflecting the interplay of firelight and fragmented sunlight.

"If Ruoli can penetrate that area and successfully stabilize the intersection of the laminar flow, it can open a real exit."

"Then we can leave here."

“Send away the wounded, send away those who can no longer fight, send away…” He paused, his voice lowering by half an octave, yet carrying even more weight, “…those who can still live.”

The wind slid down from the broken rooftop, passing through the gaps between the ruins, and made the edges of the map tremble slightly, as if the entire camp was shaken for a moment by those words.

Everyone was silent.

It wasn't because of surprise, but because some kind of unbearable and uncertain longing was rising from the depths of their hearts.

It was like a hand that had been struggling in the mud for too long suddenly touching the edge of a piece of driftwood.

Something called "hope" finally uttered its first real whisper amidst these ruins.

The voice was faint and trembling, yet it was enough to pierce through the barriers of dust, bloodstains, and heavy fate, igniting the first glimmer of light in everyone's hearts.

"go home……"

When those two words fell from Siming's mouth, it was like an electric current piercing through the silent camp, tearing open a thin crack in the silence that had surrounded the map.

The air was still filled with the acrid smoke and dust from the smoldering fire, mixed with the damp smell of the ruins, but these smells became indistinct at this moment.

Because the sudden emotion in people's hearts has overwhelmed all the senses.

The first to speak was Eileen.

Her voice wasn't loud, but it was so clear it seemed to reach everyone's ears, carrying a sharpness and undeniable resolve never before seen in her.

"I...I want to go out."

She stood very straight, her right arm still bandaged with the splint from last night's trial, the rough bandage revealing traces of medicine.

Her eyes had just scabbed over, her cheeks looked even thinner from injury and exhaustion, and her voice trembled, yet every word was as firm as iron.

"Black Moon, slaughter, games... every night is like a never-ending nightmare, and I don't want to stay a moment longer."

"I don't want to die here."

She gritted her teeth, her eyes red-rimmed, and her voice sounded like it was being squeezed out from her throat, choked with emotion: "I want to live. I want to leave this damned place alive."

After she finished speaking, her shoulders trembled slightly, but she still stubbornly stared straight ahead, as if no one could take away the possibility of "life" from her.

Fujimiya Sumire lowered her head, her voice as soft as dust blown by the wind, yet surprisingly clear.

"Me too...I want to go home too."

She was always the quietest person in the group, always following silently behind Natasha or Musi, her presence so faint it was like background noise.

"I want to eat another meal cooked by my sister... Although she's not very good at cooking, she always cooks for me."

"I also want to... lie on my old bed again, even if the mattress is collapsed and the springs are poking my back, but I still know its smell."

As she spoke the last line, her voice grew softer and softer, yet every word seemed to be squeezed out from the depths of her heart, each syllable a powerful and resonant sound.

Mu Sisi didn't speak. She simply turned the pages of the sketchbook she always carried with her, her fingertips trembling slightly, as if each page held fragments of her life that she dared not forget.

She showed the footage from the past few days, page by page—

A figure in battle, a warm moment by the fire, tears shed while gritting one's teeth to endure the pain of a dungeon, and also the occasional smile, tightly clasped hands, and the backs of figures running side by side.

Each one is proof they left for each other in this hellish place.

She turned to the last page.

That page was blank, as clean as a page of fate that had never been written.

Mu Sisi said softly, "I want to draw one last picture... one that is drawn in reality."

Her voice was like the wind brushing across pages, gentle yet firm, carrying an unquestionable will.

Lin Wanqing suddenly stood up, her steps slightly unsteady, but she still walked step by step to Vera.

Her face was as pale as paper, her lips almost bloodless, but her eyes shone with a light brighter than any night.

"We...we all want to go back."

Her voice choked for a moment, and she added softly, "I'm sorry, are we being too cowardly by thinking this way?"

This sudden remark startled everyone.

Vera raised an eyebrow, her voice calm yet tinged with a hint of inquiry: "Are you afraid too?"

Lin Wanqing shook her head slowly without hesitation.

"No... I know, we have always been a burden to you."

She raised her hand and looked at the scar on her forearm, a light brown mark embedded in her flesh—the mark left by Madman Thirteen on the third night, which has not faded to this day.

"We... can only slow things down and add to your stress. You're facing a nightmare, and there's nothing we can do about it."

“But…we also hope you can live, that you can win.” She took a breath, her voice still trembling. “We don’t want to die here, in such an unclear way.”

"This is not a trial. This is not a journey of growth."

"This was an absolute nightmare."

After she finished speaking, she lowered her head and clenched her hands tightly.

Si Ming looked at her, remained silent for a moment, nodded slightly, and asked in a low but clear voice, "Are you ready?"

Lin Wanqing looked up, her eyes sharp as swords: "Right now... I want to go home more than ever before."

Instead, he was buried in the theater of Madman Thirteen.

Her voice was like a stone thrown into the ground, and the ripples of emotion immediately spread throughout the camp.

Some people lowered their heads and silently wiped away the corners of their eyes; some pursed their lips and breathed rapidly; and some remained silent, simply holding tightly the arm of the person next to them.

But everyone knows the truth.

This "going home" plan is not a sign of weakness, cowardice, or burden.

It was a struggle for survival against the current, an attempt to reclaim a sliver of dignity from the abyss.

It was to preserve that shattered "hope".

The silence was like the darkness of night pressing down, making it almost impossible to breathe.

Suddenly, a hand wearing a tactical glove pressed firmly on the map.

Vera spoke first, her fingertips gripping the area of ​​the remnant door circled in red, her tone crisp and decisive, without hesitation:
"Since we're just waiting for the Black Moon, let's take the initiative—let's move in."

Words are like a sharp blade, cutting directly through the oppressive silence.

She raised her head, scanning everyone's faces, her eyes cold yet burning with a resolute determination:

"Target: Gate Z-217. Mission priority: Construct a passage. Priority target: Non-combatants, safe evacuation."

This is not a solicitation of opinions, but a declaration of a collective survival instinct.

Zhuang Yege stood up, picked up the Soul Bell, and gave it a gentle shake. The bell rang softly, like a night breeze sweeping across the sea of ​​the dead.

“This time… it’s our turn to escort them.”

His voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable calm solemnity, as if he had been preparing for this moment for far too long.

Duan Xingzhou patted the heavy armor hanging on his shoulder; the rune chains embedded in the armor shimmered faintly. A smile played on his lips, and his tone carried a long-lost sharp fighting spirit:
"I had a premonition when I fought my way out of the training grounds."

"We changed the script."

Shinna Misaki swung her arm with clean, swift movements. The card slot glowed like stars, and energy patterns rose along her skin.

A thin, fog-like predictive barrier unfolds from the palm of the hand, accurate to the last detail.

“I can provide a predictive barrier.”

“If we encounter a spatially displaced area, I can create a path that they can pass through alive.”

Her voice was clear and bright, carrying a reassuring confidence, as if even the most distorted spatial rules would eventually yield to her steps.

Vera nodded, her gaze shifting to the few people not covered in armor. "Fujimiya Sumire, Musisi, Eileen—"

She looked at the three of them one by one, her voice low, yet every word resonated like a drumbeat.

Are you willing to leave?

Mu Sisi gently raised her head, her gaze calm and gentle, her voice soft yet exceptionally firm:

“We are not ‘willing’.”

"we have to."

Her word "must" was like a light knife, cutting through her hesitation and self-blame.

“And we must help them do it.”

Si Ming's voice followed closely behind. He stood at the edge of the map, his voice deep yet carrying an irresistible warmth and power.

He didn't look at anyone, yet everyone understood him.

This is a promise, and also a declaration to oneself.

His gaze swept past the crowd and landed on the figure on the makeshift stretcher in the distance.

Xiao Lianyin rested her head on Celian's shoulder, her lips slightly pale and cold sweat beading on her forehead, but her eyes still burned with fire.

That was a flame called "fighting spirit," which, even after experiencing dire circumstances, blood loss, and despair, remained unextinguished.

Si Ming walked over, squatted down, and spoke very softly:
"You want to move too?"

Xiao Lianyin grinned, even though there was still blood on the corner of her mouth, she smiled like a desperate fugitive who owed money.

"Stop talking nonsense, Mr. Fate."

"I still owe Crazy Thirteen a slap."

These words, like a drumstick striking, boosted morale.

Celian frowned: "You're not fit enough to play."

“I don’t need to go on stage.” She shook her head, her grip on the edge of the stretcher tight. “I just need to follow you to the door and hold on.”

"I haven't said 'goodbye' yet."

That "goodbye" wasn't said to any particular person.

Rather, it was the nightmare itself, and the entire theater.

Si Ming did not offer any advice, but simply nodded gently.

Some people never need permission—their very existence is an oath of defiance.

Vera then began to deploy his forces and assign combat configurations:

"Forwards—me, Xin Nai, and Duan Xingzhou."

“Mid-lane support defense – Si Ming, Zhuang Yege, Natasha.”

"Rear Protection and Transportation - Rudolf, Lin Wanqing, Selrian, Herman".

"Protect targets: Eileen, Mu Sisi, Fujimiya Sumi, and the seriously injured Xiao Lianyin."

She rolled up the map and tucked it into the metal shield, her eyes sharp as frost.

"We just need to hold on—until the passage opens."

She spoke slowly, but every word was like a hammer driven into the night—steady, ruthless, and precise.

"Doesn't Crazy Thirteen like watching plays?"

“Then we’ll put on an ‘escape script’ show for him.”

"It's okay if the script isn't finished."

Si Ming followed her footsteps, replying calmly, a hint of almost provocative light flashing in his eyes.

Sometimes, the most authentic stories are the ones that are incomplete.

The team slowly prepared, their movements perfectly synchronized, and they remained silent.

The hastily packed emergency supplies were quickly distributed, and personal tokens marked with "rescue information," emergency-drop locating stones, and card recording chips sealed at the camp were all carefully packed into the storage bins.

No one said a single unnecessary word.

Because everyone understands—

This was not an “ordinary retreat”.

This is an attempt to end the show prematurely.

A desperate breakout attempt to save those who were still alive but would perish if they did not escape.

They did not give up the stage.

They are carrying a soul that has never faded away—

He left the theater alive, just like the one in Madman Thirteen's story.

As the sun climbed to its zenith at noon, its blazing white rays sliced ​​through the shadows of the shattered city like sharp blades, exposing every hidden corner among the ruins.

The shadows were compressed to their limit, and even the deepest crevices could not escape the scorching sunlight.

Sunlight slanted down between the broken walls and charred beams, illuminating the forbidden area that had slumbered for many days—

The area containing the remains of Gate Z-217.

That area, like a throat that has been open for a long time, silently waits for a destined footstep to pass through its gaps and step into its abyss.

And they—are about to step into it.

Towards the last crack in the gears of fate of this mad city, where the wheels of destiny have not yet completely broken.

They set off at noon.

The sunlight mercilessly pressed everyone's shadows to the ground, those shadows overlapping with footsteps as they moved forward.
Like threads of fate stretched out, they are woven step by step into the loom leading to the end.

From the camp to area Z-217, it is seven kilometers.

This road seemed to separate them from their "homecoming" by an entire hell.

They proceeded along a relatively safe path that had been temporarily identified, bypassing the foundations of old buildings crushed by artillery fire, and traversing among the twisted and deformed metal wreckage that was gradually melting and deforming under the intense heat.

Every shard of glass, every piece of detached steel bar, is like a fragment of the city pieced together by Madman Thirteen himself, coldly pointing to some impending end.

At first, the wind was gentle, like a soothing breeze, or perhaps a tempting one.

But as they got closer to the gate, the air began to distort, and the direction of its flow became chaotic.

Strands of pale blue energy appeared at the edge of the surrounding space, like nerve endings exposed in the air.
Pulled and tugged by an invisible force, those light threads were dreamlike and illusory, yet they brought an unusual pain.

"A spacetime crossing zone has begun to appear here." Nobuna Mijinin didn't stop walking, but beads of sweat were already appearing on her forehead.

Light patterns danced in her pupils, as if two layers of space were simultaneously folding and flashing in her eyes.

“There’s a sensory misalignment reaction,” Vera said in a low voice, her tone as cold as a unit of measurement. “We’re approaching the critical zone.”

"Keep moving forward." Si Ming's voice wasn't loud, but it was like a hammer falling, leaving no room for doubt.

They continued walking.

The arrangement of the abandoned buildings gradually revealed a strange order, with the remaining walls on both sides standing like stone pillars of an altar, decaying but not falling, and the straight road in the center resembling the sacred path of a temple.

The ground was densely covered with countless array patterns; those symbols, long since rendered ineffective, were the traces left by those who failed the trials of the past.

Like a graveyard of gods, a solemn yet dangerous silence.

Suddenly, Fujimiya Sumire stopped in her tracks, her gaze abruptly freezing, and her voice trembled with barely suppressed emotion:
"what is that……"

Following her gaze, everyone saw a twisted, irregular, arched black shadow appearing amidst the ruins in the distance.

It is not a living thing, yet it is slowly "breathing".

It was a bizarre structure pieced together from dozens of broken "door frames," resembling some kind of giant resonating organ.

Every slight tremor stirs the nerves of all spatial rules in the air.

Each door is different.

Some are engraved with modern characters, some are covered with ancient inscriptions, and some are inscribed with runes that are completely incomprehensible in any language and do not belong to the real world.

They climbed along the door frame like tentacles, as if some kind of consciousness was struggling, breathing, and peering behind the door.

Some doors are half-open, some are tightly closed, and some doors are not even physical entities, but are merely "visual folds" simulated by distorted space.

“This is the ‘Door Ruins Area’.” Natasha gritted her teeth, her knuckles turning white.

“I can sense the resonance of the anchor point left by Ruoli.” She raised the communication card, her fingertips trembling slightly. “Once we take control of this place, we can try to open the star bridge.”

Zhuang Yege stared ahead, his gaze deep and unfathomable, his voice low and somber:
"Energy flow is unstable."

“These doors… don’t seem to be stationary.”

“They are ‘screening observers’.”

It was an indescribable feeling, as if every gaze directed at you was being stared back at, as if you were being thoroughly analyzed by some higher-dimensional being.

“We don’t have much time left,” Vera ordered immediately, her voice sharp as an ice blade slicing through the theater curtain.

"Clear the perimeter and block any disturbances."

The team began to disperse and deploy, the energy barrier slowly rose, and the identification array spread out like a reflection.

Si Ming stood at the forefront, gazing silently at the rows of "doors," the light mark between his brows flickering slightly.

A familiar sense of oppression rose in his heart—not from energy levels or spatial intersections, but from some kind of… mental pressure.

A suffocating feeling of being watched and spied on by the script.

That's not an illusion.

That was Crazy Thirteen's "gaze".

He's watching.

They moved—the structure outside the theater's "curtain".

That guy has already noticed.

Si Ming knew that from this moment on, they were no longer just actors.

They became—traitors.

Even so, we must continue.

Even if this entire mad city collapses in the next second, someone must step to the edge of the stage and say those words to the final curtain that has not yet been drawn:
"We're leaving."

Not every door leads to a way out.

But some are still willing to approach the deepest folds.

Because they believe,

On the other side of the door, it's no longer a script.

Rather, it was themselves.

The ending I wrote myself.

(End of this chapter)