Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 283 Blood Tide Approaches - The Gate Cannot Be Retreated
They said you still have a choice.

But you are already standing at the door, with the backs of those leaving behind you and a torrent of numbered people in front of you.

You didn't stay to win.
You just want to avoid letting others decide how you'll fall.

The Starbridge beams are still there.

It's like a nerve thread stretching between the sky and the ground, maintaining the pulse of this extreme escape.

The last batch of non-combatants had passed through, and the light from the gate slowly converged, like a wound being slowly stitched up. The light at the edges twitched and flickered, like the stress response of muscles.

At that moment, Wang Yichen's gaze fell on Lin Wanqing's back.

She was helping Mu Sisi step by step into the end of the Star Bridge.

There was no pause.

There was no looking back.

There wasn't even a moment's hesitation.

In that instant, the smile on Wang Yichen's face crumbled.

Like cracked pottery, it shattered completely, from the corner of my lips to the corner of my eyes, from reason to my heart.

He felt as if some invisible thorn had pierced his heart.

His muscles began to twitch violently, blood vessels bulged and burst on his cheekbones, and his skin tore off as if it could no longer maintain the integrity of his "human" face.

"They're gone."

He gritted his teeth, his voice so low it sounded like he was swallowing blood.

He was not angry because of the defeat in battle.

He did it because—they succeeded.

They, those who were once just background figures, "human defects" trampled on numbered ruins, those ordinary people he should have "given up on long ago"—

We were actually allowed to escape?
And he, Wang Yichen, number X-01, the first successful destiny seed, the first star disaster adaptor—was still left outside this boundary of blood and fire.
He died.

There wasn't even a body left.

He forgot who he was, and nobody remembered who he was.

He once thought that such pain would be erased and erased after death.

But just as he saw the group of people safely walk into the light through the doorway...

At that moment, he was so jealous that he wanted to tear the whole world apart.

"Why..."

His throat bobbed, and his eyes were red-rimmed.

With a flick of his finger, a blood-red umbilical cord suddenly shot out, striking the ground and leaving a ring of crimson marks, like the hissing of a severed maternal nerve.

"Why can they be forgiven, but I have to be numbered?"

"Why can they escape, while I can't even die completely?"

His voice suddenly rose, almost roaring:

"Why do you all have names, but I'm left with only a code name!"

He suddenly looked towards the bridge, and at the figure standing on it—

Sima Ming.

That figure stood like a monument, isolated and serene, quietly standing between the tide of death and illusion. Under the overlapping of light and shadow, he was like a cracked stone growing from the gap between heaven and earth.

Wang Yichen stared intently at him, his eyes burning with twisted jealousy and resentment.

"It's you."

"It's all because of you."

"The way you live is the greatest insult to those of us who have died once!"

Then he completely erupted, shouting at the top of his lungs:

"I'll make you so that you don't even deserve to be alive!!!"

Before the red tide arrives, the fog thickens.

Before the sea of ​​blood even rose, the air was already filled with an almost sticky "maternal scent".

That wasn't ordinary fog.

Instead, it is—flowing pregnancy fluid.

Angela Herrington slowly descended amidst a series of distorted, low-frequency vibrations.

Her figure slowly descended from directly above the sea of ​​blood, her skirt swaying gently as if suspended by an invisible umbilical cord, like a divine fetus wrapped in a placenta.

She has no feet.

Her lower body had long been completely mechanized and uterine-like.

Several mysterious skeleton supports extended from her waist, like ritual pillars pieced together from flesh and blood, fixing her to the core of the blood tide and making her the controlling entity of this entire "recycling program".

Her abdomen throbbed slowly, like breathing, or like an incubator.

Every slight fluctuation seems to harbor some kind of will that is not of human origin.

And on her spine, from the cervical vertebrae to the coccyx, each segment contained an embryonic sac.

Some were transparent, some were congested with blood, some had already taken human form, and some were still struggling.

A red light emanated from it, like an eerie shadow under an old lamp.

She opened her eyes.

In those blood-red pupils, the center was not the pupil itself, but the face of an infant—slowly opening its mouth, as if crying, or as if whispering.

Angela did not speak.

She doesn't need to speak.

Her "voice" does not rely on air to travel.

Her commands, like amniotic fluid, were directly injected into the nervous system of the numbered individuals.

It was a “whisper from the womb”.

Just like when you were not yet born, your mother passed on her first prayer to you through the amniotic fluid.

“Numberers”.

"All your pain, anger, resentment... are the unfinished containment of the womb."

She stretched out her fingers, her knuckles splitting open, and her fingers branched into several thin, umbilical-like tentacles that wriggled in the air.

She slowly raised her hand, pointing to the passage of the Star Bridge that was not yet closed.

“Those that are not numbered are degenerate failures.”

"It is the erroneous variable that prevents us from giving birth to a true Star God body."

"Go."

"Clear them, recycle them, break them down, and reconstruct them."

“In my womb—starting over.”

At this moment, the numbered destiny seeds—like beams of light after a machine restarts—shine brightly on the surface of the body.

They received the instructions.

They belong to the will of the mother.

A blood tide rises, and crimson mist overflows the boundary between illusion and death, transforming into a catastrophic torrent converted from "prayer," rushing toward the world's last exit.

In the distance, Siming had already raised his head.

He saw it.

he knows.

time is limited.

Three minutes before the army of destiny seeds surged in like a red tide, Zhuang Yege's voice rang out.

Still calm, still somber, like the oracle who never breaks his word on the banks of the River Styx.

"Starbridge connection completion: 72%"

"It is expected that... it will need to be maintained for another thirty minutes."

As soon as these words were spoken, everyone's expression changed.

Lynn took a sudden step forward, his eyes bloodshot, his voice filled with unprecedented anger:
"Are you—deliberately withholding the answer?!"

thirty minutes.

That's more than just a matter of "hanging on for a bit."

That was half an hour of facing the torrent of life and blocking the gate of death with one's body.

Zhuang Yege offered no explanation.

He simply closed his eyes and released another world pattern.

A halo of ghostly aura spread from beneath his feet, his back hunched slightly, and another drop of blood spilled from the corner of his eye, winding down his face.

His voice was as low as a whisper at a grave:

"The sooner you say so..."

"The more easily you hesitate..."

“I don’t want anyone to be distracted by someone who is about to collapse.”

At this moment, he finally confessed.

This is not a cover-up.

This is his choice.

This is Zhuang Yege.

His calm ruthlessness was never for his own survival, but stemmed from a clear understanding of his responsibilities and the inevitability of self-sacrifice.

Everyone was silent.

They couldn't refute it.

They also did not want to criticize.

Because they knew—that was him.

Selene slowly lowered her head, gritting her teeth, her knuckles pressing tightly against the card in the slot, her voice soft yet cold:

"Then we are now the gatekeepers at the door."

She raised her eyes to look at the army of life-seedlings that were already stirring in front of her, her gaze as sharp as a blade.

"However—God has to eat people in order to protect the gate."

Hermann chuckled softly, slowly raising his hand. The old pocket watch spun between his fingers, emitting a faint vibration.

His tone remained nonchalant, yet beneath the calm lay a chilling sense of destiny.

"Fate says that only six people are allowed to stay."

"That's not what I said."

He looked up, his eyes slightly narrowed, gazing into the distance:
“It’s my god…that’s what he said.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the air suddenly froze.

They did not look at each other again.

There is no need for discussion.

That was a decision that didn't need to be arranged.

That's instinct.

next moment--

The six of them took a step forward in unison.

Not a single person backed down.

Sima Ming.

Celian.

Natasha.

Herman.

Lynn.

Gojinin Nobuna.

six people.

Without exception.

Without hesitation.

Behind the Star Bridge Gate lies the future.

And they chose to face the torrent.

Natasha looked up at the approaching crimson tide of life-seeds, a slight sneer playing on her lips.

It all seemed like a joke she'd made countless times before charging into battle in her youth—except this time, no one would laugh.

"Then... let's start the war."

She gently pulled out the gun; the metal catch clanged, like the sound of a soldier from an old era pulling the spring for the last shot.

Behind the Star Bridge, light flows quietly.

Ahead, the crimson tide finally pounded the earth's veins, and countless life forms stepped into the ground in unison, creating the first echo as powerful as a mountain collapsing.

It's like the heart of the world being struck.

They came. Carrying numbers, hatred, and a rewritten will—to crash into this "gate of life" that had not yet collapsed.

The six people were already in position.

They have no way out.

And it's never needed.

The destiny number floated like fluorescent light, flickering endlessly in the blood mist, much like a beacon from the depths of hell.

With each step, the biological components on the numbered creatures emitted low-frequency resonances, as if the mechanically reconstructed metal uterus within them was constantly pulsating and vibrating, murmuring their sole purpose for existence:

Reproduction, invasion, replacement.

Ahead, six people stood side by side.

Siming, Celian, Shinna Mishinin, Lynn, Herman, Natasha.

They stood in a line before the gate, at the boundary between the bridge of death and the rift of illusion, like the torchbearers of the final six pillars of destiny, judged by heaven and earth.

Above the bridge, Zhuang Yege's figure, like an ancient lamp whose flame had burned out, remained kneeling, like a ritual lamp pillar that used up its last bit of soul to light up the gates of heaven.

The sky was blood red, and the star bridge was silvery white.

At the intersection of these two extreme hues, six figures stood silently—

They are the barrier, the gatekeeper, the final lines of poetry that fate refused to yield to.

—

Shinobu pulled out the card, pressed down with her palm, and cut her fingertip, leaving a bloodstain on the card.

The crest of the Mijinin family instantly appeared.

She whispered the incantation, and the ancient book projection unfolded, with the cryptic text swirling in the air. A sharp blade of light slashed through the air, severing the first wave of life seeds that charged forward.

“In the name of Mishinin—I refuse to acknowledge that these numbers are my sister’s ‘relics’.”

"You are just a virus."

"And I purify you today."

As soon as she finished speaking, her domain unfolded, the star map flashed, and an entire icy blue void sea spread out from beneath her feet, freezing the path of her life seed. Even a trace of frost formed in the air.

—

Lynn stared at the roaring tide of numbers approaching, and his whole body seemed to freeze.

Her hand trembled as she gripped the lever, but she couldn't pull it out for a long time.

until--

The first life form leaped up and pounced on their ranks like a bullet.

Lynn finally spoke in a low voice, as soft as if she were saying goodbye to someone:

"I'm sorry... I know you might be someone I know."

"But Grandpa said—the gatekeeper must not cry."

The next moment, she raised the Book of Destiny, and the incantation turned the pages like the wind.

The language of stars, like blades, transformed into dazzling rays, severing the predestined fate of those destined for life, even causing their identification numbers to falter.

—

Herman was still gnawing on a dry tobacco twig, his eyes nonchalant, like an old gambler with nothing better to do.

Only when the four Fate Seeds approached simultaneously did he sigh and slowly raise his sleeve.

Click.

The moment the old pocket watch was opened, time seemed to stand still.

"Self-forgetfulness - activated."

His figure disappeared instantly.

The creatures hesitated to react, and the next second they collided with each other, misjudged, and killed each other, plunging the scene into bizarre chaos.

They were unable to lock down Herman.

Because Herman has "forgotten where he is" in the scene—he has become a variable that does not belong to the script and has no "coordinates".

—

Natasha remained silent, her expression indifferent.

She simply drew the card from her waist, manifesting a pair of ferocious pistols—the gun barrels resembled the face of a mad laughing girl, and the bullets ignited as soon as they left the barrel, carrying laughter and venom.

The firelight pierced through the thick fog.

"You only listen to your mother's whispers, don't you?"

A sneer curled at the corners of her lips:
"Then let's hear what 'poison' has to say."

Gunshots rang out like curses, bullets ripped through souls, and with a deafening roar, a row of survivors instantly suffered rotting flesh and bones, their steps faltered, and they descended into chaos.

—

Selene stood to the left of Si Ming, her arms slowly outstretched.

Behind her, nine tails soared into the air, fiery red like beacons, illuminating the dark shadows on the Bridge of Death Tide.

She whispered:

“I know—you were once human too.”

"That's why I'm going to kill you all with my own hands."

She took a step forward, each step like a declaration of war against fate.

"This is the servant's loyalty to his master."

"Also a vampire—a denial of fate."

She raised her hand, and crimson energy swirled at her fingertips, like a burning vow.

—

At the very center, the God of Fate remained silent.

He simply took out "The Corridor of Illusion" slowly, gently twirled it in his palm, and the light patterns on the card surface floated, and the chessboard began to extend under his feet.

The gray realm unfolded silently beneath his feet, like a silent tide.

He finally spoke.

The voice wasn't loud, but it pierced the life-seed's consciousness system like a heavy hammer blow:
"Come on, Wang Yichen."

"Come into this story that you refuse to acknowledge I'm telling."

"We'll finish the last chapter."

The moment Wang Yichen stepped into the corridor of illusion, the world changed drastically.

A black and white chessboard silently appeared beneath his feet, the squares extending with each step, like ripples reflected in the sea of ​​consciousness.

With each step he took, his shadow split into three forms—

One is how he looked on the day he died: twisted, broken, with his consciousness frozen in his shattered bones.
First, he was the kind of person he once longed to be, standing at the top of power, an "ideal figure" admired by thousands;
First, his current appearance—a numbered shell, shaped into the existence of "Wang Yichen".

He looked around, his gaze chilling.

The God of Fate stands deep within the field.

Standing backlit, his shadow stretched out by the chessboard, he stood at the very center of the entire field, like a solitary tower, calm, clear-headed, and immovable as a monument.

The illusory corridor quietly unfolds, and among the misty chessboard squares at the edges, hundreds of illusory figures of "Destiny Masters" reappear.

They stood in different places—like silhouettes growing from different angles and narratives, some smiling, some deep in thought, and some seemingly shedding silent tears.

They remained silent, only watching him.

Wang Yichen sneered, his gaze as sharp as ice.

"Are you still playing this game?"

"You think you can fight me by 'fabricating yourself'?"

Sima Ming did not move.

But one of "him" on the chessboard stepped out.

It was an image of someone dressed in Wang Yichen's clothes from his previous life, with an almost identical face, except for a touch of gentleness in his eyes that didn't belong to the Destiny Seed.

The shadow spoke softly:
"Did you ever think... that you weren't destined for this fate?"

In that instant, Wang Yichen's body trembled violently.

He suddenly drew his sword and roared:

"Shut up!!"

"You are not me!!"

He cleaved the image in two with a single stroke.

The shadow disintegrated, and the fragments transformed into countless smaller "him"—each one a remnant of his own state of mind that he never acknowledged.

They surrounded him, murmuring incessantly, like his peeled-back self whispering incessantly.

Wang Yichen gritted his teeth and slashed wildly with his sword:

"No matter how well you pretend, you can't hide one thing—"

"I am real! I am the first of the thirteen life seeds! I am the origin of the divine seed!"

He abruptly raised his eyes, his venomous gaze piercing directly at the God of Fate:

"And you—you're just a mortal storyteller!!"

Si Ming finally spoke.

His voice was gentle and calm, carrying a solemnity as if revealing the truth.

He raised his hand and pointed to the edge of the chessboard, where the Fates and humans were locked in a fierce battle.

"you're right."

"I'm just a storyteller."

"But the reason they can still stand is—"

"It's because someone wrote the ending for them: 'standing'."

He walked step by step, passing through his own image, as if escaping from the narrative:

"You came back to life because someone else rewrote your story."

"I am alive, and I am speaking for myself."

You were assigned a number because you accepted the definition.

"And I don't have a number because I've never agreed to anyone naming me."

He stopped in front of Wang Yichen, his gaze deep and without anger, as if staring at an unfinished chapter.

"So the difference between us is—"

"You have been rewritten."

"And I write about others."

The chessboard suddenly exploded with a loud bang.

The illusory corridor was completely distorted, with black and white squares flashing wildly like a nightmare.

Wang Yichen's consciousness wavered, and he realized that he was killing another "Wang Yichen".

The shadow stared at him in terror, its voice trembling as it spoke:
"Did you cut me? Or yourself?"

A moment's hesitation was met with Si Ming's sword, forcing him back.

He raised his hand again, his voice low as if reopening a wound:

“The illusory have no master, but the narrator has a fixed fate.”

The card is raised, and the fingertip swipes lightly.

"—The handwriting of an anonymous person."

A slit opened in the void, gray as ink, with a texture that had been wiped away by time.

Wang Yichen's ID number—

【Destiny Number: X-01】

In his eyes, it began to slowly fade away.

A prompt exploded in his mind:

"Recognition failed".

"Name missing".

"Origin: Unknown".

Wang Yichen staggered backward, roaring:

"No—I am not nameless!! I—I am the king—"

He opened his mouth, but found that he couldn't say the name.

He couldn't even hear his own voice.

Si Ming stood before him, his gaze calm.

“You can resent us.”

"But you shouldn't forget—you yourself are a story."

"You hadn't finished speaking when someone closed the book."

At this time, the external battlefield was already stained with blood.

Xin Nai's domain shattered, and the Ice Blue Void Sea collapsed; Lynn leaned against the broken wall, using the Book of Destiny to withstand the final blow;
Herman's phantom image shifted, his energy dissipated; Natasha's gunshots grew fainter...

But at the same time.

Eileen, who was walking at the back, was supporting the dying Xiao Lianyin as they stepped into the last ray of light at the Star Bridge Gate.

Everyone felt a slight sense of relief.

At that moment, they knew—they might not be able to leave alive.

But they have already—

All delivered.

What remains is not God.

He's not a hero either.

They just finished telling a story.
I don't want readers to see a bad ending.

(End of this chapter)