Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 294 Weaving Death Square - Breaking the Formation
Fate is not about killing one's shadow to bring victory.
But when you see a shadow,
You can still laugh.

boom--

On the square where fate weaves death, the chessboard-like ground paved with red stone bricks trembled and emerged amidst a low rumble, as if it were a final ultimatum issued by fate.

The door to data has quietly opened, like a theater curtain slowly being drawn back.

The twelve mirror skeletons, like silent actors, slowly stepped out from the deep data channel behind the thirteenth.

Their steps were synchronized yet silent, like apostles of death.

They stood at the edge of the square, each occupying a different "chess square," watching the seven people in the center quietly but eerily.

Their forms were like mirror reflections, perfect yet distorted. Each mirror-like remains replicated the face of one of the main characters—a familiar face that had now become the mask of the enemy.

The wind was still and lifeless.

But in the center of the square, the seven people remained motionless, fearless and undaunted. They seemed to have seen death a thousand times over, their gazes calm and their breathing steady.

—

“Yo—” Herman said with a smile, his tone flippant, as if he were facing not his own mirror image or an enemy, but a beautiful mirror.

He gently twirled the pocket watch in his hand, its silver casing shimmering faintly in the dim light. He tilted his head, examining the mirror-like remains named "The Lost Memory He" like a child.

"This watch—it's nice, it looks newer than mine."

With that, he flicked his wrist, and the second hand of his pocket watch popped out, leaving a faint arc of silver.

The logic within the domain was instantly thrown into disarray. It was as if someone had suddenly pulled a main power line, and the "rules" of the entire area were disrupted in an instant.

The mirror on the other side froze—the delay was like a ghost pulling at its consciousness.

“However—” Herman chuckled and murmured, “Unfortunately, I don’t like ‘remembering’ myself.”

He flipped his palm, and a shimmering light of tiny gears appeared.

[Amnesia Pointer] activated.

In an instant, Jinghe's memory structure collapsed, its recognition logic was interrupted, and the precision device, like a broken gear, came to a sudden stop.

Hermann did not use any flashy poses or make any extravagant pronouncements about the technique.

He simply threw a punch.

But this punch, like a judgment that destroys memories, directly shattered Jing He's "memory structure".

"Stop pretending to be me."

He spoke in a low voice, his tone as cold as a knife cutting through himself.

—

On the other side, Mirror Fate Master Si slowly raised his hand, his fingertips hovering, and a Fate Pen quietly condensed.

Black ink strokes swept across the void, outlining lines of grammar like spider silk weaving destiny.

He even attempted to mimic the structural formula of "true lies" to reconstruct battlefield reality.

He was about to write down – "I have defeated the target".

The next instant, a blazing, bloody claw mark violently tore open from his back!

From the smoke, Celian leaped out like a wild cheetah, a maniacal and burning smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

Her blood-red flames danced like serpents, a fiery and alluring beauty, her words striking straight to the soul:
"A long time ago—I wanted to try tearing off 'Si Ming's' face!"

Her blood-red claws traced an elegant yet deadly arc, ruthlessly piercing "Mirror Master's" chest, as if inserting into a fictional script awaiting its end.

With a twist of her wrist, she cruelly and cleanly ripped out the unformed "lifeline," causing blood and data to burst forth together.

"That felt so good." She gasped softly, as if she had finally caught the tail of a nightmare.

—

Meanwhile, Natasha has also entered the fray.

Her eyes were cold and sharp as a mirror, as if she had foreseen all the paths to take.

Just as the Mirror Snowman Na on the opposite side raised her sniper rifle to aim, she had already completed a dual-gun spin.

"You want to fire five rounds too?" she asked softly, her tone revealing a bloodthirsty sarcasm.

boom--!
The first bullet pierced Jingna's pupil, a flash of cold light.

The second shot precisely tore his left knee, bringing him to his knees.

The third shot spun half a circle in the air and shattered the right shoulder joint.

The fourth shot hit him squarely in the forehead, freezing his face in that moment of terror.

But she did not fire a fifth shot.

She slowly lowered the gun and said softly:

"I'm not going to waste bullets on myself."

As the words fell, the mirror image slowly collapsed, like a dream finally coming to an end.

—

Lynn stood outside the battle circle, as calm as ever.

She unfolded the pocket watch in her palm, and layers of anchor points appeared above the hands, as if time was marked in segments.

The projection of the gray tower began to sway.

Lin Zheng, the Mirror Secretary opposite him, was preparing to summon a spell, but before he could finish writing the formula, a "time rebound" suddenly occurred, completely reversing the core of the spell he had set up!

Lynn casually closed his pocket watch, his voice calm yet barbed:
"You haven't even mastered the basics of 'controlling variables'."

With a flick of her pen, like a mathematical solution interrupted, she forcibly disrupted the enemy's causal chain.

The mirror's remains self-destructed, and the wailing was swallowed up by the echoes of time.

—

On the other side, Nobuna and Sho Yoka's teamwork was almost flawless.

Nobuna's "Pre-Demon" pierced the battlefield like a blade tearing through the night; Nobusho Yoka controlled the "Tide of Death," turning the entire battlefield into a vortex of darkness.

The two attacks came one after the other, like pincers striking the broken light of the ghost lamp.

Before "Netherworld Lantern Zhuang" and "Soul-Severing Letter" could react, they were torn apart by their combined attack.

But the true God of Fate remained standing in the same spot.

He did not put pen to paper.

However, a meaningful smile quietly appeared at the corner of his mouth.

He understood that at this moment, they no longer needed his pen to record their stories.

Because they are writing their own true history with every move they make.

"We deserve to be recorded."

The twelve Mirror Remains were all destroyed in just three minutes.

The square fell into a deathly silence.

The wind finally stirred, as if some kind of restraint had been broken.

All seven of them simultaneously let out a soft breath.

Not because of relaxation, but because—

They thought they had finally finished writing this "prologue".

Snap—Snap—Snap.

Applause suddenly broke the deathly silence of the square.

It was neither mockery nor provocation.

The applause was like a patient editor's gentle and restrained evaluation after reviewing a first draft:
“Well written.”

At the top of the steps, Madman Thirteen stood with his hands behind his back.

His smile remained gentle, devoid of anger or sarcasm, as if he genuinely appreciated the performance of the "characters" in the audience.

"Especially your teamwork."

"That sense of trust, that tactical synergy... it's so beautiful."

He sighed softly, his expression as if lamenting an unfinished painting:

"Unfortunately—what you killed was merely the brushstroke I used to practice my writing."

With a slight flick of his finger, blood-red patterns suddenly appeared on the edge of the red stone bricks on the ground.

The second layer of destiny blooms like a demonic flower, revealing a brand-new circular structure, and the second act of the script quietly begins.

Within that burning scar of destiny—a new projection slowly rises, like a character summoned from the words of a playwright, slowly taking the stage.

The twelve mirror skeletons reappear.

But this time, they no longer imitated the "main characters." There was no copying, no imitation.

They are more precise, sharper, and delve deeper into the subject matter itself.

Their existence is like a complete reversal of the "protagonist" role.

They are not a mirror of "who you are," but rather a projection of "who you are afraid to become."

Madman Thirteen smiled, his eyes devoid of any pity, like an elegant annotator gazing at his "draft":
"This is the 'second layer'."

"They are not copies of you."

"This is your alternative version."

He gently stroked his chest, his fingers lightly touching the emblem on his chest that seemed to preserve some kind of secret script, his voice soft yet resonating in everyone's hearts:
"What you have defeated is merely my first conception of you."

"Now let's begin—I'll write your revised version."

—

The smile on Selene's face gradually disappeared, replaced by a sense of unease before the hunt.

She spoke in a low voice, her tone filled with doubt and fear: "This guy... isn't fighting a war."

As Natasha changed the magazine, her lips were taut like a string: "...He's reciting the script."

Hermann stared at the emerging new data core of the Mirror Remains, his expression darkening, the usual playful attitude in his eyes long gone.
"He doesn't care whether we win or not."

"He only cares about how fast he goes crazy."

—

Madman Thirteen chuckled softly, a laugh like cracks seeping from between the pages of a book, as if he were overhearing their inner monologues:

"Do you know what the biggest difference is between a Creator of Destiny and an ordinary Star Calamity?"

Before he finished speaking, a gray data nebula appeared in the air, quickly spreading into a fictional universe that had not collapsed, swirling with fragments of logic and structure.

"It's because he stopped collecting 'cards'."

"He collects—crazy."

He opened his arms as if to embrace the stage whose design was not yet complete.

"The Creator does not need energy."

"He just needs the material."

"And you are the perfect catalyst for my creative desire."

His voice gradually lowered, like the increasingly tense rhythm of the background music in the script, yet it felt increasingly terrifying:
"The better you live..."

"The more I write."

"The more you want to win..."

"The more I write, the more spectacular your deaths will be."

As he finished speaking, he gently raised his hand, as if a director were giving instructions after the opening bell rang.

The twelve brand-new mirror skeletons moved in response.

Similar to the previous Mirror Remains, yet completely different.

Every step they took was filled with an undeniable sense of oppression.

This time—there was no banter, no lightheartedness.

They possess something unprecedented:
—Killing intent.

That was real, burning killing intent.

It's not the cold, impersonal execution of data commands, but rather the emotional and obsessive desire that Crazy Thirteen infused into the script: "I want to see you die."

—

The wind in the square suddenly stopped.

The air seemed to be thick with the scent of blood.

The main characters took their positions again, arrayed as before, but their expressions had completely changed.

This time, no one joked.

Because they finally realized:
This is not a boss battle.

This is a life-or-death writing exercise between the playwright and the character.

Madman Thirteen nodded, as if appreciating the silence before blood was about to splatter on the canvas:

"Write until you die."

The second batch of mirror remains has been activated.

They did not announce the names of their skills, nor did they display any attack posture.

They moved immediately.

There were no warnings, and no introduction was needed.

Because Crazy Thirteen has already "set" them up.

—

Mirror Skeleton Code Name β-03: Lynn, the Daughter of the Anti-Tower.

This is not Lynn, the heir to the Grey Tower.

This is Lynn, who was not saved by her grandfather in the flames, burned down the library with her own hands, and survived.

Her time anchor is not used for backtracking.

Instead, it is used to block others' escape routes.

"The gray tower should have been burned down long ago."

"Write your destiny? Better to burn to ashes."

Her skill: [Death-Directed Rewind] - When any enemy uses an evasion skill, she is forced to jump back to the "previous fate node", causing friendly fire.

Lynn's eyes narrowed, as he attempted to set an anchor point.

But it was too late.

[Skill Deviation]: Anchor point setting failed.

With a flick of her finger, Lin En sent a "fixed time fragment" precisely to the ground of the square, causing spacetime distortion to spread and rendering Lin En's time logic instantly invalid.

—

Mirror Skeleton Code Name β-06: Deep Shadow He.

This is Hermann, who has completely lost himself.

His pocket watch had become a binding lock; memories were no longer erased, but used to destroy—a weapon to shatter the structure of reason.

"I'm not telling you to forget."

"I want you to only remember 'who I am'."

Herman had just raised his hand to resist when the Shadow He suddenly lunged forward, the pocket watch chain spinning like a snake, wrapping around Herman's neck!
[Memory Bias]: Herman will miscast his skill within the next 5 seconds, injuring himself and hitting an ally once.

“…Damn it.” Herman cursed under his breath, cold sweat trickling down his forehead.

—

Mirror Skeleton Code Name β-01: Deep Pen · Si.

Not a weaver.

It means "writing about the dead".

With a single stroke of his pen, it ceased to be a lie, but rather a passively accepted "arrangement" of fate.

He didn't write "I'm lying to you".

Instead, it's "You already promised to die."

Si Ming's pupils contracted sharply as he stared at his mirror image—looking down at it with indifference.

Jing Si's pen tip has fallen:

【Lies Reversed】: The construction of "truthful lies" is suppressed by the scriptwriting rights, and the next lie of the God of Destiny is forced to harm himself and break the logic.

The Fate Master took a step back, his hand holding the divination pen trembling slightly. At that moment, for the first time, he realized:

My own pen—may be "spoiled".

—

around:

Nobuna's fate book was rewritten by Kagami Shin, and the former demon went out of control;
Natasha's bullets were rewritten in the spatial reflection of "Reverse Mirror Natasha" and attacked in reverse;
Selene's blood flames were consumed by the "false queen" and transformed into a will to obey her master;

Before Zhuang Yege's death tide could unfold, it was reversed by the "false underworld lord," and the dead returned to the enemy ranks, becoming the madmen of "second death."

—

Just one and a half minutes.

For the first time, the seven-man formation experienced a true imbalance and disorder.

It wasn't because the enemy's strength was overwhelming.

It's not because the other person writes faster.

Madman Thirteen stood in the center of the square, pages of the script draft fluttering around him like a storm of paper, each page inscribed with:

"Character Name - Failure Ending".

He smiled, as if he were grading homework:
"You are not incapable of defeating them."

“You just haven’t realized it yet—you all died once in my first draft.”

He turned to a new page of the draft:

"This page is about you—a step too late."

The wind fell still once more.

boom--!
The Mirror Remains [Lynn, Daughter of the Anti-Tower] exploded amidst the afterimage of the gray tower.

Si Ming uses a stroke of his pen to reverse the "inverse logic of screenwriting rights" and deconstruct its core structure.

The ground returned to a brief calm, and everyone mistakenly believed that the third round had finally come to an end.

They stood there, panting.

Cold sweat trickled down Lynn's forehead, Herman's pocket watch briefly stopped, Natasha gritted her teeth and reloaded the magazine, and cracks appeared in the lantern at Zhuang Yege's feet.

There was no sense of ease in the air.

Only exhaustion and vigilance remained.

But before they could utter a single word—

"boom--!!"

Another mirror skeleton rose from the ruins.

This time it's a sequel to the script of "Faceless Herman".

But there is more than one.

Following closely behind, there was also—

[Queen Selene - Undying Form], [Hunter Natasha - Mirror of Logic], [Fate Breaker - Unreasonable Fate Judgment]...

The fourth round began without warning!
"Damn it," Herman muttered under his breath, his voice almost cracking into blood between his teeth.

Natasha looked up, her eyes sharp as frost: "We simply can't kill them all."

Lynn's voice was so low it was almost inaudible:
"He...didn't cool down."

The seven people formed a formation once again.

the third time.

the fourth time.

They repeatedly severed the core structure of each mirror fragment with the precision of surgery, down to the millimeter.

However, those mysterious creations are like an endless tide—reborn, returning, and evolving again and again in faster and stronger forms.

It was as if each slain corpse provided Madman Thirteen with a more perfect draft for revision.

Even if we played ten more rounds, it would be pointless.

Zhuang Yege frowned, his voice as deep as iron: "Something's not right."

Si Ming finally raised his head. His eyes were no longer focused on battle.

Instead, it was the kind of calm, insightful reviewer's gaze, as if they were about to make annotations on the "manuscript" of the battle.

"...Have you noticed?"

"Crazy Thirteen, from beginning to end—never stopped once."

These words, like a sharp blade driven deep into consciousness, jolted everyone awake.

Yes.

He summoned the mysterious remains, released the rules, switched domains, and forcibly rewrote the structure of destiny—without ever pausing.
There was not a single sign of fatigue, nor any indication that his rationality was exhausted.

Si Ming spoke slowly, a genuine sense of crisis appearing in his voice for the first time:

"The seven of us have been suppressing ourselves and forcibly controlling our output."

"We are conserving our Stars of Reason and dare not burn our Destiny Charts."

"But he has always been creating."

He paused, his voice as sharp as a needle falling across the square:

"Then where did his 'star' come from?"

The air suddenly became quiet.

It's not that there's no solution, but rather—it's something I've never even considered.

Lynn's voice broke the silence, slow yet resounding:

"...Do you remember the data from Planet Calamity?"

Si Ming looked back at her, his gaze intense.

Lynn nodded, his tone no longer hesitant:

"After that, the resources of the Mystic Masters were no longer 'reason'."

"Instead—it's a celestial disaster."

Crazy Thirteen laughed.

That smile was devoid of emotion, yet it sent chills down your spine.

It wasn't gloating or smugness, but a sense of satisfaction that came from knowing you would ask that question and waiting for you to say it.

It was as if he had been waiting for this moment all along.

"You finally noticed."

He gently raised his finger, as if touching the beginning of a chapter in the air. The movement was elegant, with a composure as if turning the page of a textbook.

He did not attack.

He simply began—to give a lecture.

"Reason is the paper that humans use to write stories."

"When the paper runs out, the story stops."

"But I am not human."

He tapped his temple, his eyes clear yet crazed:
"I am the Creator."

"I am a script generator."

"And my pen doesn't need paper."

He turned to Si Ming, his tone like that of a tutor gently guiding students in a literature class:
"You think that cards are activated based on reason."

"That's because you're still living in dimensions below the level of the Cataclysm."

"Only after the Star of Reason has burned out above the Star Calamity can one truly step into the 'Writing Space'."

He clenched his fist, and a strange psychic flame ignited at his fingertips, dripping into the real world like black ink, instantly staining and distorting the surrounding air like ink.

"This thing is called—Star Calamity."

His voice remained gentle, yet it was tinged with an undeniable aura of mania:

"A celestial disaster is not a resource."

"It is the blank space in my head, the pause, the fragment, the trace that continues even after all grammar has been overturned..."

"When I no longer need logic, rhythm, or restraint—"

"Then I can keep writing about you."

The God of Fate whispered, as if confirming the conclusion he feared most:

"You mean... you're using 'Star Calamity' to keep all creation running?"

Crazy Thirteen nodded gently, like a professor encouraging a student who had answered a question correctly:
"I started with 0 points of Star Calamity."

"You killed the first batch of Secret Remains, and I leveled up to 14."

"You guys broke through the second round, and I've accumulated 33 points."

He spread his arms wide, his voice so soft it was almost like a lover's whisper:

"Now?"

"73 point."

Hermann's brow twitched, his voice low and angry:

"Isn't the Cataclysmic Threat level 80? You're insane and you haven't exploded yet?"

Madman Thirteen winked at him, revealing a chilling smile:
"A madman won't blow it up."

"A madman—he can only write faster."

"The extraordinary power of the Creator of Destiny is: to use stellar disasters to reproduce creations."

“Every time you kill one of my creations, you are restoring my sanity and increasing my ‘construction space’.”

The square beneath his feet began to tremble, and lines of text emerged from between the stone bricks, like prompts for an automatic script update:

[Numbering being rewritten...]

[Structural optimization...]

[New chapter of the script is loading...]

[Seventh batch of creations: Ready to be generated.]

Linn whispered:
"He replaced the star map with a calamity."

"The Star Calamity increases automatically every minute."

"The more intense the battle, the more serious the injuries, and the more thoughts he had—the faster he wrote."

Selene gritted her teeth, her voice low and hoarse: "And what about us?"

Madman Thirteen turned his head to look at her, his gaze as gentle as an older brother looking at his younger sister:

"You guys... are still counting your own few stars."

"I have already written the first eight chapters with your blood."

"Now—I only have one page left."

His eyes suddenly softened, and his voice became as soft as a whisper on the edge of a dream:

"Do you want to see how you died?"

"My writing is—very good!"

The scribe's pen trembled slightly for the first time.

Not because of fear.

Rather, it was because he finally realized:

They weren't fighting Mad Thirteen.

They are the "final paragraphs" written into Crazy Thirteen's novel.

Madman Thirteen opened his eyes.

His pupils no longer held words, no longer held language.

Rather, it is the rhythm of constructing factors, the logical undulation of the chain of destiny, and the original encoding of the laws of the world.

He no longer speaks like a "human".

He speaks like a god.

Sound is no longer language, but the matrix of language.

Each syllable is like some kind of unnamed entity.

He raised his hand, and a twisted "Destiny Seed Chain" that humans couldn't understand appeared in his palm.

New radicals, punctuation, cellular structures, and anthropomorphic antonyms constantly grow on it.

He whispered:
"I am not a writer."

"I am God."

“You are telling a story.”

"And I am in the world of reproduction."

His gaze swept over the seven people, calm and gentle, without a trace of emotion, as if the sun were gazing at the dust.

“You are not the characters.”

"Not a chess piece."

"It's not a mirror image."

“You are—derived forms of my embryonic brain.”

With a gentle wave of his hand, the air above the square writhed violently, as if the walls of a womb were bursting open, spewing out more than ten twisted creations.

They no longer resemble humans; they are a composite of flesh and blood, words, rules, obsolete names, thoughts, and failed prayers.

Crazy Thirteen's voice was deep, yet his tone carried an almost religious devotion:
"I will no longer write about you."

"I gave birth to you."

"The deeper I go mad, the faster I reproduce."

"My madness level is 73."

He spread his arms, and the star-like rotating structure slowly turned within flesh and destiny, like a perpetual motion machine that gave birth to the world.

He whispered:

"Go crazy again at seven o'clock."

“I am no longer a candidate for God.”

“I will be the new beginning of your world.”

He closed his eyes, his tone like a prayer:

"I will personally melt down all the 'defining factors' of your existence."

"Let your names—no longer be names."

"So that your deaths will no longer be the end."

"You will forever remain in my breeding chambers, as failed constructs that are conceived but never born."

Si Ming's face turned completely cold.

This was the first time they truly realized:

Madman Thirteen doesn't want to destroy them.

He wants to recruit them.

He wanted them to be "failed exam papers yet to be born".

Hermann's wrist trembled, and his lips twitched.

"...The madman has really gone mad."

Lynn's eyes were cold, his tone calm yet sharp as a knife:
"Do not."

"He is now a lucid god."

You think he's crazy?

But he was just too clear-headed—

So awake that you already know which part of the body you were born to die in.

(End of this chapter)