Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 415 Under the Blood Moon, the Alliance of the Long Night
"Truth sinks into blood, lies rise into the stars."

"All the vows made under the moon are nothing more than lines in a play."

"If the yellow robe flutters in the shadows, then to whom should the crown belong?"

—Excerpt from *The Yellow Theater: The Curtain of Night*

At the end of Pota Street, a butcher shop that had long since closed huddled in the night, like a forgotten corpse.

The paint on the exterior walls was peeling off in chunks, and dark green moss was crawling in the cracks;
The brownish-red stains on the shop window had long since dried, yet under the moonlight they still gleamed with the dark light of dead flesh—memories that could not be erased no matter how many times they were wiped away.

The air was damp and sticky in the dead of night, carrying the smell of rust and decay.

The blood moon hung in the sky above the foggy city, like a silent pupil, watching the entire city's breath.

"...Is this the place?"

Alan Herwin stepped across the threshold, the dim red candle in his palm flickering in the mist.

He was no longer the mud-covered boy from the slums, but the captain of the Night Watch squad.

Behind him, five team members followed silently—a sturdy blacksmith, a sharp-looking college student, a cold-eyed former naval officer, a thin printer who always carried a flintlock pouch, and a silent female hunter who twirled a dagger between her fingers.

"The police said that people have heard 'chewing sounds' for the past few nights."

The naval officer's voice was so low it was almost swallowed by the night, "Yesterday, a baby went missing... without leaving a body."

The air suddenly seemed to sink, as if some ancient underground space was holding its breath.

Alan simply nodded and pulled out a mysterious card from his pocket—a spiritual flame ignited in his palm, emitting an eerie blue-white light.

The team members followed him toward the wooden door leading to the basement.

The door opened, and a pungent, fishy smell rushed in like liquid, making one's chest feel heavy.

The dim candlelight penetrated the ground, illuminating an overturned refrigerator, its rust stains resembling congealed blood, mottled and covering the metal sheet.

In the deeper shadows, more than a dozen "cocoons" hung at the junction of the wall and the ceiling—woven from flesh and blood, swollen like ripe fruit, trembling slightly as if breathing.

“…It’s not ordinary sorcery.” The printer’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his voice sounding like it was stuck in his throat.

Alan held up his lamp and approached. In the lamplight, some of the cocoons revealed faintly discernible faces—pale and distorted, as if their cries of agony were frozen within the membrane.

"Prepare for battle," Alan ordered in a low voice, his fingertips sliding across the mid-tier Mystic Card hidden beneath his sleeve—[Vampire Warrior - Daywalker].

Suddenly, indistinct whispers seeped from within the blood-red cocoon, as if the flesh and blood themselves were speaking:
She was...whispering...her yellow robes were fluttering—

Before he could finish speaking, the blood cocoon at the very top suddenly burst open!
Countless blood bats, like an overflowing black storm, poured down from the ceiling, their shrill cries piercing eardrums, as they swarmed towards the Night's Watch ranks!
"Watch the defenses—use fire!" Alan roared, and the Mysterious Card blazed brightly in the blood flames.

His pupils instantly turned crimson, his muscles and tendons contracted and swelled at an inhuman speed, his fingertips extended into gleaming claws, and his cloak billowed like blood-red wings in the shockwave.

He leaped into the swarm of bats, and with a swipe of his sharp claws, more than a dozen blood bats instantly turned to ashes.

On the ground, gray-furred "fanged wolves" howled as they pounced on another swarm of bats; fire bottles thrown by pyromancers exploded into fireballs in mid-air, their blazing light illuminating the basement—

It was a blood-red array, with twisted lines coiled into symbols that did not belong to human writing.

In the center lies a broken section of the Holy Cross, with a piece of charred cloth nailed to it, its gold threads still shimmering.

“This fabric…” The printer’s face turned deathly pale instantly. “It is exactly the same as… the robes from the Queen’s coronation.”

"Never mind that!" Alan slashed at a blood bat that lunged at the fire mage, his claws leaving a bloody afterimage in the air. "Clear them out first!"

The bloody battle continued amidst roars and screams. And in the deepest part of the basement, the darkest cocoon of blood slowly cracked open.

A human face opened its eyes within the blood membrane—a strange yet familiar curve appeared at the corner of its mouth.

That was the butcher's owner, a name that had "disappeared" from official records for ten days.

The shape of the blood moon was reflected in his pupils.

His lips parted slightly, uttering a damp, cold whisper:

"The yellow-clad...descends."

At the west entrance of Pota Street, the night fog pressed down even lower, like a slowly sinking coffin lid.

The blood bat swarm had long been wiped out, but charred feathers and a half-congealed, sweet smell remained in the corner. However, the real calamity was slowly awakening within that broken blood cocoon.

"He escaped!"

Alan kicked open the back door and saw the monster, covered in tattered, bloody flesh, running wildly along the damp cracks in the brickwork. Its body was like a self-reproducing plague, writhing and churning in the shadows of the alley.

"He's not human anymore!" The fire mage gasped, his face pale. "He's grown... I swear it's not human bone, it's a... blood vine..."

The thing's back was swollen, its exposed joints stitched together by red and black fascia, and its ribs, like tendrils, branched out along the spine. With each twitch, tiny droplets of blood splattered, like flowers blooming in the night.

Stop spacing out! Keep up!

Alan Herwin leaped over the wall, the power of the Daywalker allowing him to glide almost silently through the night fog.

Crimson pupils pierced through the mist, catching glimpses of blood and flesh remaining in the cracks between the bricks; those traces, like hurried strokes of a brush, pointed to the same darkness.

After chasing for three blocks, a steady and cold voice cut through the night:

"In the name of the Virgin Mary, stop here."

Several Witcher knights, clad in long silver-white cloaks and wielding holy symbol warhammers, appeared like shadows from the corner of the wall.

The leader had a longsword inlaid with holy silver at his waist, and the lines of a priest's robe were faintly visible under his cloak.

His face was young yet aloof, the emblem of the Church of Our Lady embroidered on the back of his right hand, carrying the scent of holy oil and incense ash. The flickering lamplight cast a cold light upon the holy silver.

“We are hunting down a highly mutated individual.” Alan suppressed his anger, the veins on the back of his hand bulging.

Commander Gabriel, the Demon Hunter, frowned slightly: "You 'Mysterious Holders' have violated church laws by using cards without authorization at night and failing to register your hunter identities."

Every pause in his voice was like a hammer blow landing on a stone; the rules themselves created an aura of authority.

"Offend?" the fire mage sneered, his voice dry. "If that monster runs any longer, it will climb the bell tower and bite your statue of the Virgin Mary in two."

Gabriel's gaze was like the back of a knife, flat and cold: "Do you think the Virgin Mary needs the protection of mortals?"

“We’re not protecting the Virgin Mary.” Alan stepped forward, a red glint in his eyes. “It’s the lives of our neighbors.”

The air then froze.

The blood moon tore through the clouds, revealing half of its ghastly red face;
The oil lamp in the corner was almost extinguished by the wind, and the pale yellow flames stretched the shadows of the two groups of people longer and thinner—order and rebellion confronted each other on the stone slab, like two lines of scripture that repel each other.

After a brief silence, a scream suddenly rang out in the distance.

The sound wasn't entirely human—it was like the roar of a beast being torn apart, or the first breath of a newborn baby suffocating.

The night fog rippled slightly, as if the whole street trembled at that sound.

“He made his move.” Alan gritted his teeth.

Gabriel raised his hand—a knight immediately stepped forward and handed him a holy silver crossbow;

Another monk took out incense from his robes, lit it, and inserted it into the sachet on his chest. The scents of frankincense, myrrh, and ashes immediately filled the alleyway, suppressing the cloying sweetness of blood.

"Gentlemen," he began in a low voice, his tone no longer a judgment, but rather a kind of restrained reconciliation.
“You know the streets well, so go ahead. We will follow behind, and light your way with lamps.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, as if he were acknowledging a reality he didn't want to admit in the darkness:

"I hope you can hold on until dawn."

Alan remained silent for a few breaths, the crimson in his eyes settling into a calm dot.

"Then let's go."

He turned and led the way, his boots treading through puddles and shards of glass. The splashes of water briefly reflected the faces of the crowd—some gripped their weapons, some clasped their hands in prayer, and some suppressed a primal fear in their throats.

Behind them, the sacred flame glowed faintly, and the crossbow strings hummed softly, like an ensemble that had been ordered to be lowered.

Before the flames of war were even ignited, blood had already been laid out in the cracks between the street bricks.

The alleyway of Broken Tower Street no longer belongs only to commoners and priests; it also belongs to monsters—and the humans forced to walk among them.

Holy symbols and mysteries, laws and flames, walked side by side for the first time on the same street: light fell on blood, and the footsteps of prayers and curses were perfectly in sync.

They ran toward the scream.

The wind, carrying the cold glow of the blood moon, turned the pages like an unseen audience member; the play had not yet begun, but the curtain had already risen silently in the darkness.

Under the blood moon, the monster, like a putrid hurricane, tore apart the old but sturdy iron gate at the end of Broken Tower Street.

Behind the door, the streetlights of the noble district lit up one by one, but they were not warm; they only made the figure of the blood wolf monster that had attacked appear even more ferocious and terrifying.

“He broke in.” Alanhewin stood outside the door, breathing heavily.

Gabriel frowned: "We cannot rashly enter the nobles' territory."

“If you want to wait until the nobles are all eaten up, then you can stay here,” Alan said coldly.

There was silence behind the door, then a dull thud of metal striking rock echoed from the stone floor, as if some ancient being slumbering on the roof was awakening.

"coming."

The men behind the Witcher instinctively drew their swords, some of them beginning to whisper prayers.

Alan also held his breath.

The next moment, with a loud bang, three figures fell straight down from the high wall—not by jumping, but by falling to the ground like stone sculptures under their own weight.

“Nightmare Sentinels,” Gabriel whispered.

The three figures landed silently, yet in everyone's eyes, they exuded an extreme sense of oppression.

The leader was clad in black battle armor with textures as rough as rock, and his cloak, resembling the wings of a gargoyle, slowly unfurled in the wind.

He wore a half-stone mask on his face, revealing only one eye as still as a dormant volcano.

He walked slowly, each step causing a slight tremor in the ground.

"No unauthorized persons are permitted to enter the noble domain."

The sound seemed to come from a tomb, mixed with the sound of rubble rolling down.

Alan gripped his weapon tightly: "Your noble mansion is being torn apart by a monster that crawled out of a pool of blood. What, are noble corpses also inlaid with gold?"

The Nightmare Guards did not answer, but merely tilted their heads slightly. The Stone Guard leader stepped to the side, and dozens of Nightmare Guards behind him marched into the street like stone sculptures, forming a silent defensive line.

"Make way." Gabriel stepped forward, the holy emblem on his chest shimmering faintly. "How dare Nightmare obstruct the Church's authority?"

“Nobility and order must be governed by ancestral laws,” Stone Guard replied. “The noble district is not under the jurisdiction of the church.”

"So you're just going to watch the monster bite your master's head off?"

The air froze once more. The blood moon hung overhead; though the warriors hadn't clashed, a palpable sense of killing intent permeated the air.

Just as tensions were about to rise, a piercing roar came from the depths of the noble district.

It was like the overlapping cries of wolves, and also like the cries of infants and the dead.

A beam of fire illuminated the eaves of a manor house in the distance. The roof had collapsed, and shadowy figures were rampaging through the courtyard, leaving long trails of blood.

“...The Varese family mansion.” Stone Guard finally moved.

"All troops, form ranks."

He turned around, and the crimson eye beneath the stone mask finally ignited with the flames of battle intent.

"Nightmare Guardians, protect the bloodline, fight!"

In an instant, a gargoyle-like wind whipped up dust, and the silent, statue-like army of nobles fell simultaneously from the high walls and rooftops, thundering into the street.

"Church, obey my command."

Gabriel raised his sword, his voice like a vow: "Knights, follow me, ignite the sacred fire."

“The Night Watchmen.” Alan gripped his claws, vampire flames reigniting at his fingertips. “We’ll lead the charge.”

The shadows of the three intertwined and converged beneath the high walls of the noble courtyard.

The night was like a curtain, and the blood moon was like a lamp.

A major battle, never allowed to be recorded in official war history, quietly erupted in the most expensive streets of Areston.

Noble District - Varese Mansion Courtyard
Within the palace walls built of gold and stone, the former neatness and nobility of the gardens have long been torn apart.

The sculpture was smashed, and the fountain no longer flowed with clear water, but with ripples of blood that shimmered faintly.

The blood wolf monster stood in the center of the courtyard. Its original human-like outline had completely collapsed: its spine had extended, its limbs had turned into beasts, and its muscles were bulging.

Its body surface is covered with blood-like patterns, like crimson flames rolling and burning under its skin.

Its head stretched out into a twisted wolf's mouth, and its eyes had lost all humanity, leaving only the burning reflection of the blood moon.

It stared at the crowd, growling softly, its voice like the friction of blood against stone, carrying curses and rage.

"Start the war."

At Shi Wei's command, the first five members of the Nightmare Guard leaped out in formation, as if emerging from stone statues, and charged towards the monster with a rhythm as resounding as the tolling of bells.

Their weapons were all cast from stone and bone, their surfaces engraved with ancient noble coats of arms and cryptic inscriptions.

In the instant of the charge, all that could be seen in everyone's eyes were the monster's sharp teeth and claws.

Shi Wei himself did not move; he simply looked up at the blood moon that had not yet fallen to the ground in the sky above the courtyard.

"...This is her true face, isn't it?"

he murmured.

The monster roared and leaped up, slashing out with its side claw like a heavy hammer against the shield array of the Nightshade Guardians—two shield bearers were sent flying, their heavy armor crashing into the stone lanterns in the corner.

But the next second, holy light from the church illuminated the battlefield. "Dedication, the righteousness of the Virgin Mary."

Gabriel raised the holy silver sword high, and the holy emblem released a pale divine light that scorched the monster's fur, forcibly interrupting its preparation.

The remaining demon hunters coordinated their attack: one used a silver chain to lasso the blood wolf's hind legs, while another fired a barrage of arrows to block its path with holy fire arrows.

Their tactical formations are tight, their actions swift and ruthless, as precise as a machine.

"Sunwalker, to the left!"

Alan Herwin lightly touched the ground with his toes and swept into the courtyard like a shadow in the night. His black cloak fluttered wildly, and the monster's flanks were reflected in his scarlet eyes.

He let out a low growl and activated the intermediate form of the Sunwalker Mystic Card.

【Night Hunt】—Unleash the full power of the vampire, increasing strength, agility, and night vision perception by 50%.

He and a summoned [Fanged Wolf] pounced on the monster, one after the other. The vampire's claws tore through the wolf's shoulder muscles, splattering blood everywhere.

The wolf with fangs bit down hard on its hind leg tendon, causing it to stagger temporarily.

The monster roared in fury, its fur bristling as a crimson, eerie burst of flame forcefully repelling the Fanged Wolf.

Instead of retreating, it leaped up and pounced down on Alanhwin from its height!
In an instant, he felt a pressure akin to that of a "Star Scourge".

It was a blessing from a mysterious being, something beyond animal instinct.

"Is He... watching us?"

Alanhewyn's pupils contracted; he clearly heard a whisper—not the monster's cry, but the blood moon in the sky... murmuring to itself.

Just as the monster pounced, a wall of rock suddenly rose from the ground, separating him from Alan.

It was Shi Wei who made the move.

He silently swung the massive stone decapitation sword, and as the blade fell, it seemed as if the entire ground hummed.

"Gargoyle Form - Fully Activated".

As soon as he finished speaking, the patterns beneath his black armor began to glow with a grayish-white fluorescence, and his mask cracked, revealing a face that was half human and half stone.

His eyes held a timeless stillness like rock formations, and the giant sword in his hand weighed a ton.

“Stand beside me, son of no man,” he said to Alan.

Alan grinned, and flames of blood ignited at his fingertips.

"To accompany you."

The monster let out a shrill roar that tore through the long night, its body began to swell wildly, and countless twisted blood vessels appeared on its skin, writhing and undulating like a spider web.

Its size increased to twice its original size, its limbs extended like antler branches, and several writhing fleshy tentacles suddenly sprouted from its back.
Stretching into the air like some kind of deformed tree crown—it was neither bone nor muscle, but some kind of living structure somewhere between nerves, vines, and nightmares.

Beneath its feet, a large amount of blood surged up, converging into a violently swirling vortex.

A bizarre star map rose from the blood vortex: the symbols were not words, the patterns seemed orderly but were unrecognizable, just like the "signature of the nameless god's summoning" recorded in the Cthulhu Scrolls.

A distorted wave of reality spread from within the Blood Wolf, causing the scene before everyone's eyes to sway, as if the world itself was feeling uneasy.

"It's triggering a mini-planetary catastrophe!" Gabriel roared in a low voice, the Holy Silver Sword suddenly emitting a blinding light. "Don't let it complete the ritual—now!!!"

"Born for the night, vowing to slay eternal darkness."

Alanhewin murmured, his blood-red eyes flashing crimson light, his body suddenly rising higher, two blood-red wings bursting forth from his shoulders and back.

Muscles and mysterious patterns intertwine and reconstruct, transforming the entire being into a resurrected daytime war demon in the night.

Shi Weiyi slowly raised his giant axe, and cracks appeared on his gray-black stone armor, from which blazing light escaped.

He said in a low voice, "The gargoyles awaken with the blood of their lord."

A sudden howling storm struck, and the monster roared as it condensed its blood into countless crimson spikes, which shot out from all directions like a rain of arrows from hell!
"Go!" Shi Wei roared, flapped his stone wings, and charged into the torrential rain of blood thorns. The axe shadows blasted open the path ahead like collapsing mountains and shattering rocks.

Alanhewin followed closely behind, transforming into a blood-red blur as he slid into the thorns, his body undulating like a wind serpent, skimming close to the ground.

"Now—!!" the two roared in unison!

Claws and giant axe simultaneously tore through the blood wolf's chest, tearing apart the blood-and-flesh star map, tentacles flying, and dark red sap exploding like a waterfall!

"May the Holy Mother protect this momentary judgment." Gabriel suddenly leaped into the air, his silver hair billowing, and his holy silver sword shone as brightly as day, as if cleaving the entire night sky in two.

He fell from the night like a shooting star streaking across the sky.

"Sins must be repaid, and evil shadows will eventually be dispelled."

"In the name of the Holy Light—Purify!"

A sword pierces the heart.

The silver light pierced through the center of the blood wolf, so bright it seemed to completely burn away the dark essence within its body.

In that instant, all the tentacles froze, the blood-and-flesh star map cracked inch by inch, and the monster's eyes expanded, trembled, and disintegrated, as if gazing in despair at the departure of some indescribable being...

Gabriel landed steadily on the ground, his holy sword stained with blood, and gently raised it to his forehead:
"May Our Lady redeem your sins."

Behind him, the blood wolf let out a mournful howl that was neither human nor beast, belonging to another realm. Its massive body convulsed violently before collapsing with a deafening roar in the center of the shattered star map.

Shattered blood, shattered bones, shattered fate—all returned to silence.

Then, silence fell like falling snow.

The blood moon trembled in the night sky, as if shaken by the violent fall. The clouds began to slowly close, and the light dimmed.

The monster crashed to the ground, its massive, blood-red wolf body slamming heavily onto the bluestone bricks of the courtyard, scattering dust and blood everywhere.

However, in the next moment, its body began to change—the wolf's body began to soften and collapse, like a withered husk.

From beneath that scarlet skin, the outline of a person slowly emerged—a bloated, obese middle-aged man with a face full of bloodshot veins and burn marks.

He lay naked and twisted on his back on the ground, seemingly having regained some semblance of being "human".

Everyone was stunned.

That was—the butcher.

He was once an ordinary, down-to-earth man who sold meat, counted money, complained about business, and went to church every week to feign repentance—that was all.

But at this moment, his eyes no longer held any mercenary or worldly wisdom, only a deep, dark, and unsettling emptiness.

Tears welled up in his eyes, a mixture of blood and tears that slowly slid down his cracked face.

“Lisa…” he whispered hoarsely, “…child…I…I’m so cold…”

His voice seemed to flow from the depths of the soul, broken yet sincere.

That was a father's murmur, the weakness of mortals, and the confession of the one abandoned by God before death.

He slowly raised his head, gazing at the blood moon that was gradually disappearing in the sky. It was as if something there was calling to him.

"...Finally...it...was calling me."

Everyone fell silent. No one spoke, and no one could utter a word.

The voice wasn't addressed to them, but to some being far beyond the Star Abyss.

That being heard.

"The...King...of...Yellow...Robes..."

These four words struck the hearts of everyone present like a heavy hammer.

The next moment——

Strange phenomena suddenly occurred.

Flesh and bones crumbled with a crash, the boss's body seemed to be stripped of its structure by some unseen force, instantly turning into a cloud of blood-red smoke, rolling and curling up on the spot, emitting strange breathing sounds and hisses.

Within that blood mist, phantoms flashed by—a familiar woman's face, the indistinct cry of an infant, and countless blurry shadows that seemed to be calling out "home."

That is not light.

It's not a shadow either.

It was some kind of... remnant of memory, an out-of-control desire, fragments of the soul whispered and induced by something indescribable.

Then, the blood mist rose upwards, as if pulled by some force, shooting straight into the sky.

Just before it dissipated, the fog condensed in mid-air into a dark symbol—

A pattern that no one can describe.

It resembles a mask, a crown, and a fragment of a script that has been turned over.

Not of this world.

It exists only at the boundary where dreams and fears meet.

The blood mist immediately dissipated.

They vanished as if they had never existed.

Only a pool of dried blood remained, along with a chilling aftermath, as if death had swept by.

……

"He... just... disappeared?" a night watchman murmured.

“This is not exorcism… nor purification…” Gabriel’s face was ashen as he murmured an ancient scripture, his voice tinged with unease.

Shi Wei stood silently, his forehead pressed against the axe handle, his eyes fixed on the empty bloodstains. It was as if, for the first time, he felt the true danger of this city.

They didn't know what to believe.

All I know is that this night was eerily quiet.

The courtyard gradually fell silent.

After the monster's corpse turned into a blood mist and evaporated, the air seemed to still retain the low temperature and mournful cries.

The charred bricks, broken stone fragments, and tree canopies scorched black by the sacred fire created an almost divinely oracles-like postwar scene.

Under the Stone Guard's command, the Dire Sentinels silently organized the battlefield, their silence as still as statues.
He never speaks much, nor does he ever explain.

These noblemen's watchmen seem even more incomprehensible than monsters.

The Witcher Knights then began burning the remaining pieces of flesh and blood on the ground. Under Medici's "Purification Order," they adopted a strategy of directly burning any anomalies that could not be categorized.

"Visions must be reduced to ashes, and the true God will not tolerate heresy," Gabriel said in his silent prayer.

Meanwhile, the Night's Watch squad gathered in the corner of the courtyard, exchanging equipment for bandaging the wounded, while whispering amongst themselves in hushed tones.

They weren't talking about victory, but rather the monster's "whispers" before it died.

"He really said... the King in Yellow?"

A night watchman's hands trembled as he tightened the bandages; his eyes were bloodshot, as if he was trying to forget but could not stop thinking about it.

Alanhwin didn't interrupt. He crouched down and picked up a piece of cloth, still damp with dried blood, from the pool of blood—a shred of cloth that had fallen when the monster broke apart.

The fabric, which should have been black, reflected a blurry and indescribable dark gold and pale yellow under the moonlight.

He didn't say much, but simply tucked the piece of cloth into his pocket and murmured:
"...a color that doesn't belong to this city."

Gabriel walked up from behind, glanced at the gradually dissipating yellow mist on the ground, and pursed his lips.

He said nothing, but in that instant, he seemed to smell a heretical symbol that existed only in religious texts—the scent of what was called "the unspeakable holy relic."

“Our Lady will guide us through the long night,” he finally whispered, as if speaking to someone else, or perhaps comforting himself.

A moment later, all three parties left the scene.

The Dire Sentinels returned to the statues of darkness, the Demon Hunters walked the path of light back to the Church of the Holy Light, and the Night Watch disappeared into the back alleys of the night along Broken Tower Street.

The streets returned to calm, but the temperature in the air seemed to have not yet risen.
-
Meanwhile, on another high-rise building, a half-open window trembled slightly.

The mist slowly drifted into the study.

A dark-haired young man from the East sat by the window, quietly closing a court report document in his hand.

His expression remained unchanged; he merely tapped the corner of the table lightly with his fingers, as if waiting for something.

He did not give any orders.

He doesn't need to make an announcement.

He simply waited quietly, as if waiting for the game of chess to unfold on its own.

The manuscript papers on the table were blown about by the night wind, fluttering and falling. On one page, a sentence written at some unknown time remained:

"True lies never need to be told; they only need to be 'imagined' once, and they will take root on their own."

This sentence is unsigned and unmarked.

Only the blood moon outside the window, hanging in the sky above the foggy city, like some kind of giant stage light, illuminated the illusions and beliefs of the entire city.

"They say the King in Yellow has arrived because someone wrote the script."

"But who can say for sure that the script wasn't a line he whispered into the hearts of people?"

"The yellow-clad figure has not yet appeared, but the lie has already become the truth."

—From *Morning Star Notes: Playwright's Notes: Unsigned Fragments*

(End of this chapter)