Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 480 The Complainant in the World Within the Cabinet
"They thought they were destroying a bureau chief."
Little did they know that it was just one file among countless drawers.

Complaint? — Submission completed.

—《General Principles of the Virtual Star Post Office: Chapter on Calamities》

The sky was dark, and the ruins of the streets churned in the scorching flames.

The footsteps of the bull-headed postmaster shook the heavens and the earth, like the pendulum of doomsday, so oppressive that it was suffocating.

Under this oppression, almost simultaneously—

Reinhardt made the first move.

He roared as he pulled out the Mysterious Card, the World-type Star Mark on his chest ignited, and a fortress of iron and blood—the Teutonic Knights Castle—suddenly unfolded in the void behind him.

The pitch-black city wall crashed down from the void, covered with tattered battle flags. Immediately afterward, he raised his hand and threw out another card: "Expedition Horn".

The bugle call sounded deep and resonant, as if it were blowing from the chest of the dead.

In an instant, the castle gates burst open, and black-armored Teutonic Knights charged out like a flood on their steeds, their iron hooves clashing with the roar of cannons.

In the air, Black Hawk helicopters and Griffin Calamity Riders roared and swooped down, their battle songs echoing through the streets.

Reinhardt threw his head back and laughed wildly: "War! War is the answer!"

The realm of war and calamity has been completely expanded.

Wayne took over.

He raised his withered hand, his eyes flashing with green flames, and his voice sounded like three different personalities intertwined.

“Princess—this is a wedding salute for you.”

The sky was torn apart, and a huge skull-shaped meteorite, writhing in eerie green flames, crashed down, shattering the earth.

From the rift, the undead legion surged forth, with dark knights, skeletal behemoths, and hordes of skeletons charging toward the horde of fiery knights amidst their wailing cries.

The undead and the Teutonic Knights of Calamity charged in alternating waves, forming a vengeful torrent that transcended life and death.

Han Zhenya, on the other hand, spins on the stage of blood and fire.

Her smile was more intense than flames as she held aloft the Mysterious Card "The Cursed Doll, Jennabel".

In an instant, dozens of blood puppet followers transformed into a frenzied spectator, climbing onto the massive body of the bull-headed postmaster, dancing and singing, and shouting the gospel of the end times.

She cradled the face of the fiery knight and sang passionately, her voice bursting forth like a shockwave that pulverized the evil spirits.

She opened her arms wide, as if embracing the entire battlefield: "This is my second concert—the stage is on fire!"

Isabel is both calm and insane.

She clasped her hands together, and the mysterious card "The Roots of Kabbalah" unfolded. The ground of the entire block suddenly cracked open, stretching out giant roots covered in starlight, which wrapped around the lava and reversed the volcano and earthquake released by the Bull-Headed Postmaster.

The flames cooled within the roots, transforming into crystalline snow peaks, and the earthquake-induced rifts were alchemically stitched together into a ring-shaped city wall, trapping the enemy within.

At the same time, the Sage Transmutation Array behind her shone brightly, and hordes of Abominations charged forward, self-destructing amidst blood and fire, spraying alchemical elixirs like rain.

Finally, there is the God of Fate.

Wearing a white clown mask, he lightly tapped his finger, summoning a vengeful necromancer chariot that roared out, its black chains sweeping across the streets.

At the same time, a mirage of a mirror lake unfolds behind him, the reflected world enveloping the streets, where all plague and death are reversed into life in the mirror.

The fallen knights and infantry, reflected in the mirror-like lake, reformed into greenery and springs, countering the death calamity unleashed by the postmaster.

The neighborhood instantly transformed into an incredible "symphony of calamities":
—War, necromancy, doomsday, alchemy, lies… five celestial calamities overlap, colliding head-on with the Postmaster General’s four calamities.

At that moment, it felt as if the entire town was being torn apart by two worlds.

A deafening roar, like an apocalyptic symphony, as a torrent of war and death surged toward the bull-headed behemoth, which stood over twenty meters tall.

The Teutonic Knights of Reinhardt, wielding blood-stained lances, charged alongside the Apocalypse Calamity Tanks; Black Hawk helicopters swept across the night sky, dropping fire and missiles.

However, the postmaster simply raised those two long whips of calamity that did not belong to humankind.

boom!
With a single slash of the whip, it was as if a black river had swept through, causing ten thousand cavalry to explode in a deafening roar. Iron armor and warhorses, along with cannon fire, turned into ashes.

Only a series of marks remained in the air, like stamped soul documents.

Wayne's skeleton army immediately pounced. Hundreds upon hundreds of skeletal demons, burning with green flames, roared and clung to the giant's legs, trying to drag it into the ground.

The postmaster's mailbag suddenly vibrated, and a low rustling sound, like paper being torn, rang out—

"Crash-"

Gray paper rained down, each piece of paper printed with the name of a dead soul.

The paper rain struck instantly, and Wayne's skull was neatly archived, turning into ashes without leaving even a fragment of bone.

The flames in Wayne's eyes flickered violently, and he murmured, "She's still... she's still here." His voice was already cracked.

Han Zhenya sang in mid-air, her red lips close to the face of a fiery knight, while her blood puppet followers climbed up the postmaster's massive body like a tide.

Each blood puppet, fueled by the fanaticism of the gospel, burst into maniacal laughter, preparing to self-destruct.

However, a glint flashed in the bull's head's empty eye socket.

The misfortune has been passed on.

The blood puppets suddenly froze, as if they heard some cruel whisper.

Before they even exploded, they shattered on their own bodies, turning into bloody debris that fell rustling off the postmaster's body.

Zhenya grew increasingly excited, her eyes shining as if she were watching the most perfect final dance.

Isabel's alchemical walls transformed the surrounding area into a fortress encircled by snow.

Roots entwine, snow-capped peaks press down, attempting to trap this ancient behemoth.

The postmaster slowly raised his whip, while in his other hand he held up a huge, hammer-shaped postmark.

boom!
With a loud bang, the postmark slammed onto the city wall.

The entire area instantly rippled with ring-shaped markings, the symbols burned, and were crushed into ashes along with the snow-capped peaks and alchemical roots.

Isabel stared at the disintegrating data before her and said softly, "The experimental data is absolutely perfect." Her pen glided across the notebook, but her hand trembled slightly.

Even the combined might of the Star Calamity could only barely stop this "Calamity Messenger" for a moment.

It continued onward, new images flashing in the depths of its empty eye sockets: volcanic eruptions, rampant plagues, collapsing cities, and hordes of corpses.

This is a reply from an old post office—misfortune never fails to arrive.

The battlefield is like purgatory; the neighborhood is no longer a neighborhood, but a doomsday stage torn apart and rebuilt.

Han Zhenya laughed maniacally and pounced on the postmaster's shoulder. Her green hair danced in the blood-red flames, her lips pressed against the giant beast's bull ear, and she whispered the gospel of the end times.

The song was not a song, but blades, venom, and flames; the fiery knights were shattered in the sound waves.

Her eyes were incredibly alluring, as if she wanted to pull the whole world into her stage illusion.

Wayne raised his withered hand, his voice hoarse yet burning: "My love, weep for me!"

The banshee in the cage revealed herself in the black mist, her wailing transforming into a dark torrent that crashed against the postmaster's body.

It was a lament for all existence, and an endless lament for love and betrayal.

The singing and crying overlapped, creating a morbid resonance that shook the void around the postmaster, causing it to shatter inch by inch.

Reinhardt suddenly stood atop the Apocalypse Tank, arms raised high, as if conducting a magnificent symphony.

"The sound of gunfire is a hymn! War is faith!"

Teutonic knights and Apocalypse tanks charged side by side, Black Hawk helicopters roared down, and Magnetic Storm infantrymen were shrouded in lightning. The entire street was bombarded and turned upside down.

That was the ultimate fervor of human warfare, a legion that fed on calamity, roaring as it swallowed the world.

Isabel, however, smiled quietly.

She stretched out her arms, and the Starlight Alchemy technique went completely out of control, with the medicinal liquid raining down.

That wasn't treatment, nor was it a blessing; it was pure unknown.

The fiery knights who touched the potion instantly dissolved into twisted crystals, the mail wagon turned into pulsating blobs of flesh, and even the undead of allied forces dared not approach. She murmured as she recorded: "Unknown variables, the most perfect data." There was no fear in her eyes, only a cold curiosity.

Si Ming stood alone on the Mirror Lake, his white mask reflecting blood and fire.

He slowly opened the "Book of Lies," his voice low and calm:
"The vengeful undead, return once more."

On the pages of the book, the phantom of a vengeful necromancer roared out, its fiery chains raised high, pointing directly at the postmaster's head.

The Eye of Judgment opened, and the sins of the postmaster were reflected in the pupils of the raging fire.

boom--!
Everything intertwined in the same instant.

The songs of the gospel, the wails of the succubus, the roar of cannons, the elixir of alchemy, the judgment of lies.

The five forces combined, like a final symphony, striking down relentlessly.

The bull-headed postmaster finally collapsed with a thud, his massive body crashing through the block with a hellish howl.

Its head exploded into a rain of blood in the fierce attack, scattering across the sky.

Amidst the rain of blood, the crowd gasped for breath, as if struggling to escape from a bottomless abyss.

Blood rain continued to fall, and the neighborhood was transformed into a hellish wasteland.

Si Ming quietly closed the Book of Lies, the starlight on the back of his hand now almost extinguished.

He glanced at the data column: 803.

From the initial thousand-plus Star Calamity Points to the current remnants, he has almost exhausted his life force.

Even the cunning of a liar cannot conceal the emptiness that is drained from one's heart.

Reinhardt slumped on the wreckage of the Apocalypse Tank, his hands trembling as he lit a cigar, the flame flickering on his scarred face.

He sneered, "Damn it... I bombarded three battlefields in a row, burning at least three hundred Star Calamity points. And the result was that I didn't even get a single card."

By the end, his voice was hoarse, as if only bitterness emanated from the smoke.

Han Zhenya knelt in the blood, her singing broken and intermittent, her throat almost torn apart.

Her dance dress was already soaked through, and her green hair was stuck together in strands of blood and ash.

She kept laughing, but her laughter was manic: "Clap your hands! My audience... why are you all silent?"

After saying that, she coughed up a mouthful of scarlet blood and leaned into the puppet's embrace, like a self-destructive yandere.

Wayne stood by the ruins, his black robe torn, his staff broken in two.

Half of the undead army was wiped out, yet he himself murmured as if he had lost his soul: "Alia, are you still crying? Don't be afraid... I'm with you..."

His gaze wandered back and forth between emptiness and reality, his split personality seemingly tearing at his last shred of sanity.

Only Isabel remained calm. She crouched in the rain of blood, her small alchemy notebook soaked in blood, the words still flowing rapidly.

She said in a low voice, her tone so calm it was almost cold: "The consumption is unprecedented... the limit is nearing its limit. The cost of the Star Calamity power has reached an irreversible decline. The experimental data is perfect."

A moment of silence followed, as if the entire squad were silently counting their losses.

Then, they looked up almost simultaneously.

—No Mystery Cards dropped.

The air seemed to freeze at that moment.

“How could this be…” Reinhardt’s expression changed drastically, and cigarette ash fell from his fingertips.

Han Zhenya's smile froze on her face, and for the first time, a hint of confusion appeared in her eyes.

Wayne stopped whispering, a hint of resentment surfacing in his empty eyes.

Beneath the mask of the God of Fate, the corners of his lips slowly tightened, and a sharp crease appeared between his brows.

They weren't novices; everyone understood what this meant.

—Victory may just be a hoax.

Amidst the ruins of the neighborhood, the wind blew through the blood, bringing a suffocating sense of unease.

The first to speak was Han Zhenya.

She usually laughed maniacally, but now she lost her voice and screamed hysterically: "...No, impossible!"

The night on the edge of town was torn apart.

One, two... no, dozens of giant bull-headed shadows stepped out from the cracks in the void.

Their horns tore through the sky, each one towering like a mountain.

Plague, volcano, earthquake, and war—four calamities—revolved around them, as if trying to peel away the entire town inch by inch.

The starry sky suddenly went dark.

Instead, there are countless eyes.

No pupils, no bloodshot eyes, only a fixed gaze. Every eye is cold and thirsty, looking down upon everyone in the neighborhood.

Even those above the Star Calamity felt as if their breath was being crushed and their hearts were being squeezed.

Isabel's hand froze in mid-air, the notebook fell to the ground with a thud, and blood splattered onto the pages, spreading out in a dark circle.

The cigar in Reinhardt's mouth fell out and the embers went out, but he didn't bend down to pick it up.

Wayne looked up, his split personality converging in a rare display of unity, leaving behind only a low murmur: "...So, we've never truly fought against the real Him."

Han Zhenya was caught between tears and laughter, murmuring, "The stage... it turns out it was just His box."

Then, the world began to "drift apart".

The streets, the houses, and the battlefields where they fought to the death were all lifted up and shrunk by an unseen hand.

The entire town was transformed into a model of a post office inside a cabinet.

The wooden drawer slid open with a thud, releasing swirling black mist.

At that moment, they finally "saw" the true entity.

It wasn't a minotaur, a postman, or a mail truck, but rather an indescribable mass occupying the entire drawer:

A mass of flesh pieced together from countless mailbags, letters, flesh and blood, eyeballs, envelopes, postmarks, gears, and bones.

It wriggles, its breath is a plague, its blink is an earthquake, and its trembling is war.

He lowered his head and looked down at them.

A bull's head is just one of His countless faces, emerging from the writhing mass of flesh, its horns touching the dome of the town.

"Rejectors..."

The sound was like the friction of a thousand letters being torn open at the same time, piercing the soul.

What are you complaining about?

Laughter followed.

It wasn't laughter that humans could understand, but a cosmic mockery of calamities colliding with each other and information being exchanged between flesh and blood.

The streets collapsed, the air froze, and even time seemed to be stamped by that laughter.

—In the face of this god-like being, the Star Calamity is nothing more than a casually discarded envelope in a cabinet.

Everything in the cabinet thought it was the world.

But when they opened the drawer, they realized that they were just files.

Ordinary people think they are writing a complaint.

However, in His eyes, all the struggles were just a page of mail receipt records in the post office archives.

—From *Hell Post Office: The Eternal Night Catalogue*

(End of this chapter)