Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 484 The Illusory True God: The Moment of the Burning Star

Truth is a fragile stage.

Lies are the eternal light.

When the stars go out
Only illusion continues to write the script.

—The False Gospel

The white light dissipated.

The Death Star that Wayne fell from has been extinguished, leaving only endless ashes drifting in the void of the Drawer World.

These ashes, like burnt paper scraps or the bone dust of the dead, floated lightly, yet carried a suffocating heaviness.

Si Ming propped himself up from the ruins.

He looked up and saw the enormous chunk of flesh still hovering in the void in the distance.

The postmaster's drawer eye continued to open and close, repeating the same indifferent and mechanical cycle:

"Receive mail...deliver...sign for receipt...complaint...acceptance".

It was as if Wayne's Death Star falling just now was nothing more than a trivial interlude.

No one cares about the sacrifice of the dead.

No one cared about the name of the magician Wayne.

Footsteps.

Si Ming turned his head and the first thing he saw was a small figure.

Annabelle.

The cursed doll in the red dress sat quietly amidst the wreckage, a strange smile appearing on its cracked porcelain face.

She looked up, but her voice was Han Zhenya's.

"...Cough...What a...terrible stage."

His voice was weak and intermittent.

Si Ming's heart tightened.

Han Zhenya's true form has been completely swallowed up by the envelope.

What stands here now is merely a lingering obsession she left behind in Annabelle.

She had almost no strength left to fight.

Followed by.

A deafening roar tore through the void.

An explosion, like a nuclear bomb, tore open a giant envelope, and flames and a mushroom cloud instantly engulfed the entire area.

From the epicenter of the explosion, a massive figure slowly emerged.

That's Reinhardt.

But he could no longer be recognized as human.

His flesh and blood were stripped away in the flames of war, and half of his body was transformed into a sophisticated machine.

Arcs of electricity danced across his body, his iron arms creaked and crackled, and a still-smoking reactor was embedded in his chest.

As he walked out, his steps were heavy, each step sending sparks flying.

"Hoo-haha...hahaha!"

He laughed, his voice metallic and hoarse: "This paper envelope, you think it can hold back a war?"

His figure resembled a broken war machine, sparking and on the verge of falling apart.

Si Ming looked at Isabel.

She slowly climbed up from the ruins, her left hand pressing tightly against the broken end.

Her right arm disappeared completely below the shoulder, blood mixed with alchemical elixirs dripping down and seeping into the ashes.

Even so, she straightened her body, managing a weak, cold smile on her pale face.

"...I'm still here."

The voice was calm, yet carried a chilling indifference.

She seemed to be confirming her own existence, or perhaps announcing to the team: the alchemist is still alive.

Si Ming looked around and felt a heavy weight in his heart.

A group of five.

Wayne – A fallen star.

Han Zhenya – Only a remnant soul remains, extremely weak.

Reinhardt – a mechanical wreck, half-destroyed.

Isabel – missing an arm, endangered.

And their Star Calamity Value is almost depleted.

He himself felt exhausted, and the cards in his hands were cold, as if they might shatter at any moment.

In the sky, the enormous chunk of flesh still writhed.

The drawer eyes opened and closed with a cold sound.
"The complaint has not been resolved."

"The process continues."

These are the embers of the battlefield.

The world inside the drawer continues to slowly churn.

The enormous chunk of flesh resembled an eternal continent, suspended in the depths of the void.

Countless drawer opening and closing eyes moved in an orderly fashion, the sound cold and mechanical:
"Received..."

"Deliver..."

"Sign for delivery..."

"complaint……"

"Accepted."

Each word is like an iron stamp imprinted on the air, overlapping into relentless white noise.

Si Ming looked up, his eyes gradually turning cold.

He finally understood.

In the world of envelopes, the postmaster he defeated... was nothing more than an illusion.

Even if that battle was terrifying, dragging the phantom into the hell of tongue-pulling, even if the necromantic star exploded in a self-destruction...

But the real postmaster was not affected at all.

The illusion can be destroyed, but the "process" of the drawer world will not stop.

They are infinite.

As long as the complaints continue, the illusions will keep coming.

"Ridiculous," Si Ming murmured to himself.

As if in response to his thoughts, a huge drawer in the distance slid open with a "click".

The new bull-headed postman stepped out of the drawer, a black mailbag slung over his shoulder, his eyes vacant, his steps heavy, yet he exuded an irresistible aura.

They are just illusions.

But that was enough to crush their shattered army.

Isabel slowly raised her head, a cold smile appearing on her pale face.

"You saw it."

Her voice was cold, like the conclusion of an experimental report: "Even now, our Burning Star is nothing more than a dying ember."

"His illusions are endless; when we burn ourselves out, we are only tearing off a few sheets of paper."

Han Zhenya's remnant soul chuckled softly inside the Annabelle doll, her laughter hollow: "The stage opens scene after scene, but we can never finish our performance."

Reinhardt was covered in sparks, his mechanical eyes flashing, and he let out a metallic sneer: "War... an endless war."

The three people's words overlapped, like a desperate chorus.

Si Ming remained silent for a long time before finally speaking.

"At this rate, we'll all die here sooner or later."

His voice was deep and his words were like iron: "Either die or go mad."

The air fell silent for a moment, with only the postmaster mechanically repeating the process.

"The complaint has been accepted."

"Delivery begins."

Si Ming raised his head, his gaze fixed on the endless mass of flesh, a sharp glint suddenly flashing in his eyes.

"……unless."

He stopped halfway through his sentence.

No explanation.

He simply gazed silently into the distance, where chaos still writhed within the cracked sky, as if awaiting the arrival of some answer.

The void continued to tremble.

After Wayne's Death Star fell, the moon that had been hanging in the sky completely disappeared, leaving only a huge crack.

The tear resembled the opening of an envelope ripped open by a giant hand, its edges trembling incessantly.

Through the crack, one can see an indescribable chaos below.

The fleshy texture writhed in the darkness, as if the internal organs of the entire universe were exposed.

Sometimes it feels like tentacles curling, and sometimes it feels like a heart beating.

Each pulse made the air vibrate.

Si Ming raised his head, staring at the crack, his eyes gradually becoming sharp.

He murmured softly:
"……unless."

"Unless—through this rift."

His voice was drowned out by the white noise of the drawer world, and no one could hear him.

Only Isabel was watching him.

She dragged her battered body, using one hand to support herself as she struggled to sit up. "My calamity..."

She spoke softly, her voice as calm as if she were taking notes.

"There are still two or three hundred left."

"Enough to burn out once."

She lowered her head, her eyes flashing coldly: "I can offer myself as a sacrifice to perform an alchemical ritual. At least it will restore some of your condition."

"That way, at least we can hold on for a little longer."

Han Zhenya's remnant soul raised its head in Annabelle and smiled weakly.

"...living a few more minutes...and singing a few more songs."

Reinhardt's mechanical eyes rolled, and a metallic hum rang out: "...a war that is barely clinging to life."

Si Ming turned his head and stared at Isabel with a cold gaze.

"It's not you."

His voice was firm and unwavering.

Isabel paused, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, then narrowed them slightly and gave a cold laugh: "...What do you want to do?"

The God of Fate did not answer.

He simply looked up once more, staring at the crack.

The writhing of chaotic flesh and blood gradually magnified in his eyes, as if beckoning him.

He did not give an answer.

But the air had already begun to solidify.

It's as if the gears of fate are slowly turning.

Si Ming slowly raised his hand.

In his palm, the cold Star Calamity Card appeared. The card's radiance was dim, yet it still exuded an undeniable pressure.

[Catastrophe Value: 760]

The numbers are clearly printed on the cards, like a countdown to death.

"Seven hundred and sixty."

Isabel's hoarse voice broke the silence.

She raised her only remaining hand, desperately supporting her body, her face pale, yet still cold: "You can only maintain this for 760 seconds."

She stared at Si Ming, her voice like a cold knife: "If this time is exceeded, you will go completely insane."

The air suddenly froze.

Si Ming did not answer immediately; his gaze remained fixed on the number, and he remained silent for a long time.

After a long silence, he finally spoke in a low voice:
"I'm not sure."

His voice was low, yet carried a cold honesty.

"When I was promoted for the first time, I almost got carried away with that feeling."

"It's as if I'm omnipotent, and all lies become the truth."

"If it weren't for good luck, I would have sunk into the planetary disaster long ago."

He paused for a moment, then looked up and glanced at his teammates beside him.

Reinhardt was covered in sparks, half of his body was mechanized, and he looked like a piece of war wreckage that could explode at any moment.

He forced a smile, a ferocious grin spreading across his face: "Fine... since you're going to fight to the death, I'll try to hold your ground."

His voice was metallic and hoarse, yet it carried the unwavering determination of a soldier.

Isabel paused for a moment, then took out a bottle of alchemical potion that shimmered with starlight from her bosom.

Her hands trembled, yet she still handed it out steadily.

"Starlight Alchemy, I can do it one more time."

"May this shining star be the light that helps you return to your humanity."

Her voice was devoid of emotion, as if she were handing over the final result of an experiment.

Han Zhenya slowly raised her head, her voice weak, drifting from the mouth of the Annabelle doll, carrying a sickly smile.

"This is my final celestial calamity..."

She hummed softly, and a low, melancholic melody drifted out.

"Apocalyptic Hymn".

"It will bloom in 700 seconds. I don't know if it will work, but... at least the stage won't be silent."

Si Ming smiled slightly after hearing this.

His smile was cold, yet strangely reassuring.

"okay."

He put away the Star Calamity Card, turned his back to the crowd, and was covered in wounds and ashes.

"You all stay here."

"I'll be right back."

As soon as he finished speaking, his figure disappeared into the void and ruins of the drawer world.

The three of them were left staring in the direction he left, speechless.

Si Ming stepped out of the wreckage alone.

The drawer world was a desolate void, with ashes falling like snow of death.

He looked up at the sky.

There, the rift torn open by the fall of the Death Star of Wayne still exists, chaos churning, flesh writhing.

The enormous, fleshy postmaster still hung in the distance, countless drawer opening and closing coldly, repeating the same monotonous routine:
"Received..."

"Deliver..."

"Sign for delivery..."

"complaint……"

"Accepted."

The voice was cold, mechanical, and devoid of emotion.

Si Ming chuckled softly, raised his gaze, and his voice echoed clearly in the void:
"Alright, Postmaster."

"The show—it's time to end."

He slowly raised his hand, and the Star Calamity Card appeared in his palm, emitting a cold light.

The card flickered, revealing a distorted line of text:

—【The True God Who Weaves Lies into a Destiny】

"Burning Star".

Si Ming whispered.

boom! ! !
A supernova-like burst of light suddenly erupted in the universe.

The light was dazzling, as if tearing through nothingness and igniting the entire drawer world.

In the light, a colossal figure slowly emerged.

Vague and cannot be clearly described.

He was draped in a huge cloak, the fabric of which was semi-transparent, as if woven from mist, existing between illusion and reality.

His face remained blurred; the only thing that was clear was a bizarre smiling mask.

That smile was always mocking, always contemptuous, as if it were laughing at the whole world.

With each step He took, reality folded and tore apart like a letter, transforming into a path.

Illusion and reality overlapped beneath His feet, as if the world itself were responding to His presence.

The voice of the God of Fate no longer belonged to humankind at this moment, but seemed to be an eerie whisper coming from behind a mask:
"A lie can become the truth."

"In my 'Burning Star' state, every lie I tell will come true one hundred percent of the time."

He gently raised his hand, and flames, steel, death, and song instantly appeared in the void... The abilities of every Star Scourge he had ever seen ignited at his fingertips.

“When I said I could borrow all the power, it was true.”

"All lies eventually become the truth."

"In my Burning Star state, I can perfectly reproduce every Mysterious Card I've ever seen."

He extended his fingertip, and an alchemical array unfolded in the air, followed by a legion of undead figures poised for battle within the phantom.

The stage illusion of the songstress lit up at her feet, while the roar of war cannons echoed in the void.

All illusions are not afterimages, but the reality that is no different from the original.

Si Ming chuckled softly, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and whispered:
"False."

"That is the truest god."

The laughter was low, yet it spread like a tide.

The void echoed, scraps of paper fell, and for the first time, the postmaster's enormous fleshy body stopped its process, all eyes in the drawers staring at the illusory true god.

Si Ming slowly lowered his head and looked around.

The bizarre smile on the mask mocked the entire world of the drawer.

"And you-"

He uttered his last words softly.

"It's nothing but a clumsy lie."

boom! ! !
The laughter of the false god echoed throughout the entire drawer world.

When combustion begins,
Time has turned into a countdown.

A 760-second stage,

That's enough to write a new script.

Who says that illusion is not God?
Who says lies can't be true?

—The Planetary Disaster Script

(End of this chapter)