Modifying the universe starts with Minecraft command blocks!

Chapter 148 [Golden Flame]

On the permafrost of Siberia, the "Furnace" strike team is busy carbonizing every inch of writhing flesh.

However, these agents, who were considered elite and armed to the teeth, were unaware that less than a hundred meters away was a section of charred tree trunk.

Standing there was a "ghost" that they could never observe.

If we compare the real world to a piece of running code, then Neos, who is standing there right now, is an illegal program that has been forcibly inserted but has perfectly fooled the system's self-check.

The VERITAS (Veritas Resonance Imaging Device), which the Supernatural Alliance's research and development department had touted to the skies, was still emitting a regular low hum. It could detect life veins fifty meters underground, see through magical disguises, and distinguish psionic waveforms.

But when it pointed in the direction of Neos, the signal it sent back was a desolate wasteland.

The feeling was like a camera pointing at a non-existent mirror, and all the probe waves were gently diverted to another dimension the moment they touched Neos's body.

However, what this squad, and even their prized tactical panel, were unaware of was that...

He was a sorcerer of the Carnal Cult.

To evade detection, he cruelly dissolved his own bones.

The internal organs and nerve cords were rewoven into a "biomembrane" that conformed to the terrain, and the heartbeat and body temperature were forcibly suppressed to a state close to suspended animation.

In the eyes of the flesh-and-blood sorcerer, those heavily armored soldiers were nothing more than a few walking cans of unopened swill.

He was ready to make his move.

He — is dead.

In the minus tenths of a second, just before the warlock's bone spike was about to be ejected from the barrel, a cluster of pure, temperatureless, yet dazzlingly bright golden flames appeared out of thin air.

It wasn't "burning" in the conventional sense, but rather an irrational "formatting".

The golden flames carried a kind of absolute and exclusive law, directly bypassing the physical defenses of the carbon-based lifeforms.

Erasure begins with the underlying code of the soul and concepts.

The rapid regeneration ability that the Flesh Cult sorcerers were so proud of, along with their mutated keratin layer that could withstand large-caliber armor-piercing bullets, were like cheap toilet paper placed on a 10,000-degree electric furnace in front of this golden flame.

Before the warlock could even process the thought "I'm being attacked," his entire concept as an "existence" was completely erased from the blueprint called reality.

There were no screams or struggles.

Not even a speck of ashes remained.

Even more terrifying is that this warlock was erased at the exact same absolute point in time.

In an underground altar of flesh deep in the Ural Mountains, in a petri dish in the Moscow sewers.

The warlock had prepared three functional clone bodies and two flesh-and-blood creations for regeneration, all of which simultaneously erupted with the same golden flames from within.

"Tick-tock." The culture medium in the basement boiled and evaporated, and almost all usable bodies were burned to nothingness in a fraction of a second.

It was swift and decisive, like an administrator with the highest privileges typing /k[type=Flesh Cult Warlock] in the console—executed with ruthless efficiency.

The GOC squad ahead continued their cautious advance, while Veritas peered through the dead trees.

Everything appeared normal on the screen, as if nothing had ever existed there at all.

Neos looked down at the pile of nothingness, which had not even turned to ash, then turned to look at the captain of the Forge team who was reporting "Cleanup mission complete" in the distance, and let out a contemptuous snort that only he could hear.

"Equipped with third-generation mind-blocking alloy and a portable reality-stabilizing anchor, its tactical execution capability is acceptable, but the target acquisition module's algorithm is still too crude. It couldn't even detect this heretic that has 'completely undergone flesh-and-blood transformation.'"

As Neos watched the strike squad disappear into the distance, he made the same cold assessment that Paradox Interactive players use to evaluate a subpar infantry division.

"However, it's already quite an achievement to have reached this level. We can't ask for too much."

More than the squad's lackluster detection capabilities, Neos was concerned about the flesh cult member he had casually "Deleted" earlier.

The Desire for Flesh Cult is an ancient faith that worships the transformation of flesh and blood and venerates Adabos.

"The Cult of Lust—these parasites who call themselves followers of the great sorcerer Yern—have actually begun playing the game of 'restoring the old' right under my nose?"

It should be noted that in the Alliance's records over the past decade, if a bishop at the lowest level could gain some "physical blessing" by devouring his own kind, thus accelerating cell division and wound healing, it would already be touted as a "miracle" within their ranks.

But what about that guy from earlier?

Not only can it freely reorganize the physical structure and distort space, but it can also set up a backup resurrection pool based on soul binding at extremely long distances.

This is definitely a core force that has reached the "Warlock" level!

The situation has clearly undergone a subtle but qualitative change.

The power that sorcerer had just displayed was, in his eyes, less than a lit match.

But by mortal standards, that's already a supernatural force capable of taking on a fully armed field battalion single-handedly.

Neos stroked his chin, a hint of displeasure flashing in his eyes.

"This speed of evolution, if it's not because they suddenly all had a collective epiphany, then there must be some powerful player I dislike behind them illegally inflating their numbers."

Neos recalled the top-secret briefings about the Siberian incident.

Initially, the reports received by the Russian government were very "mediocre".

Several remote villages have been struck by a deadly rash, accompanied by the mysterious disappearance of large numbers of people.

Russian military officials, who were fond of using vodka to brainwash their officers, initially thought it was some kind of routine biological or chemical leak and tried to send an armored company to suppress it.

The results are obvious.

After that armored company's T-90 tanks were directly "digested" by a writhing forest of flesh and blood composed of human organs, 0

Moscow finally realized that they were not facing a rebellion, but some kind of disaster that would make Darwin turn in his grave.

Ultimately, the Russian government had no choice but to set aside its pitiful national pride and appeal to the United Nations and our Supernatural Alliance for help.

Within an hour of taking over the mission, the GOC's assessment committee concluded: Keter-level risk, an extremely dangerous and difficult-to-contain biological anomaly spread using conventional physical means.

After several "large-scale joint operations" that even Neos found painful to watch—including but not limited to targeted elimination using satellite lasers, chemical weapons strikes amplified by magical techniques, and large-scale heavy powered armored vehicle bombardments—the expansion of the infected zone was barely contained.

Now, around this frozen land, the Supernatural Alliance has built a massive armed buffer zone that costs enough to buy half of Eastern Europe.

From high above, it appears as a steel collar stretching hundreds of kilometers, composed of high-voltage power grids, automated sensing gun emplacements, and real-world stabilizing anchors.

Any creature that attempts to leave the quarantine zone without authorization, whether human, reindeer, or some kind of eighteen-legged, muscular monster, will be burned into plasma by laser the moment it crosses the red line.

"I invested hundreds of billions to build a fence, only to find poisonous mushrooms called 'warlocks' growing inside. It feels like you spent a fortune installing the top-of-the-line firewall on your servers, only to turn around and discover a hacker sitting in your server room, eating takeout while changing your backend password."

"It seems plans can never keep up with the changes those lunatics make, Neos. Your regional commanders are still agonizing over how to deal with those bastards who can only whimper, but they haven't noticed that the enemy command has already started upgrading its servers."

"9

Neos murmured to himself as he looked out over the deserted snowfield.

His perception extended infinitely at that moment.

He sensed that deep within this locked-down quarantine zone, some ancient and grander will was stirring through the resurgence of the Carnal Cult.

This is no longer a simple "abnormality." We must take decisive action!

"Siberia here isn't a simple obstacle that can be overcome with nuclear bombs alone. If the Cult of Flesh and Lust has truly found their lost archsor, then this physical defense is no different from trying to stop a flood with a sheet of paper."

Neos straightened the black trench coat that looked extremely sophisticated but did not belong to any known clothing brand.

"Looks like we need to speed things up — I don't have that much patience to play house with you bunch of believers who like to turn yourselves into jelly."

The voice just fell.

Neos's figure trembled once again at a very low frequency.

There was no jumping motion, no undulating spatial folds.

In the fraction of a second that an agent from the "Furnace" team glanced in that direction, he abruptly vanished from the spot, disappearing without a trace.

The wind and snow continue —