EFB #2277 - God of Child-Eating
#2277 - God of Child-Eating
In Soshjan's questioning gaze, the boy blinked.
"Soshjan, do you know that one of humanity's biggest flaws is its tendency to exaggerate its own abilities? This has nothing to do with whether one is arrogant or not. We always tend to regard faith and will as part of our strength, but we always amplify this part. That arrogant man called the Emperor also had unwavering faith, but he never foresaw that the empire he built would be as fragile as a sandcastle, that everything he planned would be so vulnerable. His opponent just gave it a gentle push—whoosh!"
The boy raised his arms in a very human-like manner.
"His ideal Tower of Babel, tall enough to reach the heavens, collapsed like a set of dominoes, leaving only ruins."
"Was his power not strong enough? He should have been the most powerful human. Was his wisdom not profound enough? He lived for tens of thousands of years, learned countless knowledge. Were his plans not far-reaching enough? He even deceived those so-called gods and stole the power of the highest heavens. Soshjan, have you heard a story? Once, a general who was known for his flawless strategies ambushed his greatest opponent in a valley where death was certain. It was filled with fuel, surrounded by cliffs, and sealed off from all sides. When the fire was lit, the enemy would be reduced to ashes. He had calculated everything—the enemy's time of advance, the number of troops, the enemy general's psychology, and all possible enemy reinforcements. However, in the end, he lost, losing to a rain, a rain that shouldn't have appeared on a clear day."
Soshjan nodded after listening.
"At any time, there will always be a 1% chance."
"However, it's not accurate to describe it with probability, because the result always happens 100%, it's just a matter of 'yes' or 'no'. So, all we can do is make sure we can afford the accident. After all, no matter how strong your will, how powerful your strength, how far-reaching your plans, you still may not be able to withstand an unexpected failure. Soshjan, are you sure you can afford it?"
"I—"
Soshjan opened his mouth. He didn't know which aspect of failure the other party was referring to, but after thinking for a moment, he still softly replied:
"I will do my best, but I don't think I'm worse than others."
The ordinary one raised his chin noncommittally.
"Just doing your best won't really solve many things. You also have many problems, but take a look at that painting first."
Soshjan turned around, looked at the painting that the ordinary one had been facing, walked over, and reached out to the curtain covering the easel.
But the moment his fingers touched the painting, he instinctively recoiled. Even Soshjan himself didn't expect this feeling, like being electrocuted. It seemed that some part of his body was very resistant to what was under the curtain.
But in the end, he still chose to grab a corner of the curtain and then yank it away.
"This!"
In an instant, Soshjan was struck as if by a heavy blow. His eyes widened, and he froze in place. The curtain also slowly fell from his hand.
On the light gray canvas was a soul-stirring, even somewhat evil painting. A gaunt, emaciated giant with a ferocious expression and wide eyes occupied most of the canvas. Its pale eyes and black pupils were so distinct. Its hair was gray and disheveled, the ends of its eyebrows drooping, carrying a look of despair and madness. It was using both hands to hold a body that was very small and tender compared to it. The right arm and neck of this body had disappeared, leaving only glaring scarlet, as if it had been torn open. And the man was still stuffing the body's left arm into his excessively opened black mouth.
Even more bizarre was that no matter what angle one viewed the painting from, the cannibal's gaze seemed to always be fixed on the person outside the painting.
The painting didn't have many colors—dim, yellowish, yet it seemed so insane, desperate, dark—
Soshjan covered his forehead, slightly arched his back, and took two steps back. He suddenly had a splitting headache.
As his knees weakly hit the carpet, Soshjan, holding his head, suddenly had a blurry vision, and then he seemed to see something—
A narrow room, a man with his back to him, wearing a dirty robe, waving a paintbrush with frantic gestures. In front of him, a painting filled with absurdity and despair was taking shape. Just looking at it seemed to imply that nothing in this world was of any value. The universe was indifferent and absurd, and all reality and reason would collapse.
"Xerxes likes all kinds of ancient paintings, but this is the work he is most unwilling to face."
A voice like a clear spring poured into Soshjan's thoughts, quickly dispelling the headache, but he still felt his hands and feet were numb.
When he raised his head, the boy had already covered the painting with the curtain again.
"That's that's—"
Soshjan trembled as he uttered a few words. He felt that even his tongue was still numb.
"Ancient Terra once had a myth, a god-king who killed and overthrew his tyrannical father, but then he received a prophecy that he would also be overthrown by his own child. So, every time a child was born, he would devour it. This story is the origin of this painting."
The boy stood in front of Soshjan. Even though he was not even as tall as Soshjan's arm, his aura was like that of a condescending monarch.
"What a tragic and ridiculous story. Even a god has to eat the future and torture each other."
He put his hands behind his back, his body slightly forward, with a strange atmosphere, as if he were examining a delicacy.
"Perhaps it could have had better choices, but it chose a more cruel and bloody path, using a hopeless future to alleviate the desperate madness of the present, mouthful after mouthful. Although that gray madness is almost delusional, despair still killed the tender and fresh future, and it is already irreversible, only able to eat its own bitter fruit, forever mad. But everyone knows that eating the future cannot alleviate the ending. A mad mother can save her son from being devoured by the father god, or become a failed slave, but she may also produce a hysterical son or a mentally deranged son. In any case, the god-king was still overthrown by his child. This is the ending we know."
Soshjan stared at the boy with his still-blurred eyes. For some reason, the way he spoke carried a tone that frightened him, and his face was becoming more and more like that child-eating god—
Suddenly, the boy turned and walked away. Soshjan breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't know what he was afraid of, but at that moment, he was completely shocked and terrified.
It was as if he were the child being held in the god's hands.
When he took a few breaths and slowly stood up, the ordinary one said:
"So, this is the answer you wanted."
"I don't understand, ordinary one, your hints are too esoteric. This painting—"
The ordinary one looked at Soshjan and suddenly narrowed his eyes.
"Don't understand? Malcador always believed that the one who would overthrow the god-king would be the child hidden by the mother."
Soshjan raised an eyebrow.
"Why is Xerxes who he is? He—he isn't your—"
"Own child? Yes, he is indeed more special than others, and that is why the Grey Seer sought him out. Only this kind of power can overthrow his father."
"No, Xerxes, he won't—"
The boy returned to the chair, crossed his fingers, and his eyes were deep.
"Soshjan, the so-called Grey Seer was a trap from the beginning."