EFB Chapter 2: Let's beat this world to a pulp!
Chapter 2: Let's beat this world to a pulp!
"But in the end, we fell for it."
With a single thought, the panel vanished.
Luo Huan swept her bangs back, and the human figure began to blur and recombine.
Her long, silvery-white hair grew wildly, her body shrank, and her face became childlike. After two or three breaths, she completely transformed into a little girl with white hair and red eyes.
Standing barefoot in the void, I looked down at my chest.
"Wuhu~ This is finally getting interesting!"
She jumped up and down, her long hair whipping around.
"How long have you been in this godforsaken place? Ten thousand years? One hundred thousand years? Or one hundred million years?"
Luo Huan tilted her head and pondered for a moment, then shook her head.
Oh, hen!
There is no time in the Kingdom of God.
But Luo Huan remembers that when she was still alive, she was a college student who stayed up all night in her dormitory, and when she played another game, everything went black.
When he opened his eyes again, he had become a "god".
A prisoner trapped in an infinite divine kingdom.
She can create stars, reverse time, and weave any world, but they are all fake.
It's all just water added to iced tea~
Everything in the Kingdom of God is merely an extension of consciousness, like talking to oneself in a mirror.
Loneliness can kill.
Even towards God.
That's why she went mad.
Today they build Disneyland, tomorrow they develop a metropolis, and the day after tomorrow they tear everything down and turn it into an imperial kingdom.
But after playing Creative Mode for a long time, she only felt endless boredom.
Until recently, her divine kingdom encountered this world.
His gaze returned to the bead.
"Fortunately...fortunately, this world and my divine kingdom have gotten involved."
Her tone suddenly softened, with the excitement of a child discovering a new toy.
"Even though it was just a tiny glimpse, the barriers of this world are as thick as a membrane..."
"But at least I can transmit the sound, and I can stuff the illusion into the mind of this dear Mr. Carl Jensen."
She tried to hack in, but failed.
The barrier was as thin as paper, but it was this thin layer of paper that kept her out.
This forced her to only glance at it, like a child peering through a glass window at a candy store, only scratching the surface.
"However..."
Luo Huan chuckled.
"Just rub it in little by little, and you'll eventually get it in."
She extended her index finger and poked the bead.
Ripples spread across the surface of the bead, and Jason's figure blurred, replaced by four streams of light: red, blue, yellow, and green.
【The Wrath of Courage】, 【The Joy of Art】, 【The Transformation of Knowledge】, 【The Embrace of Compassion】.
Jensen was glowing red, a symbol of walking in the "Wrath of Courage".
"Does this count as the fusion of four gods? Then is my divine realm a subspace?"
Luo Huan tilted her head and complained.
This is the manifestation of her power.
Believers who are touched by her power will automatically align themselves with one of the paths according to the nature of their souls.
Then, they will acquire their own unique [powers] along the way.
That was the fruit of their desires, and also a branch of Luo Huan's power.
Luo Huan himself, on the other hand, can expand the upper limit of this path by having believers use power.
The farther the believer goes, the deeper her invasion of the world becomes.
"A simulation game, hehe."
Luo Huan swung her legs, her gaze following the colorful bead that represented Jensen.
The thought of truly entering this world brought a blush of excitement to Luo Huan's fair face, and her body swayed gently in the void.
"Old Jameson, hurry up, hurry up and use your power."
She spoke softly to the beads, her eyes shining with an astonishing light.
"Go kill, go burn, go tear apart that hypocritical order."
"Push harder, push harder, let this world get into complete chaos!"
She extended her fingertip and gently touched the surface of the bead.
The image on the beads has changed.
River Port District.
The iron hook swayed in the night wind, and the sound of seagulls flapping their wings could be heard from time to time.
Jason walked in the shadows.
The cold touch of the rifle butt against his shoulder brought him back to his senses.
The anger was still burning, and the body's vitality was bursting forth.
The boots made almost no sound as they stepped on the damp cement.
He doesn't need lights.
A new perspective opened my eyes.
It's not about seeing the light, but about seeing the traces.
The lingering scent in the air, connected to the cause and effect of his suffering, was like a dim red thread, winding its way into the distance in the darkness.
Hunting dog.
This was the first power that the Lord had given him.
He was able to track down the perpetrators who directly or indirectly caused the breakdown of his family.
At this moment, the end of the thread is just behind that corner piled high with shipping containers.
He stopped, leaned against the cold container wall, and slowly took a breath.
The sea breeze filled my nostrils, carrying a salty, fishy, and numbing smell, along with a low murmur.
Jason closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, his gaze was calm and collected.
He turned to the side, raised his gun, and the muzzle protruded smoothly from the edge of the container.
In my line of sight, an old Mexican man wearing a dirty denim jacket was squatting on the ground, counting a stack of crumpled banknotes by the dim light of an emergency light.
Several small, transparent plastic bags were scattered at his feet, containing powder of an suspicious color.
It's clearly packed with advanced technology and cutting-edge technology.
Jason's index finger was on the trigger.
boom!
Gunfire ripped through the night at the port.
Old Mo screamed as his left arm was almost completely severed from the elbow down, with only a little skin and flesh connecting it.
He collapsed to the ground, and blood instantly stained the ground red.
Jason emerged from the shadows, his steps unhurried.
The gun barrel was slightly lowered, but his gaze was fixed on his target.
The old Mexican man convulsed on the ground, his other hand frantically groping at his waist, finally pulling out an old pistol.
His face was deathly pale, and he was sweating profusely, but he tore open a small pouch on his belt with his teeth and poured all the powder inside into his mouth.
"Ughhhhhh!"
He roared, his eyes bloodshot, suppressing the pain of his severed arm.
He raised his gun, aimed it at Jensen, and emptied the magazine.
Jason simply turned his body slightly to the side.
Three bullets flew past him, hitting the shipping container behind him and sending up a shower of sparks.
Old Mo was stunned; he couldn't understand how the other person had dodged it.
But it's pointless now.
Jason's gun fired again.
boom!
The shot pierced the Mexican man's chest with pinpoint accuracy.
His body was riddled with bullets, the gun flew out of his hand, and he fell backward to the ground.
Blood bubbles oozed from the corner of his mouth.
His gaze began to glaze over, yet he still struggled to look at Jensen, his lips trembling as he managed to squeeze out broken murmurs:
"Damn it... Maria... I have to live... My daughter is still..."
Jason walked up to him, his face expressionless.
Just as Old Mo breathed his last, fragmented images, sounds, and memories, like a stream flowing against the current, flooded into Jason's mind.
This is the effect of the [Hunter Dog], but the content makes his face even darker.
In the filthy basement, boxes of enhancement agents were tied together with strips of cloth bearing the words "Finney Brotherhood".
With a pale face, Mike, the son, stuffed a roll of banknotes into the old man's hand in exchange for some enhancement agents.
Old Mo patted Mike on the back and said, "Eat this and you'll be able to do more work. Look at you, selling your blood."
And the old Mexican man was holding a little girl and crying, "Daddy will be rich soon, and you won't have to stay in the basement anymore."
The torrent of memories recedes.
Jason slowly stood up, forcibly suppressing the unnecessary memories.
"The Finney Brotherhood".
He repeated the name in a low voice.
He then drew the military knife that had been with him for over ten years.
He crouched down again and used the tip of the knife to carve a cross on the increasingly stiff face of the Mexican man.
"Lord, please guide me."
He held the old cross in both hands and murmured something.
This is his idea of a form of sacrifice, after all...
It can also be considered a kind of ritual and a symbol.
Having done all this, he sheathed his knife and turned to walk into the deeper darkness.
The red line in his eyes did not disappear, but instead branched out into new branches, pointing deeper into the river port area, where the old Mexican community was located.
The silent anger burned even brighter in his chest.
However, he turned around and left immediately.
The corpse behind him gradually cooled, leaving only the blood-red cross, which gleamed damply under the emergency lights.
The seagulls landed again.