Chapter 51: The Great... Lord Evil God

Chapter 51: The Great... Evil God

"Linda has always been fond of religious paintings, fond of their composition, their presentation, and the underlying meaning behind them. Linda feels this is a form of beauty, and she has always been captivated by this aesthetic.

Moreover, it is a way to objectify the divine. Through these canvases, the gods who reside high above seem to be dragged down from the clouds and into the mortal realm.

We can then use human intellect to understand and expound upon them."

Karen nodded and sat down by the sofa.

He did not know how to describe the painting before him; though it was not yet finished, it already exerted a palpable sense of pressure.

The mad Pope,

The vanishing Church of Light,

In the previous era and the first half of this one, the Church of Light was an absolute colossus.

Many nascent churches, such as the Church of Order, even had to insert the God of Light into their own "mythological narratives" in their early days to endorse themselves. From this, one could see just how preposterous the orthodox status of the Church of Light truly was.

Among the books his grandfather had ordered Lunt to bring him, except for "The Light of Order," which specifically introduced the Church of Order, the remaining volumes were all overviews of other religions.

And within these overviews, the shadow of the God of Light was practically omnipresent.

Therefore,

After reviewing the materials on numerous other churches, Karen's impression of the God of Light increasingly converged toward that of the "Emperor Qianlong" from his past life.

In his previous life, local snacks everywhere would invariably claim that Qianlong had eaten them during his tours of the Jiangnan region and bestowed a name upon them, thereby granting them sudden fame;

It was as if Qianlong never did any proper administrative work and spent every day busy tasting snacks and promoting local goods everywhere.

This God of Light seemed to be exactly the same. He did not engage in the affairs of a god; instead, he went around promoting "new gods," whether it was awakening the God of Order, helping the God of the Abyss suppress powerful demons, or helping the Mother of Earth seal the fissures of the world, appearing in every instance, interacting in every way, and rescuing every situation.

One could only say that there was nothing new under the sun.

Just as many people in his past life held the impression that Westerners were independent, equal, highly cultured, and beneficiaries of happy education, while many in the West believed that Asians should generally possess slanted eyes;

Most of the time, so-called established impressions were merely a frame you placed over reality, mistakenly leading you to believe that the other party lived precisely that way, mistakenly believing that only that flavor could be called authentic;

When one's vision focused on an individual, a small family, or a small town, what need was there for any concrete difference? In reality, it was just that the filters worn over one's own eyes had not yet been removed.

Just like these "sky-scraping" major churches of the present day, now solemn, majestic, and teeming with believers, sparing no effort to explain their divine authority and protect their true gods, during their early days of "entrepreneurship," they were all birds of a feather, capable of employing any means necessary.

It was only after they became wealthy and successful that they learned to "put on an act," and those people or believers who were distant from their era or geography naturally accepted their current "masks."

Dis's remark evaluation of the God of Order: The God of Order, raised by a prostitute.

The intrinsic meaning was actually a mockery of the God of Order wanting to be a whore while erecting a monument to her own chastity.

Bringing his thoughts back to reality,

Looking at this mad Pope within the painting, his impressions suddenly grew even deeper.

The Church of Light had been severely weakened due to a massive upheaval and had entered a cycle of decline, but what truly caused the Church of Light to be utterly lost, with hardly any bones left behind, was actually these orthodox churches of the present day.

While desperately altering the portions of their own "mythological narratives" where the God of Light existed, they also ruthlessly exterminated the Church of Light, completely eradicating any possibility for this giant to rise again.

"You seem to be deeply moved?" Piaget sat down on the sofa opposite Karen. "Linda also likes to sit in front of these religious paintings for a long time, and the expression on her face is exactly the same as yours."

"Is that so." Karen smiled slightly. "I just think that when one reflects upon it, it is very interesting. Gods, after all, are products created by humans. Once the exalted divinity is stripped away, what it is stuffed with inside is actually still human nature."

"Gods are products created by humans?" Piaget chewed on the words. "It is quite unexpected that you would hold such a view."

Only then did Karen realize he had made a mistake; in this world, true gods actually existed.

Whether it was Alfred, Mrs. Molly, or his own grandfather Dis, they were all the best evidence, proving that in this world, supernatural forces were intervening and operating.

Yet Karen was unwilling to retract his previous statement. In his subconscious, he still believed the definition that "gods are created by humans" was correct.

A steadfast materialist was neither someone who loved dragons like Lord Ye nor someone who threw tantrums; rather, even if the God of Light stood directly before you, you would still roll up his sleeves to help check his pulse.

"By the way, I have a medical case here that I think is quite interesting. Let me tell you about it, and we can analyze it together. I will omit the name."

"Alright."

Piaget pulled the conversation back into a professional mode.

Next came their professional discussion of their field, using the medical case as a foundation to analyze the causes, refine the development process, and then deliberate on the treatment plan.

This was a very interesting endeavor, and Karen also brought up cases from his past life to discuss together with Piaget.

Piaget had taken a leave of absence from the school after his wife "passed away," and his hands had been idle for a long time; Karen, on the other hand, had been forced to change his profession after his own "demise."

The two talked deeper and deeper, finding themselves in greater and greater agreement.

Unknowingly, nearly three hours had passed in conversation, yet they still had not had their fill, though both felt their stomachs growing a bit hungry.

"I will go call Linda to prepare a midnight snack for us." Piaget made a move to stand up.

Karen quickly reached out to press his shoulder:

"Let me do it."

Piaget hesitated for a moment, then smiled: "Very well."

Karen first used the telephone at Piaget's house to call home, telling Aunt Mary that he was currently at Piaget's house chatting with him.

After all, this was his first date with Eunice. If he did not return too late, it might easily cause his family to mistakenly think he was not coming home on the very first date.

The man's family would not think their side had lost anything, but they might look down on the woman because of it.

After making the call, Karen walked into the kitchen. He was too lazy to cook any proper dishes, so he fried a few eggs, made two large sandwiches, and finally took a large bottle of milk from Piaget's refrigerator.

The two sat opposite each other on the sofas, eating sandwiches while continuing their previous conversation. When they reached a point of high spirits, they could not help but raise their glasses to toast each other with milk.

Unknowingly, they chatted until two o'clock in the morning.

Both had been busy all day during the daytime; Piaget had spent the day scouring materials in the library, while Karen had been on a date the entire day. The two gradually went from sitting and talking to reclining on their respective sofas to converse.

In the end, it was unknown who noticed the other stopped responding mid-conversation, and so they simply closed their eyes and drifted off to sleep together.

In the midst of a hazy sleep,

Karen suddenly felt a bit cold. Subconsciously, he wanted to find something to cover himself with, remembering that there was originally a blanket on the sofa.

Failing to feel it, he was forced to open his eyes, only to discover that at the entrance of the stairs, a skin-like object was currently "descending the stairs."

Karen saw it, and it seemed to see Karen as well.

However, there was no sentiment of fear in Karen's heart, because he roughly guessed who that object was.

On one hand, it might be that he had experienced too many such things recently; on the other hand, it might be that he was quite familiar with Piaget, somewhat akin to having no fear toward the corpse of someone close to him.

Karen did not shout or cry out, continuing to watch it descend the stairs.

Then, his eyelids truly could not withstand the drowsiness, and he closed his eyes again to continue sleeping.

After sleeping for a while longer, he perceived someone gently pushing him.

Opening his eyes, Karen saw Linda standing right before him, her smile warm and gentle:

"Mr. Karen, it is easy to catch a cold sleeping here. The guest room has been prepared; please go to the guest room to rest."

From the corner of his eye, Karen noticed that Piaget on the opposite sofa was already gone.

In fact, to Karen, whether Linda was a personality split from Piaget's mind or whether there was an abnormal demon factor involved did not make much of a difference; he could peacefully accept either of his two professions.

Most importantly, he did not feel that the other party would harm him. This trust came inexplicably, yet it made one inexplicably certain.

"Very well, thank you, Madam."

Karen did not refuse the arrangement. He had already begun to feel a creeping chill in his bones; to remain asleep out here until morning would only court a severe cold.

Linda led the way, and Karen followed behind her as they ascended to the second floor.

"This is the room. The bed has already been made."

"Thank you, Madam."

Karen stepped into the guest room, shed his clothes, and lay down. As he pulled the quilt over himself, a wave of profound comfort instantly enveloped him.

A crisp clink echoed beside him. Opening his eyes slightly, Karen saw a tray bearing tea and pastries being placed onto the nightstand.

"I will leave the tea here, should you grow thirsty during the night."

"Thank you, Madam."

Linda stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Karen turned onto his side and returned to sleep.

This sleep was deep, and it lasted a very long time.

By the time Karen felt his conscious mind restored by sleep to near fullness,

a strain of music seemed to drift past his ears—an ancient melody, intertwined with the chanting of human voices, yet it was far, far away. It was so distant that a single furrow of his brow might have dispelled it.

This was no dream; it was a calling.

It was as though he were walking along a beach, where in the distance a crowd was gathered around a bonfire. He could choose to walk over and join them, or he could turn back, or he could simply lie down right there from afar and continue his slumber.

Karen chose to walk toward it, for he felt no malice—only something akin to an invitation.

It was much like when Piaget had asked him to stay for coffee,

sincere and entirely natural.

Then, he found himself standing within a place of absolute darkness.

Accompanying a long, resonant cry,

myriads of torches were suddenly lit on the opposite side. Yes, torches.

And it was precisely because of the light source opposite him that the three-dimensional depth of the space was abruptly revealed.

It was a chasm. Karen stood entirely alone on this side, while all the silhouettes and torches remained on the other.

The mountains on either side rose high, obscuring the stars above; hence, this was likely the interior of a canyon, or perhaps within the hollow of a mountain itself.

Gradually, the torches across the cliff began to multiply. Within the deep abyss between them, clusters of objects resembling fireflies began to rise, casting a soft and mysterious radiance upon the surroundings.

Karen beheld the slaves who thronged the entirety of the opposite cliff face. They were bare-chested, the beads of sweat upon their bodies reflecting an oily sheen under the torchlight.

Some held axes and chisels, carving into the stone, while others transported blocks of rock.

Among them was a sizable contingent of figures draped in violet robes. They carried pigments and were busy applying color with brushes.

Once the fireflies from the abyss had ascended to a certain height, the colors upon the opposite cliff face were finally revealed to Karen’s sight.

At the very bottom was a pair of feet. Higher up were the calves, and higher still, the knees.

Beside that foot lay the corpses of countless "beasts," alongside dense throngs of humans prostrating themselves in worship.

Whether the carcasses of the beasts or the worshipping humans, they were all incredibly small—so small they did not even equal the size of the giant's toenail.

This was a work in progress—a true religious mural.

A being of such stature could only be a true god!

Thus,

this was a mural depicting a true god descending upon the mortal realm.

"Yo... oh..."

The rhythmic, long cry resounded once more, like a work song being raised.

The slaves opposite began to chant in unison, creating a peculiar rhythm.

Those clad in violet robes began to dance along.

"Yo... oh..."

The strange, oppressive sounds diffused through the crowd, echoing within the empty valley. The echoes, like newly joined members, lent strength to the cadence.

Clap!

Clap!

Clap!

Then, the slaves and the violet-robed figures holding pigments began to stomp their feet against the earth, clapping their hands with forceful synchronicity as they performed a primitive dance.

In the next instant,

they suddenly turned as one, facing the side of the abyss where Karen stood alone.

Karen was somewhat dazed. Originally, he had been merely an "outsider" silently observing from the darkness, yet now, he had become the focus of ten thousand eyes.

However, Karen soon realized he had flattered himself.

For from the abyss before him emerged a colossal female head. Like a giantess, she rose... no, it was not that she rose, but rather that she had merely been crouching within the abyss and was now simply standing up.

Her hair was like clusters of vines, upon which nests of halos were swirling. The sheets of fireflies that had flown out earlier were merely a part of her body.

When she stood at her full height,

Karen, standing behind her, felt as though he were being invisibly suppressed by a magnificent existence.

It was a visceral sense of insignificance, a chilling psychological subjugation.

Reading from books, one might think it feudal and uncivilized for ancient peoples to choose to prostrate themselves before so-called gods;

yet when that colossal silhouette appeared before one's eyes, one could instantly empathize with the impulse to worship.

To worship

was not out of admiration or reverence,

but because when one lacked the courage to flee, worship seemed the only action left.

The giantess’s left hand rose slowly. Upheld in her palm was a pool, within which various colors swirled.

Her right hand also rose slowly; it was a massive, iridescent feather.

She began to dip her right hand into her left,

scattering infinite colors,

and the splashed colors instantly transformed into sheets of fireflies, taking flight once more.

Her right hand began to touch the cliff face before her, which loomed even taller than her own body.

The contents of the mural grew richer and more specific.

The likeness of a male true god, beneath this "splattering," gradually took form.

She was not a god,

She was the creator of the mural,

She was fashioning a mural for the True God,

Yet she herself was a deity,

For those slaves and purple-robed figures were all bowing in worship before her.

God was but a collective noun.

Just like that female devotee of Mills whom he had seen in Mr. Morf's study.

If the courtesans upon the ocean islands could conjure Mills, the Paramour of the Sea God, as their own object of faith, why could the artisans and slaves who crafted murals not likewise fashion a god belonging wholly to themselves?

Men prayed for deliverance from seismic ruin, and so they summoned forth the Earth Mother;

Men prayed for calm seas free from the peril of tempest and reef, and so they summoned forth the Sea God;

Men prayed for the shining of light to banish the dark, and so they summoned forth the God of Light;

Men prayed for the descent of order to bind the rules, and so they summoned forth the God of Order.

A god ever appeared precisely when humanity stood in need of him.

At the last,

The giantess, at the absolute summit of the cliff face,

Painted a solitary sun,

The sun cast forth ten thousand shafts of radiance, instantly flooding this empty valley entire.

Karen instinctively shielded his face with both arms to ward off the searing sting of that blinding light,

But when he loosed his arms,

He beheld the bright sunlight streaming outside the bedroom window.

He was still lying in bed, within the guest room of Piaget's house.

"Phew..."

A remarkably fine dream—not frightening, not thrilling, yet deeply stirring and rich with the breath of an epic.

Karen reached out to take up the long-cooled tea beside him, swallowing a great draft.

Then,

He froze.

For he perceived that the ceiling above his head was no ordinary chandeliered surface; in truth, there was no light fixture upon it at all, and in the whole of the guest room, only a single lamp at the bedside could provide illumination.

Thus, he had failed to notice it last night, but now, with the sun shining brightly outside, he saw that above him lay an actual piece of work.

Within the piece was a deep abyss and canyon identical to the one in his dream.

The difference lay in that the mural provided only the setting, devoid of the "True God's mural" upon the cliff, devoid of those densely clustered slaves and purple-robed artisan-painters, and devoid of that colossal woman.

Was it psychological suggestion?

Though he had not realized it, had his drowsy self last night actually "seen" the mural above his head, thereby engendering the dream just now?

Was that the reason?

Karen got out of bed and dressed.

Just as he stepped out of the guest room, he saw Piaget, his hair disheveled, likewise emerging from the master bedroom; catching sight of Karen, Piaget smiled with bliss:

"Do you need a bath, Karen? Haha, Linda even helped wipe down my body last night."

"A simple wash will do for me."

"Mm, good.

Both having finished washing up, they descended to the first floor.

On the dining table below, breakfast was already laid out, complete with knives and forks; perhaps knowing they had both drunk far too much milk the previous night, the cups were filled with water instead.

Karen and Piaget sat down together to partake of the meal, and once finished, Karen set down his utensils:

"My thanks to Linda."

"Heh." Piaget chuckled once more.

"I shall take my leave now," Karen said, rising to say goodbye.

"Ah, wait a moment. Look, there is a gift box here—it must be a present Linda prepared for you. Please, accept it."

"Very well, thank you, Linda."

"Mm, I shall not see you to the door."

"As you said, there is no need for such courtesies between true friends."

Karen took the gift box, stepped out of Piaget's home, climbed into the carriage, and fastened his safety belt.

Before starting the vehicle,

Karen hesitated a moment,

Deciding first to hold the gift box in his hands and open it;

Resting inside,

Was a box of paints.

Karen stared blankly for a short while,

Sighing with emotion:

"A heavy gift indeed."

Beneath the box of paints lay a letter,

Karen picked it up:

"Respected Mr. Karen;

It has been a very long time since I last saw my husband so genuinely happy. I offer my sincere gratitude for your presence, which has granted him the solace of friendship.

I ought to have created a painting for you, a heartfelt token for my husband's dearest friend;

But I am terribly sorry, for though I sat in the studio for three hours, I knew not how to set brush to canvas.

Perhaps,

The paintbrush of your life is already held firmly in your own hand, a canvas no one else could ever hope to paint on your behalf.

Thus, all I can do is present you with a fresh palette of colors.

Finally,

Allow me once more to express my deepest gratitude for your condescension in choosing to become friends with my husband.

O great,

Lord Evil God."