Bologue has been lingering around the vicinity of the Great Rift recently, searching for potential crises within, like the Wandering Crossroad.
Bologue didn’t find the Wandering Crossroad, the distorted cluster of buildings disappeared like a dream with the dissipation of fog, and the Devil’s evil aura vanished as well.
Mammon seems to have left this place, but his power had seeped into the land as if it were permanent; even now, when Bologue looks down, he can still hear absurd voices roaring in his ears.
The Great Rift emits a strong aura of evil, like a black luminescence, flickering and uncertain, enveloped by deep darkness both day and night. The shimring light seems to leak from the Abyss, with unsettling eyes lurking in the darkness.
"Not sure if such changes are good or bad," Palr murmured.
Once, the fog blocked the vision of mortals; now it is gone, and everyone can see the full scope of the Great Rift and feel the power from the depths of the Abyss.
It could be the lingering aura of the Devil or deeper down, the pressure released by Calamity of this world.
"Let ti witness it all," Bologue could only respond.
During this ti, Bologue has been reading the newspapers daily; besides disaster reports, there are many accounts of citizens claiming they’ve started having nightmares, like a collective hallucination, with similar reports mounting.
Many people say that at dusk, under dim lights, the darkness inside the Great Rift seems to co alive, with its dry black wrists attempting to clutch passing pedestrians. As you get closer, you can hear hoarse whispers and unknown spells, causing panic.
So even crazily believe that the Great Rift is not just a natural formation but a place of delirium and evil incarnate, attracting souls curious about its mysteries, where hidden treasures and secrets abound amid the terrifying atmosphere.
In this bizarre and frightening domain, those who survive stubbornly may find themselves drawn into the power of the Abyss, entering an inescapable realm of madness...
These statents, twisted by the Field Operations Departnt, are misinterpreted as hallucinations due to post-disaster collective fear, and their voices quickly fade.
But Bologue knows this is just maintaining a lie.
"As the Ether concentration continues to rise, such disasters will only increase... We cannot keep hiding the truth; one day, the mortal world and the Extraordinary World will overlap, rging together, just like the Ethereal Realm and the Material Realm’s overlap."
Bologue whispered, "It’s hard to imagine what kind of disaster and transformation this will usher in."
"But the engulfing chaos is foreseeable," Palr said, "In the chaos, we’ll do everything possible to establish a new order."
Palr paused and asked, "Bologue, do you know why we, the Extraordinary Clan, have always hidden behind the scenes?"
"Why?"
"Well... this counts as one of our dark histories. There is an enormous gap between the Condensers and mortals; so might say, to certain people, we are akin to deities."
Bologue silently agreed with Palr. Condensers of the First Stage and Second Stage don’t differ much from humans, but those beyond the Third Stage are an altogether different existence; Bologue even believes they have surpassed humanity and beco a kind of humanoid... Ether being.
"Thus, so sought to overthrow the Night Race to beco the new Night Race themselves," Palr said.
"I know this part of the story," Bologue had heard it, "It’s why all forces ca to a consensus."
"But as the line between mundane and extraordinary continually blurs, the consensus will beco aningless."
Suddenly Palr said, "Forget it, don’t focus on that, hurry and finish up these tasks; it’s not sothing for us to worry about."
Bologue nodded, continuing his reconnaissance of the Great Rift.
According to regulations, Bologue and colleagues should be on leave, but after the incident, the Field Operations Departnt suffered certain damages, leaving many field staff unable to work, so only a few can be dispatched.
Bologue had to temporarily end his vacation and return to work, but luckily, this period is considered overti, calculated at triple the salary rate each day.
However, Bologue no longer cares much about the salary.
The edge of the Great Rift crumbled piece by piece due to battles, with the collapse of buildings causing the Great Rift to expand slightly. Under the blazing sun, mold on the cliffs disappeared, yet weeds thrived.
Perhaps life is indeed this resilient.
"Let’s go, nothing unusual,"
Bologue gestured at Palr, and the two descended along the broken bridge, encountering nurous citizens en route. Despite the police line, curiosity drove people to the edge of the Great Rift, observing the terrifying scar.
Bologue paid little attention to them; after a month of investigation, he could preliminarily confirm the danger of the Great Rift has greatly reduced. The Fog Abyss Fortress has completely fallen, and the Wandering Crossroad collapsed under Xilin’s Command—a fierce, yet successful purge of the tumor by the Order Bureau.
Birds fly across the Great Rift; now the sole concern lies beneath the Rift in the Abandoned Land, yet Bologue believes the fourth group will manage it well.
"So Church is able to be discharged today?" Bologue suddenly asked.
"I heard the doctors say so."
Palr sighed, "They said due to Secret Energy backlash, Church lost much of his mory. I’m unsure if he rembers us."
"At least he’s alive, isn’t he?"
Palr forced a smile.
...
The man stood before the mirror, examining his reflection.
It was his first day out of the hospital... The man was fuzzy on why he’d been hospitalized, though the doctors ntioned his injuries caused so mory issues.
Trying to recall his past, he could only summon a series of fragnted, scattered stories.
He could rember his na.
Church Burton.
Though he could rember his past, the jumbled mories made it difficult to construct a coherent, orderly, logical life.
He felt both was and wasn’t Church, which troubled him, but fortunately, soone nad Ivan said this journal could help.
The man did not imdiately peruse the journal; despite the mory disarray, so things surpassed mory and engrained themselves directly into his instincts.
So professional instincts.
The man examined his room; from the decoration and layout, he indeed seed a monotonous, dull person generally, with almost no personal items, feeling stiflingly oppressive.
From the fragnted mories, his daily life seed truly boring, with the sole hobby being playing board gas with friends and buying flowers.
Buying flowers?
The man didn’t understand why he had such a hobby.
Soon, he found proof of his hobby in the corner of the room—a pot of alum root seed well cared for, indicating the man truly devoted effort to nurturing the plant.
Dimly rembered, he had this hobby related to a woman.
The man opened a drawer, revealing several thick diaries; with their appearance, many mories were triggered, stitching together fragnted mories, rendering many things complete and clear.
The man spent a prolonged period reading the diaries, piecing together mory fragnts, occupying much ti until a knock at the door sounded.
Church rose and opened the door.
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