"But can the Darkness God give us power?"
Someone asked cautiously.
"Of course." The Black Cloaked Man spoke in a sinister tone. "You only need to pray toward the shadows and dark places. No need for some fifty-thousand-gold-denar statue wonder."
The crowd did not understand the true meaning of "wonder," taking it merely for an unusual ornamental structure.
Hearing this, some of the bolder people immediately began to pray.
"Darkness God, please hear my call. Grant me power so I can escape this cold basement, live in a bright, spacious house, and have ten—no, a hundred beautiful maids serving me," someone said.
As soon as the first person spoke, the second immediately followed.
Most people were like this to begin with—easily swayed, easily converted.
"Me too."
"Me too."
The Black Cloaked Man smiled.
Just as he had expected, these fragile, low-intelligence, filthy lower lifeforms that reproduced and survived like worms could humble themselves into any shape in order to live on—the species nature had selected for the strongest adaptability!
After an unknown amount of time, someone suddenly said, "I have a new arm! And I'm stronger too! I feel like I could kill a cow and flip over a car."
Everyone turned to look and saw a frail, one-armed man.
He had only a left arm. No one found it strange, because missing arms or legs, lacking hands, or being blind was all too common.
Exhausting work, one moment of carelessness, and they would be dragged into unprotected machinery.
Yet now, from the empty place where his right arm had been, a new arm had grown—a pitch-black, greasy, slick limb covered in swollen blisters!
No, it could no longer be called an arm. It did not look human.
But what did it look like? Sorry, with these workers' limited knowledge,