A Dangerous Painting

Owen ultimately couldn't bring himself to bite himself again; he was afraid of the pain, and he felt that the way Cyril was looking at him was already becoming dangerous.

Cyril noticed Owen's strange behavior and was debating whether or not to leave this place.

A moment later, he reached out and pulled Owen out of the dining room, heading toward the stairwell.

His desire to investigate the gaze that had been spying on him from the shadows outweighed his vigilance against the unknown and the danger, so he didn't intend to leave just yet.

Since his spiritual intuition hadn't given him any warnings of danger, it meant the threat here was within his ability to handle—at the very least, the abilities of an Apprentice would allow him to escape.

As they climbed to the second floor, the air grew thick with the pungent scent of essential oils, accompanied by the moans of both men and women drifting from various rooms, as if everyone on the entire second floor was engaged in some unspeakable activity.

Behind him, Owen pulled at his collar with an embarrassed expression: "Let's just go straight to the third floor."

Cyril nodded immediately; he had no particular hobby of peeping and didn't want to see the eyesore scenes inside those rooms.

At the corner of the stairs, after the two figures disappeared, the moaning from the rooms suddenly became high-pitched, as if the occupants had inexhaustible energy, extremely agitated and desperate to vent.

But soon, the sound weakened, turning into intermittent gasps, followed by the sound of throats rasping against the air, until finally, there was no sound at all.

On the third floor, Cyril suddenly stopped and looked back; he felt as if he had just crossed some kind of boundary.

"What's wrong?" Owen, who was walking in front, turned back to look at him.

He didn't answer, instead frowning in quiet contemplation, then reached out to press against the air in front of him, trying to touch the sensation that had just flashed by.

The next second, a deep blue radiance rippled from his palm, forming an illusory, colorless door in mid-air.

On the other side of the "door" stood another Cyril; they each extended a hand, pressing them together through the "door" as if they were reflections.

"A mirror space, and it's also infused with the power of the mind domain?"

"This is definitely not an ability from any of the known 22 Beyonder pathways!"

Muttering to himself, he stepped directly through the "door," his figure merging with the Cyril outside the "door."

In the dimly lit dining room where only the fireplace flames flickered, Cyril stood blankly in front of the long dining table, layers of illusory doors constantly emerging and overlapping in his eyes.

The next second, the illusory doors in his eyes vanished, his pupils constricted sharply, and he gasped as if suddenly waking from a dream, his chest heaving violently as he stepped back, watching the dining table ahead with vigilance.

There was no exquisite or luxurious dinner on the table, only a tablecloth painted with a bizarre oil painting, looking like a work smeared randomly with a mixture of grease and flesh, carrying a faint scent of blood and burnt rot.

The rich colors, dominated by dark red, overlapped and twisted, outlining one hideous, brazen face after another. They seemed to be watching everyone outside the painting, silently cursing them; just looking at it made one feel physically ill.

"A world within a painting..."

Cyril subconsciously whispered, and relevant knowledge began to appear in his mind spontaneously, as if it had belonged to him all along.

The sudden influx of knowledge was significant; although it didn't induce a loss of control like the knowledge of the Hidden Sage, the sheer volume of information crowding his mind still made him feel quite uncomfortable.

To alleviate the dizziness in his head, Cyril had to close his eyes and organize the newly acquired knowledge.

After a long while, he opened his eyes again, looked at the tablecloth spread out on the long table, and let out a long breath:

"Totems and paintings, the power of the fantasy and dimension domains—this is definitely not something from this planet."

"It's also infused with the power of desire and some peculiar domain; they were layered on top, which is why I didn't notice the problem at first and was sucked into the world within the painting while my spiritual intuition remained silent."

"This seems to be a trap specifically targeting me."

He suddenly looked up, as if gazing through the ceiling at the starry sky above.

A trap from beyond the planet, specifically targeting him—it could only be the handiwork of the High-Dimensional Overseer.

"Even though the Seven Deities and the barrier are still there, they can still infiltrate a small amount of power? And they can place it so precisely near me..."

He suddenly fell silent; with his inherent high status, perhaps precision wasn't necessary. Power originating from the High-Dimensional Overseer would inevitably appear near him, sooner or later.

There might also be other factors at play, such as the special, incomprehensible power on the tablecloth painting; it might belong to fate, pushing him toward contact with the Blood Axe Gang, guiding him to find this place and step into the trap.

The only unexpected variable was that he had already consumed the Apprentice potion before coming here; the abilities of the Door pathway combined with his own uniqueness gave him the ability to autonomously escape the world within the painting.

Should he leave immediately and report this to the Church, or stay to explore and find a way to take this tablecloth imbued with the power of the High-Dimensional Overseer?

Take a gamble; the bigger the waves, the more expensive the fish. If all else fails, he could just call Adam.

While he was thinking, the night outside the house suddenly grew thick and silent, as if covered by an invisible, heavy black curtain.

Higher up, in the silent night sky, a lonely star hanging on the horizon suddenly erupted with clear, bright light; it was expanding, falling...

Then, it suddenly stopped, as if it had lost its target, flickered blankly a few times, and then shrank back to its original place.

Outside the house covered by the heavy night, under the gas streetlamp where Cyril had previously stood, Adam, dressed in a simple white robe, stood quietly, as if He had been there all along.

He withdrew His gaze from the night sky, turned His head to look at the shadows on the other side of the street, and said in an unhurried tone:

"It seems we have all underestimated the Outer Deities' corruption of this world. Even though the barrier left by the Original Creator has not yet vanished, they can still relatively easily send in power at the level of low sequences."

"In a few more years, perhaps power at the level of mid-sequences will also be able to be sent in with relative ease."

Where His gaze rested, the figure of a young woman with black hair manifested from nothingness.

She was beautiful in appearance, but there was no expression on her face; her black eyes were dark and deep, yet lacked spirituality.

She looked at Adam calmly, her tone devoid of ripples: "You think highly of him?"

Adam said with His consistent, gentle smile: "When the apocalypse arrives, he can at least help us hold back one Great Old One."

"If he is lucky enough and grows fast enough, perhaps he can add one more Great Old One to our side and reduce the number of Great Old Ones outside by one."

The beautiful lady shrouded in darkness made no comment, only saying indifferently: "The only thing that can contend with a Great Old One is another Great Old One."

Adam looked at her with an unchanging expression: "Therefore, we need a Lord of the Mysteries, or a God. There is not much time left; we must make choices and trade-offs."

Within the darkness, a flash of complexity crossed the eyes of the beautiful lady, which lacked any spirituality:

"The deities of the Astral World cannot be missing too many, otherwise the apocalypse will arrive even faster, unless there are new gods who can maintain excellent control over their own states."

Adam remained silent for two seconds. He was contemplating whether her words were asking when he intended to become a god, whether he intended to push forward a few new Sequence 0s, or perhaps both.

After a brief silence, he spoke leisurely: "Within two years."

He did not specify whether he meant he would become a god within two years or introduce a new Sequence 0 within two years.

After a slight pause, he continued: "I hope you can help me kill Aucuses and Cheek."

As soon as the words fell, bright sunlight and gray-white stone seemed to appear in the surrounding darkness, but they did not spread; they were swallowed by the darkness the moment they emerged.

Everything was covered in concealment, and no information or mystical sensing could leak out.

In the darkness, a layer of a phantom, star-studded skirt appeared on the beautiful lady, and those eyes lacking spirituality gained a touch of human-like contemplation and doubt.

She, no, it should be He, watched Adam in silence, waiting for his subsequent words.

"They are both related to the Original Creator. I am not clear to what extent the Original's will has revived within them, but to control the Chaos Sea, one must first deal with them."

"If one wants to make a Sequence 0 fall at the lowest cost, concealment is the most suitable and important ally."