The End
Chapter 723: Lies come true
They felt as if they had been swallowed into the belly of a monster made of human faces.
Countless faces stretched out in all directions, dense and innumerable.
Some were angry, some were ecstatic, some were sorrowful. Their eyes were tightly shut as they slept deeply.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Their heartbeats echoed frantically in their ears. The air seemed to solidify around them, making it impossible to breathe, impossible to think.
Those high and mighty onlookers, removed from the fray.
They viewed the streamers’ life-and-death struggles as mere child’s play; they consumed their suffering as nourishment.
Their goodwill, malice, fanaticism, joy, indifference; their insults, attacks, adoration, awe, and worship—all came from countless mouths and countless eyes—separated by an impenetrable screen, emanating from countless unknowable entities.
Resembling humans, yet not human.
Similar to ghosts, yet not ghosts.
Every streamer had fantasized about this moment at some point.
But when it finally arrived, their overwhelming feeling was one of…
Bewilderment.
The blazing light dimmed once more.
The faces were swallowed by the darkness.
The shocking scene faded away, disappearing beyond the edges of their vision. Yet, everyone remained rooted to the spot, staring blankly as if unable to recover their senses, completely motionless.
Until—
“I’ve changed my mind.”
A calm voice came from behind.
The statement came out of nowhere, startling everyone. They instinctively turned their heads toward the speaker.
It was Wen Jianyan.
“Before today, my idea was simple,” he said with a shrug, speaking unprompted as everyone watched him. “For all this time, I’ve worked so hard and done so much, just to sever Nightmare’s connection with our world and force it to leave.”
“But…”
In the darkness, the young man looked up. A faint, minuscule light reflected in his eyes, yet it captivated like a spark.
“Now, I’ve changed my mind.”
For some inexplicable reason, everyone’s hearts suddenly tightened.
“After all, don’t you think that just letting it leave…”
As he spoke these words, he wore an almost innocent expression.
“…is letting it off a bit too easy?”
He looked so harmless, yet his words made their hearts pound wildly in their chests.
Wait, could it be…
A premonition swelled from the depths of their hearts. Their scalding blood seemed to take on a life of its own, hammering against their blood vessels like a battle drum, causing their breathing to grow rapid.
“Can you do it?” Hugo couldn’t help but take a step forward, his eyes locked tightly on Wen Jianyan, pressing for an answer.
“I couldn’t before.”
Wen Jianyan said.
He lowered his eyes, his gaze falling to his feet.
Face after face pressed against each other, as moist and soft as flesh and blood.
The last time the cruise ship collapsed, although they could see them, they were just blurred phantoms that couldn’t be attacked. This time, after boarding the ship and passing through its interior, they could feel the soft texture beneath their feet, but they hadn’t been able to see the faces.
That was because, prior to this, although Nightmare’s power had long invaded this world, it had never truly “squeezed in” itself.
Until today, until now.
In order to remain even after the anchor point was burned down, it ultimately decided to completely and utterly enter this place.
It was too greedy.
Too unwilling to let go.
And so—it was no longer untouchable.
He raised his head, looked at the crowd before him, and gave a short laugh. “But now… maybe I can.”
Above the sea, a broken, irregularly shaped half-ship floated silently.
It wasn’t a real cruise ship, but a hodgepodge assembled from the walls, corridors, and rooms of the actual cruise ship’s positive-numbered floors. It was a counterfeit explicitly created by Nightmare to ambush and kill Pinocchio and his helpers.
However, with the true target’s departure, it had become a discarded pawn, tossed aside at will.
On their phone screens, the previously real-time updated location markers had vanished, no longer refreshing.
In their place were four glaring words: “Task Failed.”
Having lost their task objective, the streamers looked at each other in dismay.
“It failed? Yours too?”
“Yeah.”
“What next then? What do we do?”
No one knew.
Although the task showed as failed, Nightmare didn’t provide them with any further instructions, nor did it open the exit channel for them to leave the instance as usual.
They didn’t know that Nightmare’s attention had already shifted.
After Wen Jianyan escaped and the ambush plan failed, these streamers left on the fake cruise ship were naturally abandoned with ease. They had only been tools from the very beginning; naturally, they weren’t worth Nightmare wasting its energy on.
At this moment, Nightmare’s focus was entirely concentrated on the real cruise ship.
All its processing power was invested in Wen Jianyan, drawn by his actions and thoughts. Racking its brains, exhausting its schemes, deploying its forces, engaging in a battle of wits and courage—using every means possible, at all costs, just to stop his plan.
So, to these streamers who had participated in the ambush, it was simply…
A sudden, unprovoked loss of all communication with Nightmare.
Although everything still seemed to be running normally and the live broadcasts were still ongoing, all the calls, questions, and applications they sent to the system sank like stones in the ocean, receiving no response whatsoever.
Therefore, they could only wait aimlessly.
During this time, streamers belonging to different factions and forces also reached a tacit understanding. They occupied different areas, keeping distinct boundaries, minding their own business.
Among them, the Dark Fire Guild was the most unique.
Although only two members of their guild remained in this instance—far fewer than the remaining personnel of other forces—these two held the highest status rankings and possessed the strongest comprehensive strength, naturally making them the most feared by everyone else.
Originally, they thought this situation would continue until Nightmare came back online and ended the instance…
But things didn’t go as expected.
Almost without warning, the fragile peace was abruptly shattered.
Rumble!!
A roar like the collapse of the earth’s crust came from deep below, as if a giant invisible hand was frantically shaking the ship they were on. Under such intense vibrations, the crowd couldn’t stand steadily, stumbling and falling all over.
What’s going on?
What happened?
They looked around, exchanging bewildered glances, trying to find answers in each other’s faces, but saw only the same panic and confusion.
Suddenly, one of them exclaimed:
“Wait… Look out the window!”
Hearing this, everyone was startled and looked out the portholes.
The previously pitch-black view outside the window had lit up at some point—the entire world was shrouded in an ominous blood-red color. That eerie red light slowly seeped in through the portholes, crawling across the floor like some chilling, grotesque creature.
Seeing this, everyone involuntarily shuddered, feeling a chill shoot up from the soles of their feet.
Although they didn’t know what this red light was, the biological instincts honed in life-or-death situations were blaring alarm bells, as if warning them:
Danger… their situation is extremely dangerous!!!
Qi Qian stared fixedly at the porthole.
“Captain?” An Xin asked anxiously, not understanding. “What exactly is going on?”
“…” Still staring out the porthole, Qi Qian slowly shook his head, offering no answer.
He didn’t know.
The last time he contacted Pinocchio was when Yelin entered the instance. Since then, the man seemed to have vanished from this world, losing all communication. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t re-establish contact.
However, although he didn’t know what Pinocchio was doing or what he had encountered, one thing was clear:
Yelin was dead.
As a high-ranking member of the Dark Fire Guild, second only to the Guild Master in status, he received a notification the moment Yelin perished.
Since the other party was capable of killing Yelin, logically speaking, everything should be progressing smoothly.
But…
Looking at the blood-red light gradually spreading from the porthole into the cabin, Qi Qian felt the blood flowing in his veins freeze. An ominous premonition gripped him.
An Xin’s voice calling out to him echoed in his ear:
“Captain, Captain—”
Before he could finish speaking, Qi Qian, who had just been frozen stiff, suddenly moved. As if he sensed something, he abruptly lowered his head and opened his palm. An Xin was startled by his sudden action, swallowing the words he was about to say.
A folded paper crane appeared in Qi Qian’s open palm.
An Xin gave a start.
Wait, could it be…
He watched as Qi Qian placed the paper crane next to his ear and listened with bated breath.
An Xin also instinctively held his breath, his eyes fixed on Qi Qian, waiting.
One second, two seconds, three seconds… Time seemed to stretch agonizingly long in this moment.
Finally, under An Xin’s intense, almost tangible gaze, Qi Qian slowly raised his head.
“Is it…” Watching the changing expression on his captain’s face, An Xin felt his heart in his throat. He slowly took a deep breath, lowered his voice, and asked word by word, “A message from Pinocchio?”
“Yes.”
Qi Qian answered.
The blood-red light shone through the porthole, falling onto his shoulder.
Qi Qian looked up. Beneath his sharp, deeply etched brow bone, all hesitation vanished from his eyes, leaving only a glint of shocking determination.
He smiled:
“Let’s go. We have work to do.”
Meanwhile.
Deep within the hull of the real cruise ship.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Hugo looked steadily at Wen Jianyan, asking slowly.
“Hm?” The other man turned his head as if he hadn’t heard clearly.
Hugo repeated the question again in a solemn tone.
Wen Jianyan narrowed his eyes and chuckled softly. “Of course.”
“Besides this, do you have a better alternative?” he countered.
“…” Hugo had no answer.
Wen Jianyan turned to Su Cheng:
“Alright, it’s about time. Send me up.”
Su Cheng gave him a look and slowly nodded.
The ground beneath their feet rose, the wet, soft flesh writhing with it. Their vision once again plunged into prolonged darkness.
Finally, after an unknown amount of time, the darkness dissipated.
Wen Jianyan opened his eyes and found himself back at the very spot where he had first sunk down.
They were backstage at the auction.
Beyond the heavy red velvet curtains was the auction block, now thoroughly enveloped by “gazes.” The red light overhead had somehow grown thicker and more viscous than he remembered, as if it had turned into some semi-solid entity.
At some point, all the VIP boxes on the second floor had lit up.
A dim glow swayed behind the curtains, signifying that the esteemed guests had taken their seats.
“…”
Wen Jianyan closed his eyes and slowly took a deep breath.
After doing all this, he turned his head and looked beside him.
Wu Zhu stood by his side, his twilight-colored eyes lowered, gazing at him intently.
“Are you ready?”
Wen Jianyan held out his hand.
“…”
A flicker passed through Wu Zhu’s eyes. He grasped Wen Jianyan’s suspended wrist, his fingertips applying a deft force, pulling him forward.
Wen Jianyan seemed to have anticipated his reaction.
He didn’t struggle, simply leaning lazily into the other man’s embrace.
The young man looked up, a hint of a smile playing on his lips:
“What, wanting to give me a final kiss, darling?”
Wu Zhu leaned down, biting fiercely onto those detestable, smiling lips.
“—A final kiss?”
A fierce light burned in Wu Zhu’s eyes.
Their rapid, ragged breaths mingled together, inextricably intertwined.
“Not enough.”
“Then two?” He kissed back, his laughing voice slipping through their pressed lips, playfully haggling. “Three?”
“Not enough.”
The pressure on his lips grew heavier, as if trying to mash him into bone and blood, to swallow him whole.
“Not enough.”
“Oh my… so greedy?” Wen Jianyan turned his head, pushing the man away. “Then it looks like I’ll just have to owe you for now.”
With that, he turned to leave, but after taking only a single step, he seemed to change his mind.
Wen Jianyan turned back, pulling Wu Zhu close again. His sparkling eyes curved slightly as he dropped a light kiss onto the man’s lips.
“—I’ll pay you back later.”
As the world trembled and the sky turned blood-red, the counterfeit cruise ship also descended into turmoil.
The streamers inside were bewildered and lost. They didn’t understand how any of this was happening, much less what kind of situation they were currently trapped in. A massive, untraceable panic descended upon them. They darted about like headless flies, trying every possible method to alter their circumstances—exchanging items, using Talents, contacting Nightmare—but all their efforts were like clay oxen entering the sea; they vanished easily without causing a ripple.
No one expected Dark Fire to launch an attack at this very moment.
Without warning, without reason.
Like a long-dormant beast pouncing from a dark corner—the moment the prey realized the danger, its throat was already clamped between sharp teeth.
“Alright.”
An Xin still wore his frivolous, devil-may-care smile, but no one dared to underestimate him—a speck of golden light flashed at his fingertips, appearing incredibly sharp in the darkness, seemingly ready to unleash fatal power in the next second.
“Put your hands down.”
Opposite him, the streamers gritted their teeth. They looked at each other, and although still unwilling, they slowly lowered the hands that were preparing to activate items to counterattack.
“Dark Fire, what is the meaning of this?” One of them glared at them with hatred. “Taking advantage of the situation to rob us at a time like this… aren’t you afraid of retaliation once we leave here?”
Hearing this, Qi Qian stopped what he was doing, sneered, and looked up. “Are you serious?”
“…”
What did that mean?
The person who had just spoken was startled, but before he could figure it out, Qi Qian grabbed him by the throat and hauled him up. His strength was immense; his fingers clamped around the man’s throat like steel bands, making it impossible to break free.
In this manner, he was dragged and pulled, stumbling over to the porthole.
His face was pressed hard against the cold glass, his features distorting. A voice devoid of any warmth sounded in his ear: “—Open your damn eyes and look up.”
He struggled to lift his eyelids.
The moment he clearly saw outside the porthole, his breath was instantly snatched away. He stared fixedly at the sight above, a bone-deep terror seeping up from his feet, causing him to tremble almost uncontrollably.
The sky had somehow been dyed a pure blood-red.
Countless eyeballs, large and small, dotted the expanse. They rolled about, imbued with a chilling malice, watching and spying on everything below.
Even someone entirely ignorant of the situation could clearly smell it in the air—
The scent of the apocalypse.
“Do you think you can still make it back alive now?” Qi Qian’s voice came from beside his ear, cold and cruel, driving into his mind like a steel spike.
The next second, the hand pressing his head withdrew. With the only force supporting him gone, his legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor.
“What… what exactly is…” He heard himself ask in a weak voice.
The other man looked down at him condescendingly.
“When the nest overturns, no egg remains unbroken.”
As he spoke, Qi Qian leaned down, fished the phone out of the man’s pocket, and handed it to him.
The man was bewildered, but still slowly reached out and took it.
“If you still want to live to see tomorrow’s sun, you’d better be a good boy and listen—understand?”
The sky was a sheet of blood red.
Below, the cruise ship carrying countless corpses floated on the Dead Sea. In the center was a deep, circular depression like a gladiatorial arena.
In the center of those eyeballs—big and small, high and low—the circular high platform was reflected.
The auction to divide this world was about to begin.
Normally, the auction wouldn’t be held this quickly.
But this time was different.
They had expended too much time and energy on this world, but even after paying such a heavy price, they had almost come away empty-handed, nearly wasting their long-laid plans. Therefore, they had to resolve this quickly.
A thick drop of blood fell from the pupil of the highest, largest eyeball. It stretched into a line of blood in the air, and then—
Drip.
It splattered onto the auction block.
The moment it landed, that drop of blood began to twist and deform in a grotesque manner—
In the blink of an eye, it elongated into a humanoid shape. However, it had no face. Where its facial features should have been, there was only a bottomless hole.
This was the new auctioneer.
It turned its head, looking toward the quiet, coldly lit VIP boxes surrounding the auction block. From the hole in its head, it emitted a bizarre, indecipherable sound:
“■■■■■■, ■■■■■■■■■!”
The auction was about to begin.
Suddenly—
A cold commotion arose, like a silent uproar, sweeping through the curtained VIP boxes on the second floor.
“…”
The auctioneer presiding over the event seemed to freeze.
It turned its head, staring fixedly behind it.
A pale, slender hand reached out from behind the heavy curtain and gently lifted it. As the shadow covering it dissipated outward, the red light expanded backward as if alive, enveloping a lean figure.
A young man leisurely appeared there.
Just like that, he slowly walked forward from the back, his steps light and unhurried, utterly composed.
“—!!!”
Abruptly, the eyeballs in the sky contracted for a moment. Beams of sinister gazes locked onto the newcomer.
Countless “sights” focused downward.
Whether from the sky or from deep within the VIP boxes, the entire world’s attention poured down with it, almost forcefully and unavoidably locking onto the auction stage.
Such a terrifying, oppressive, and substantially dangerous massive gaze was entirely capable of crushing a normal human’s sanity and driving them to madness.
But at this moment, these countless malicious gazes seemed to have no effect on him.
“Zzz… Zzz… Zzzt!“
In an instant, a piercing sound of static tore through the Live Broadcast Square.
“Live broadcast… Zzz… Signal—Zzz… Recovering!!!”
A live stream channel that had not begun broadcasting for a very long time appeared in the square without warning, capturing the attention of all the viewers almost instantaneously.
The [Above Faith] Live Stream Channel was now open.
Before today, the signal of this live stream had always been blocked by some unknown entity. Like an omnipresent guardian deity, it had firmly sheltered Wen Jianyan beneath its wings, preventing him from being observed by Nightmare and stopping the live stream from opening.
However, from this moment on, that power abruptly vanished.
It was as if…
It had actively placed him back under the lens.
Staring at the familiar yet foreign name of the live stream, all the viewers were stunned, as if unable to believe their own eyes.
“Holy shit, wait, what’s going on?”
“Pinocchio is live?”
“Huh? What did you say? Pinocchio is live????”
“Ahhhhhhhhhh—”
In an instant, the news spread from one to ten, from ten to a hundred, sweeping through the viewers like a gale. The number of people online in the [Above Faith] live stream began to climb madly in an unimaginable manner, almost forming a straight vertical line.
“??!!!”
Seeming to realize something, the countless eyeballs above abruptly contracted.
It tried to cut off the signal, but to its surprise, it failed—
Just as it had previously been entirely unable to restore Wen Jianyan’s live stream signal from under Wu Zhu’s protection, this time, it found itself entirely unable to cut the signal off.
Wu Zhu’s soul had been divided, acting as fuel to power various instances. Nightmare acted like a parasite, draining His power, taking it for granted that the local god would be the source of its operation. As long as Nightmare didn’t disappear, Wu Zhu could never fully recover, forever remaining that false god stripped of everything. However, forces are often mutual. In the process of being utilized and burned, Wu Zhu’s power had conversely invaded deeply into the system.
As it “squeezed into this world,” the two fused ever more tightly, becoming almost indistinguishable.
When He ceased His struggles and resistance, and for the first time actively began to “help” Nightmare, supplying power outward and maintaining a high-frequency output…
Nightmare was powerless to stop it.
“Zzz… Zzzt!“
Qi Qian lowered his head, looking at the flashing gibberish on his phone screen. Amidst the repeatedly popping up prompt: “Unknown signal interference, forcefully close live broadcast?”, he calmly selected “No.”
And so—
One after another.
Screen after screen.
Live stream after live stream.
Like dominoes, all the screens lit up one by one. Every live stream channel operated simultaneously, but the person appearing on the screen was only one.
“Wait, what’s going on?”
“I didn’t enter Pinocchio’s live stream, did I? Why is he on my screen…”
The human in the center of the high platform looked up, staring straight at the sky above.
The blood-red light kissed his face from above, illuminating his exceptionally outstanding features.
Light, luminous eyes, and lips naturally curved in an affectionate smile.
He seemed born to be under the spotlight, possessing an innate ability to draw everyone’s attention. As long as he was there, all surrounding gazes would irresistibly fall upon him, like planets naturally orbiting a star, unable to scatter or escape, pulled by gravity.
Wen Jianyan gave a light chuckle:
“Good evening.”
“—My dearest viewers.”
“I’ve had a great time with everyone lately. Thank you for your continued affection. If it weren’t for the rewards and support you exchanged with your points, I probably would have died in some obscure corner a long time ago—”
Bathed in the blood-like light, his slender body stretched out, appearing so unhurried and composed.
His tone was light and smiling, as if he were truly just thanking the viewers who supported him.
He raised his eyes, his tone suddenly shifting:
“So, to thank everyone, in this, my final live broadcast, I’ve decided to give you all a precious gift.”
Like performing a magic trick, Wen Jianyan’s pale fingers deftly flipped, and a bright red apple, seemingly congealed from blood, appeared in his palm.
His voice was very soft, like a gentle murmur, his eyes serene.
“I will gift you—”
“‘The Truth’.”
“—???!!!”
In the sky, countless eyeballs rolled frantically, their pupils shrinking to the size of pinpricks.
Until this moment, Nightmare finally seemed to realize his true intention.
No matter how rule-breaking Wen Jianyan’s Talent was, its duration was fixed. Once the time passed, it would dissipate. Therefore, even if he wished for “everything to return to its original state” or “Nightmare never arrived,” and even if it truly came to pass, it would once again become a lie after the Talent’s duration expired, and everything would revert to how it was.
However…
No matter how powerful Nightmare was, one thing was predestined:
It was a creation whose core rule of existence was the concept of “observation.”
Once the subject of observation perished, it would also lose its reason for existence.
This was why the audience had to exist, why the live streams had to exist—even previously on the cruise ship, when the dagger caused a portion of the audience to enter a rare state of wakefulness, even if only for a brief few seconds, it caused the entire system to shut down.
What if… the ones awakened were all the viewers?
And what if the duration far exceeded a few seconds?
This seemingly harmless lie was enough to shake the very foundation of its existence.
The world began to tremble violently!!
No, no, no, no, no—
Absolutely not, absolutely not, absolutely not, NEVER!!!!
Nightmare began to use even more frantic methods to stop the live broadcast.
But what awaited it was still failure.
In the massive Live Broadcast Square, countless screens were densely arranged. In the center of every single screen was the same picture.
Under the gaze of millions, the young man bathed in the blood-red light, a light smile on his lips.
[Apple of Lies Used]
[Apple of Lies Used]
…
[Apple of Lies Used]
One by one.
One after another.
The Talent that he had once treated so cautiously, never using it lightly.
At this moment, he picked and activated them without batting an eye.
The success rate grew from a minuscule, almost zero starting point. As the Apples of Lies were used rapidly, it flashed and changed wildly.
On the train, with Hugo’s help, he had grasped the “method” to maximize the success of his Talent.
Quantitative change leads to qualitative change, forcibly influencing the probability of an event occurring.
Finally.
[Chance] became [Inevitability].
Frantic shrieking echoed in Wen Jianyan’s ears.
It was the voice of Nightmare—threatening, warning, compromising, negotiating—countless voices overlapping, like thousands of people and thousands of mouths speaking at once, doing their utmost to pour their voices into his ears, trying at all costs to interfere with his will and stop his actions.
Resurrection of the dead.
Wealth.
Power.
Every wish granted.
He paused in his actions, seeming finally tempted as he tilted his head up. His eyes struggled with hesitation as he murmured, “Really?”
“Anything at all?”
Of course! Of course!
As long as Wen Jianyan nodded, everything he wanted, everything he desired, would be granted in full.
No one could resist such temptation. No one could remain unshaken.
“………”
Wen Jianyan tilted his head up, gazing at the countless eyeballs in the sky, as if looking through countless cameras to lock eyes with the “entity” behind them—they were perpetrators, but also victims; accomplices, but also sacrifices.
Involuntarily trapped deep within this endless nightmare, until even their last bit of value was exhausted, they would be discarded like trash.
The next second, the young man’s eyes curved, and he gave a wicked smile:
“Just kidding.”
He opened his fingers.
The blood-red fruit fell from his fingertips.
Time seemed to freeze in a single second.
For a moment, the entire world seemed to wait with bated breath, holding its breath in near-reverence—
A lie.
Becomes truth.
