Famine 244: Descent

Across the sky of everlasting night, a rift began to split the heavens.

The world remained utterly dark, the air still cold enough to chill to the bone. Only the surging golden light, like some kind of bug in existence itself, shimmered through inch by inch.

The horizon was on the verge of dissolution. Heaven and earth split apart, ready to receive their true Master.

And then, when that golden brilliance flooded the earth, the being no mortal could look upon—resplendent and golden—finally appeared at the far edge of the sky.

How great was it, exactly?

Several hectares? Tens of millions of meters? Or like the sun, simply unmeasurable?

No one knew.

Even as it appeared, openly and grandly, before every eye, none could say what form the [Chief God] truly took.

It was like a deity, like a being from beyond, or perhaps like a law of the universe, or even light itself.

The light was dazzling beyond measure, like a mass of sunfire, or like flowing golden threads, trailing from the torn sky and trickling into the dim world below. Just a glance would sting the eyes with pain—look longer, and you’d be blinded by the agony.

It was light, yet it brought not a trace of comfort, nor the faintest warmth. Its mere presence at the edge of the sky made every soul shudder, an oppressively compacted energy about to burst, filling every living thing with nausea, trembling, and the need to drop in fear.

It was the primal response of small creatures before a greater power.

Only one thing was certain.

It was flowing.

The vast, indescribable golden light was stretching slowly from beyond the firmament.

It had no features, seemingly no limbs—only radiance, nearly material in its presence.

Were those tendrils, or liquid?

No one knew.

All anyone could know was this:

This moment, the [Chief God]—had descended to the world.

Its limbs drifted and spread toward the earth, and as it expected, there was nothing left here.

The shadows of [Open Selection] drifted and evaporated, leaving only scorched soil and ash. Range after range of bleak mountains, utterly barren—nothing remained but death, as if ordained.

Except for one.

Nidhoog sat half-kneeling atop a mountain peak.

Mountains ringed around him, and he, highest of all, leaned against the treetops, dragon wings lowered, his head upturned, those golden-red vertical pupils fixed on the blaze of gold above.

In the presence of such light, even a dragon’s pupils seemed laughably fragile. The glare inflicted unspeakable agony on his eyes, irises tearing and boiling, blistering blood mixing with tears, streaming down his face.

But Nidhoog did not flinch, not even to turn his gaze aside.
He stared upward, almost fanatically, refusing to blink, eyes full of blood, at the [Chief God] descending from the sky.

For a long moment, he said, “So this is what you are.”

His voice was suppressed, hoarse and flat.

For indeed, the being meant to dominate this world, even overlooked by the [Chosen Ones Ranking]—the rightful first candidate—was [Nidhoog].

He had been an experiment cast into this world by the Furnace Project, a biological reject who could satisfy no one’s expectations no matter how he struggled, neither dead nor truly alive, a transnational fugitive—and yet also a savior who ferried a child back to the human world, a “dragon” coiled atop the farm’s attic.

On countless nights of collapse and hysteria, sleepless nights, Nidhoog had knelt at his bedside, gripping his heart in agony.

Alone in the wild, fingers sinking into his bleeding, wheat-colored flesh, he had demanded of the Game, again and again, to no reply—

Why was I made here? Why was I given the power to die and revive, over and over? Why is it I cannot truly die?

Why?

No one could answer. The Famine Game spun on, silently soothing his slowly healing wounds.

In time, Nidhoog ceased to resent. Later still, he lost even the will to die. But that question was carved in the marrow of his bones, every stroke red and raw, never to be forgotten.

Why?

But now, Nidhoog understood.

Before he could speak to his child one more time, through years of stifling pain, love and hate, loss and longing—all for one reason.

Because, here and now, this mass of golden light needed to appear.
The [Chief God] required, at this very moment, a [Victor]—with no power to resist.

Nidhoog slowly raised his hand, and the crimson greatsword instantly materialized in his grasp. Lava, mixed with blood and tears, dripped onto the scorched earth.

He stared up with all his might, Adam’s apple bobbing; with a sudden flare, his dragon wings unfurled, eclipsing the sky.

A driving gale rose, flames licking in its furious wake; Nidhoog’s figure soared toward the god, pouring out every shred of his strength into a single cleaving stroke—

Boom!

Into the heavens, the sword stabbed into the golden mass of the [Chief God].

It was Nidhoog’s ultimate strike. A blow faster than sound, so swift not even an afterimage remained to human sight, and even his own body unraveled, pushed beyond all limits.

If there were spectators, they would have seen that this was as close to perfect as Nidhoog’s blade could be. Years of training, every instinct, every gift, displayed here—the evil dragon shaped by fate, the hunger of the world itself, the undisputed champion of the game…

Yet,

The flowing [Chief God] was unmoved.

It—the colossus—lowered its head, the golden mass trailing down beside Nidhoog, as if in greeting.

Whoosh…

That devastating column of flame was subsumed without trace. In the blink of an eye, it was gone.

“…”

Nidhoog’s hand shook.

Blood streamed from his cheeks and jaw, turned to steaming, bloody mist by lava. Skin split at the knuckles and tendons, torn and healing, over and over. Supporting himself on his greatsword, unable to stand straight, he dropped to one knee, heaving for breath, head bowed.

“It can’t be won,” he murmured—his voice so ragged no joy or sorrow could be heard.

The [Chief God] extended a limb. Gentle golden light drifted toward him, caressing.

Its movement seemed slow, but in truth it was instantaneous—there was no escape.

Silently, tenderly, as if almost merciful.

You must live, until now, and then…
Now you may die.

Nidhoog’s lips curved just slightly.

BOOM!!!

Without warning, a thunderous explosion ripped the mountains apart.

One after another, mountains erupted.

Beneath the thin surface soil, all these ridges were not stone, but pile after pile of explosives, stacked one upon another.

The entire world at the [Chief God]’s side erupted at once—detonators and blasts gathered by mortals across countless worlds, with exquisite precision, now exploding in perfect concert, making it seem as if the world itself was ablaze.

The golden mass, or, [Chief God], was suddenly rocked by the shockwave, lurching violently, as if a vast luminous slime had just had a hole blasted through it.

There was no chance to react; countless tendrils were left behind among the peaks, lost to the swirling devastation.

…

“Coordinates confirmed, primary charge detonated successfully.” A young man pressed an earpiece and spoke into the wind. “Nice work, Mr. Shi.”

On the ground, Shi He nodded and said, “Thank you. Master Tang.”

“Xiao Tangsi.”

In the subterranean facility, the young man smiled. He wore glasses, pale and scholarly, lab coat fluttering as the shockwaves slipped through spy cameras behind him.

It was Tang Qinghuai.

This was the command center for the underground facilities, the closest rear area to the battlefield. There were cameras—some technological, some magical—pointed at the front lines, providing feeds both large and small, blanketing the entire wall in imagery from every angle, capturing the breathtaking scope of the battle.

Now, the cramped control center was packed full—behind them stood table after table covered in portable computers and abacuses for quick calculations.

Li Zewen stood at his side, earpiece pressed to his ear. He said, “The dragon reports: demolition was a success, a portion of the god’s limbs have vanished. We should proceed: move to the next phase.”

“Oh!” The room erupted in cheers and celebration, fists raised all around.

A kilometer away, Shi He’s voice came through the comms, cradling his sniper rifle: “Awaiting further instructions.”

“All right, Mr. Shi, at your three and nine o’clock are Detonation Zones Four and Five. When Four detonates, it will set off Zone Three as well, preferable for priority guidance. We’ll be adjusting Zone Three’s blast yield—let’s have the dragon check: can we group enough power there for a superdetonation…”

Tang Qinghuai, still in glasses and a lab coat dusted with otherworldly gunpowder, stood ramrod straight, his gaze keen and calm behind the glass. With each push of his glasses, he issued sharp orders, each one clear and precise.

Two years ago, on the Ferryman of Bones, two young explosives makers had been rail-thin and dizzy from hunger, stumbling between tents, hoping for something to eat.

Now, they were no longer helpless or frail.

Tang Qinghuai waved his hand, marking a few locations; Li Tingkai, in charge of city planning, instantly placed markers on the command map, indicating which zones had just detonated.

The entire demolition team revolved around him.

Tang Qinghuai was a genius since childhood, with a peerless gift for such things.

No longer did he need to kneel on the floor, pale with hunger, looking up, trembling, to say, “Senior brother, I’m so hungry.”

The proud spirit of his youth seemed to shine from him again, but it wasn’t quite the same. Years of grinding had burned away all the arrogance of a young lord; behind the lenses, only a gaze tempered by hardship remained—steady, yet unyielding, never without resolve.

He had once dared stand up and argue with Gu Haoping; now, he dared stand here, blueprint in hand, facing the [Chief God] with his demolition plan.

The farm, Li Shize thought, was a place that could nurture people.

Behind them stood countless scholars, researchers, and engineers…

Once overlooked like weeds, the service players now gathered here, seated at their tables. Pens scratched formulas on paper, calculators flickered with numbers—calculations run again and again, debated, simulated, corrected on the fly.

The assistant stood arms folded, resting against the wall, eyes closed in thought. People offered him deference and respect, murmuring as they passed. He would nod, smile, flash a quick “OK” gesture.

Everyone’s work, their calculations, would be implemented with the help of his vine networks, let him adjust the explosives with fine, micro-scale precision—for ever greater effect.

After a brief outburst, the room fell again into sharp, focused quiet, punctuated only by quick undertones and Tang Qinghuai’s constant, brisk commands.

They had all known hunger. Each held a fire inside, still burning silent in their chest.

Nidhoog guided the [Chief God]’s movements; Shi He detonated points from afar with his rifle; here, they made the explosives and buried them for all.

They gave direction to Shi He and Nidhoog at the front.

In the craftsman’s workshop further off, Wu Jing and the other artisans hammered out the final batch of weapons and adornment; Li Cui’e and Zhong Manwen moved through the crowds, coordinating logistics; in the kitchens, Li Xuan spun his giant ladle, serving the last rounds of soup and rations to those yet to fight…

It was here, in the ultimate battle of [The Chief God’s Descent], that these unsung teams fired the first shot.

They would seek justice for every pain they’d endured—in their own way.

……

In the open air, between flames, the golden light of the [Chief God] quickly closed the blasted gap.

But it was plainly perplexed now.

It had no understanding of where these attacks had come from. The turn of events was wholly outside its calculations. The god stretched out its awareness, golden light seeking further, deeper, but gleaning nothing.

It had lost its eyes.

But the challenge continued.

It had to, must, follow Nidhoog’s lead.

Only by quickly destroying Nidhoog, could it end this charade.

Countless threads of gold split and twisted, and in an instant, a vast net covered the sky above.

Boom! Boom! Boom!!!

Another chorus of exploding charges, chains of fire triggering cascade after cascade.

Each time Shi He fired, he changed his position, gaze locked on the burning form of Nidhoog. At his brother’s side, his rifle drew out fireworks of flame all across the long night.

“Well done! That’s my kid!”

Nidhoog burst into roaring laughter through the flames.

Truth be told, now was hardly a moment for banter. The god’s movements, though slow, were lethal—each murderous outburst left little time to react. Every second was fraught with danger.

Yet Nidhoog felt no fear. Dragon wings billowed to their limit, sinuous and strong, he wove among the blasts like a dance, at once battle and ballet.

His voice was seared hoarse by flame, ragged and wild, yet exultant and bloody joyous.

“Hahaha… You know? I really hated you. Hated you so much, wished I could strip off your skin, rip out your nerves; everything about you made me hate until I bled, hate until madness. Every moment I wanted to burn myself up along with you, turn to ashes together. I wouldn’t submit to you, never. Even if all I could do was take an eye, or just draw a drop of blood… I would make you regret.”

“Almost as if, my whole life existed just for this.”

“…”

“But now, old man, that feeling is gone.”

Nidhoog pressed at his ringing, healing ear, blood flowing from every orifice—yet he grinned wickedly in the inferno.

His sharp teeth clicked.

“Because this life you started… I’ll spend it in the right place.”

“Whether I can defeat you means nothing. My kids, my comrades… They will be your undertakers. That’s enough.”

“I’m done chasing your shadow.”

【……】 @Infinite stories, all on Jinjiang Literature City

The [Chief God] gave no reply.

Sometimes like a solid, sometimes like a liquid, sometimes pure light—its essence unstable, at times harmless to behold, at times enough to blind even Nidhoog.

It was only present—already deadly.

Yet it seemed troubled, at a loss, oddly unstable with each new explosion, pulled apart and recoalescing again and again.

A hidden, bewildered pulse rippled through the air.

Not words, not images, not sound—but a pure signal, abrupt and invasive, punched into every mind nearby, making consciousness ring, nearly causing the less resolute to faint.
@Infinite stories, all on Jinjiang Literature City

Only now did the players realize—the system’s existence was a kindness.

The true [Chief God] communicated by means far beyond language, without any vessel at all; everyone understood the meaning behind its message—

【？】

It was a question mark. Bewildered.

It did not understand.

These successive, massive explosions—though unable to truly harm the [Chief God], had undeniably wounded it. The pain stabbed in unexpectedly, as if out of nowhere, in what ought to have been a foregone conclusion; and out of pain, it sent that baffled intent.

A sudden, unexplainable premonition of hell. @Infinite stories, all on Jinjiang Literature City
It did not even know what it meant—only that it had come.

A sense of unease crept over it, but there was nothing it could do.

In that instant, the hitherto-invincible [Chief God] felt exactly as people had, nine years ago, when they’d lifted their heads to realize they’d been trapped in the Famine Game—lost, at a loss.

Wummm!

At last, every disguised mountain became nothing but scorched earth. The fields nearby were a waste of blackened ruin.

Nidhoog and Shi He were gone, leaving only faint traces of phase fluctuation.

A blood moon rose, slow and heavy, from the edge of the endless night.

Suffused with crimson, dust began to climb at the horizon.

One, two, five, a hundred, ten thousand, tens of thousands…
Countless players, who should by rights have died like insects.

Like bugs, like dust, they surged forward.

At their head was [the Grinning Reaper] Nie Du, in his black cloak. On his shoulder, a raven perched, head bowed.

As always, he stood at the very front of the masses, suddenly flinging a hand upward; the blood moon soared, locking itself next to the [Chief God]’s glowing form.

The reaper’s blood moon shone bright as day.

Like Nidhoog, these players, led by Nie Du, were unaffected by the god’s bloodline suppression. Instead, the moon’s warm red glow diluted that sinister gold, letting all those behind slowly lift their heads, looking straight at the [Chief God].

Tens of thousands of eyes, faces set in somber resolve, burning with an unprecedented will to kill.

……

Si Zhiyan neither went to the very front, nor did he shrink away behind the lines of the service players’ command room. He stood at the heart of the crowd, coat unobtrusive, blending into the mass, head rising with all those around him.

He looked exactly like one more ordinary player.

And in that moment, the love, hate, tears, and pain borne in their hearts for nearly ten years swirled around him, enfolding him completely.

He was no different from any of them.

They supported the station where he stood, and, lifting his head, he pressed the comm button, voice crisp and steady as a tuning fork, resonating in every heart.

“As you can see—this is the [Chief God].”

“Its tendrils are wounded by the detonations. Its soul is questioning why, exactly as you did nine years ago. It was never truly invincible.”

“And now, it’s right in front of you.”

Facing the blazing light, Si Zhiyan pronounced, one deliberate word at a time:

“For these nine years—for every hunger suffered, every drop of blood spilled; for all the companions and loved ones bound and then, at the end, turned on each other over a single potato; for each person who died in this game—every word left unsaid…”

“Go forth. Enjoy your vengeance!”