Chapter 144: Sweet, Warm, Beating Heart
Chapter 144: Sweet, Warm, Beating Heart
Chapter 144: The Sweet, Warm, Pulsing Heart
In the gallery echoing with soothing classical music, the scent of fresh flowers mingled with perfume to create a delicate fragrance.
The visitors all maintained silence as they moved forward along the soft red carpet, stopping occasionally to admire the exhibited paintings, murmuring words of admiration.
Among the diverse crowd, a red-haired woman stood out starkly.
Dressed in an ornate Western-style vintage gown, her elbows and knuckles bore wooden doll-like joints, while her face was marred by large, charred web-like cracks, giving her an eerie yet beautiful appearance—as if she had stepped out of an oil painting.
Yet, no one cast so much as a glance at these obvious oddities.
Every gaze slid past Elius as though she were invisible; the crowd flowed around her like a stream parting around a pebble, naturally diverting their paths.
Thus isolated from the ordinary visitors, Elius slowly unfolded the letter in her hand, reading it over and over to kill time, her eyes lingering each time on the signature—
"Sincerely, Longinus."
He was the very person she had been waiting for today.
After an unsure length of time, ripples suddenly spread across the surface of an oil painting, like a ghostly curtain slowly parting before Elius.
From the center of the ripples emerged first a forearm, then an arm, a shoulder, a neck…
Finally, a man wearing a smiling mask leaned out from the painting as if performing a magic trick, tipping his hat courteously to Elius.
"My apologies for keeping you waiting, esteemed lady."
The Smiling Man's voice rose and fell with theatrical cadence, more akin to a musical performance than casual conversation. In the ensuing quiet seconds, he observed the ancient being before him with cautious curiosity before continuing:
"To be honest, we are both honored… and somewhat perplexed that you accepted our invitation and joined us."
"After all, compared to the span of your existence, our organization is but a child brandishing toy swords—far too brief and insignificant."
Faced with this probing, Elius replied calmly, "The first lesson I learned upon my revival was never to underestimate anything new. The young prophet who damaged my body was proof of that, as was the true victor behind him."
"Moreover… the Lord of Fate's forces are hunting me down with all their might. I, too, need allies—companions and friends to stand by my side."
The Smiling Man cheerfully tossed his hat playfully and caught it, accepting Elius's reasoning with over-the-top enthusiasm. "Time will prove to you—what a wise choice it was to ally with us!"
Elius nodded. "I look forward to it."
On the small, unmarred portion of her face, her lips curved into a deeper smile, as if she genuinely anticipated collaborating with Longinus.
The Smiling Man extended his arm gallantly, inviting Elius to take hold of it, then guided her through the world within the paintings.
Along the way, Elius observed her surroundings with keen interest. Though she often traversed mirrors, the experience was entirely different from traveling through paintings.
Moving between anchor points formed by countless oil paintings, swirls of vivid and soft colors flowed past her like pigments dissolving in water, rapidly spreading in wild, unrestrained patterns.
These colors formed one bizarre, dreamlike painted world after another.
At times, they strolled across a tranquil pond of fragrant water lilies; at others, they wandered into a snow-covered landscape of pure white. After immersing themselves in nearly a hundred paintings, Elius finally stepped onto solid ground—a corridor forged from an unknown metal.
"This is one of our organization's key bases, codenamed 'Eternal Canvas.'"
The sleek metallic hallway was lined with countless paintings of varying sizes. Elius watched as figures emerged hurriedly from some and vanished into others, appearing exceptionally busy.
"Pardon their rudeness," the Smiling Man explained. "'Eternal Canvas' serves as the organization's transit hub. Countless intricate pathways branch out from here, leading to various worlds. Most of the comrades here are preoccupied with urgent matters, hence their neglect in welcoming you."
Elius nodded graciously, signaling her understanding.
How could she not be gracious? She was utterly delighted!
In her expectations, Longinus's initial contact would never reveal core members or forces. The organization's secrets would likely remain concealed until much later.
To witness Longinus's transportation hub firsthand and gain insight into this peculiar painting-based teleportation method was an unexpected boon.
Upon reflection, perhaps it was because both Elius and the Lord of Fate had openly declared their opposition to each other, putting Longinus at ease—
Who would have guessed that an ancient witch manipulated by an old god might collude with a newborn deity in an elaborate ruse?
Even more so that both were puppets of the same consciousness!
And Elius, who appeared wholly antagonistic toward the gods, was the perfect collaborator in Longinus's eyes.
Even if their alliance were to fracture, Longinus believed he could exploit the conflict between the witch and the Lord of Fate to ensure she paid the price for betrayal first.
After observing the bustling scene for a moment, Elius inquired, "Is there a story behind the name 'Eternal Canvas'?"
"To bear the title of 'eternal' and sustain such an extensive teleportation network—it must be powered by something nearing Tier 8 in strength."
The Smiling Man glanced at Elius, his eyes beneath the mask twinkling with feigned mystery. "The answer is no secret among our organization's upper echelons. To demonstrate our sincerity in forging an alliance, we’ll gladly share it with you."
"Having only recently awakened, you may not have heard of a high-tier entity from the Reconstruction domain… These pathways within the paintings were all born and sustained by His power."
"He is our most loyal comrade, the living proof of our ideals."
"He is the painter who successfully stole divine glory, the false god devoted to Longinus—the Reflection in the Canvas."
Elius raised an eyebrow imperceptibly.
False gods typically stood on the cusp of the Divine Throne. To most beings, their might was indistinguishable from that of a True God—equally beyond mortal resistance.
Yet the Smiling Man spoke of the Reflection in the Canvas with a hint of casualness, as if praising a loyal and useful watchdog or a tool incapable of defiance.
In fact, Elius sensed that Longinus regarded the Reflection with less wariness than he did her, a newly revived entity…
This piqued her curiosity: What state was this hidden false god truly in?
Was He genuinely loyal, utterly incapable of betrayal, or…
Did He lack even the capacity or consciousness to rebel?
……
Meng Siyou could feel himself sinking once more into that eerie nightmare.
The sensation was like being bound tightly at the limbs and plunged into a bottomless lake, helpless as icy currents seeped into every pore, the crushing pressure enveloping his body without respite.
Down, down, sinking endlessly into the abyss of darkness…
Unable to move, resist, or break free, he could only drift numbly as the tides washed over him.
Meng Siyou knew this was likely the pull and curse of some dangerous entity.
In the last instance, his activities had centered around an ancient, gloomy castle.
Just as Meng Siyou charged into the ancient castle's corridor and decapitated a monster in one clean stroke, blood instantly splattered everywhere, splattering onto an oil painting hanging on the wall.
At that moment, Meng Siyou immediately sensed a gaze of pure terror.
It was as if something within the frame had been awakened by the bloodstains, abruptly opening its eyes to stare at him, sending paralyzing dread down his spine.
From then on, every night, every time he slept, Meng Siyou was forced into a state of lucid free-fall, unable to stop it or wake up until he was dragged into an abyssal darkness.
And in the depths of that endless darkness, the oil painting he had accidentally stained always floated silently.
The blood on the painting's surface seemed guided by an unknown force, the viscous crimson oozing and coalescing into a lidless eye that fixated on Meng Siyou. Only after a brief confrontation could he wake from the dream, hauling his leaden limbs back to reality.
Meng Siyou noticed that every time he saw the painting, "it" would gain ground on him.
By his estimation, tonight, "it" would finally stand before him.
His lips twisted in a mirthless grin as Meng Siyou acknowledged his cursed luck, yet curiosity lingered:
Was such a dangerous being targeting him simply because he had inadvertently damaged that painting?
As before, Meng Siyou plummeted powerless into the deepest darkness of the dream.
He had expected the same repetitive ordeal, but a liquid whisper of currents disrupted his thoughts.
The sound of water—this was new...
The nightmare seemed to have mutated unpredictably. Why? Would this change work in his favor?
Cautiously, Meng Siyou followed the sound of water. After what felt like an eternity, a river of impossible scale appeared before him.
The river gleamed like quicksilver, its waves serene, emitting a luminous haze like spun moonbeams, flowing leisurely toward an unknown horizon.
Its width was so immense that even when Meng Siyou peered until his vision blurred, he could barely glimpse its edges—as if mortals could only ever perceive fragments of it, never knowing where it came from or where it led.
Amid the rippling silver waves, Meng Siyou keenly spotted a faint gilded flicker.
At first, the golden speck was so distant it resembled a tiny star.
But as it drifted downstream, growing closer, it radiated like a miniature supernova, illuminating the pitch-black dreamscape.
Squinting, Meng Siyou finally discerned the golden object's outline—
It was an eldritch, ornate golden chalice, wide-mouthed and narrow-waisted, intricately carved.
The chalice floated steadily atop the silver river, and as the waves gently rocked it, Meng Siyou saw blood sloshing inside, shimmering with a malevolent luster.
Were it not for the faint glimpse of a heart submerged within, he might have mistaken the blood for vintage sanguine vintage.
Against the darkness, the contrast of red and gold was hypnotic, seizing Meng Siyou's gaze.
Under his watch, the lifeless heart in the chalice seemed to stir, slowly, rhythmically pulsing back to life...
*Lub-dub... lub-dub... lub-dub...*
It should have been an eldritch spectacle, yet for some reason, Meng Siyou found himself unable to look away.
The heart not only dominated his vision but also seemed to press against his ears, its beats resonating through his eardrums, gradually syncing with his own heartbeat and blood flow until he could see nothing else.
*Lub-dub... lub-dub... lub-dub...*
The sound grew louder.
When Meng Siyou finally snapped out of this trance, he realized the heart in the chalice had vanished—yet the coppery tang of blood lingered, growing thicker, saturating every corner of the dream.
It was as if... as if...
A horrifying thought flashed through his mind—as if he were submerged in a living sanguine ocean, like embryonic plasma!
He stumbled back in terror, only to realize that, unnoticed, the entire dark dreamscape had been transmuted to gore—
He was like a tiny insect, trapped inside a warm, pulsing heart!
No wonder the heart in the chalice had disappeared—he was already inside it! How could someone within a "room" see the room's exterior?
Convulsing with primordial fear, Meng Siyou dimly perceived that the power represented by the chalice and the cursed oil painting might belong to two entirely different High Beings...
Instinctively, he tried to retreat further, only for something jagged and gelid to press against his lower back.
Slowly turning, he saw the familiar painting once more before his awareness frayed, pulling him toward wakefulness.
*"'The Portrait's Echo'..."*
Just before his awareness faded completely, an androgynous voice speculated with eerie calm, "The Weave guided me to this kid... Could it be because of that false god?"