Chapter 171: The Birth of the Shadow

Chapter 171 The Birth of the Shadow

The leader spoke in such a casual tone about unleashing a plague that alters fate across the nine dimensions, without a single word mentioning the potential consequences for the individuals corrupted by the aberrant force.

As if, in his eyes, these sacrificed ignorant lives were nothing more than cold statistics on a lab report—

And using a string of numbers to "poison" a True God undoubtedly sounded like a profitable deal.

Elius lowered her gaze to the glass vial on the table. The lead-gray unknown substance inside floated lightly up and down, faintly swirling counterclockwise into a small, dark-gray storm, hinting at its catastrophic potential.

Like woodworms.

Elius thought these lead-gray particles resembled tiny, greedy woodworms. And while they slowly gnawed away at and hollowed out a towering tree, countless fated lives would perish alongside it.

But Longinus clearly didn’t care about any of this.

Whether it was the lab-bred test subjects in the laboratories or the endless streams of people across various worlds, to these supremely arrogant "experimenters," they were merely fuel beneath the tree—consumed in endless cycles.

They were experimental samples, material fuel, data entries, objects to be exploited and trampled upon at will…

Never true individuals with thoughts, emotions, or worth respecting as "people."

If there were any human researchers in Longinus’s research department who had willingly stayed, their treatment of their own kind might be far crueler than that of the gods or divine beings.

Elius tapped the glass vial lightly with her fingertip. In the reflection on its curved surface, she saw her own lips, still frozen in an unchanging smile.

"Your creativity truly surprises me,"

Elius said calmly. "Now, let’s see just how many more surprises Longinus can bring me."

……

After the meeting, Elius returned to her office.

She examined the vial of suspended substance closely. Her vision, augmented by divine power, could rival—even surpass—the precision of advanced technology.

In an instant, the energy particles of the material world became visible down to the finest detail before blurring again under Elius’s adjustment.

Finally, she discerned the exact form of the lead-gray particles—roughly spherical, covered in jagged protrusions on the surface, with an intricate, labyrinthine interior. Near the center was an even smaller sphere, resembling a core.

These seemed to be… cells enlarged to visible scale.

Elius speculated uncertainly—could this be something the Life Domain's leader had extracted and studied from his own body?

In his plague plan, the leader repeatedly mentioned the word "aberration"…

Did he have some connection to Calamity, the Apostle under the Tree of Life?

With these questions in mind, Elius used the cells as a medium, tracing back along the strands of fate, observing the "cause" from the "effect."

She saw the grotesque gray cells being pushed into the vial by undulating flesh;

She saw the moment these cells were first born, splitting from their mother cells;

Countless cells appeared before her eyes—forming, moving, dividing, aging, and dying…

The lifecycles of generation after generation of cellular structures intertwined like a tightly linked chain. One end of the chain was the present where Elius stood, while the other connected to the leader who had never revealed his true form.

Through these minuscule mediums, Elius’s gaze penetrated the distant past, glimpsing the deepest secret buried by the leader of Longinus—

The first thing that came into view was a massive crimson tree, its roots densely embedded in the sky as it grew upside down. Its vivid red leaves rustled like a silent fire, tingeing the moonlight with a faint, pale red hue.

The roots stretched into the heavens, while the tree’s dense canopy hung low, hovering just inches above the ground. Its colossal form was reflected in the tranquil lake beside it.

The scene was both uncanny and surreal, yet imbued with an ineffable divinity.

Anyone or anything that beheld this giant tree would not feel fear as their first reaction, but an inexplicable sense of familiarity—as if facing the mother of creation.

Elius stared unblinkingly at this sight, her mind faintly guessing the tree’s identity.

After an immeasurable time, ripples spread across the lake’s surface… someone had entered this sacred space.

The ripples swayed gently as a figure stepped across the glistening water, as steady as if crossing glass.

The figure alighted gracefully before the giant tree and called out the true name of the Red Tree Apostle:

"Selina."

"Calamity?" The rustling leaves formed rhythmic words, responding to this unexpected visitor. "Since our ideals diverged, you’ve rarely stepped into my world…"

"Have you come this time for the curse upon you?"

The figure nodded, its hood slipping back with the motion to reveal insectoid antennae on either side of its forehead.

The Apostle Calamity pointed downward. The reflection in the lake—Calamity’s own—was shaking violently and unnaturally, like a glitching television image, or as if a foreign will was struggling to break free from the shadow, refusing to be just a reflection.

"The curse is worsening," Calamity said grimly. "At first, my shadow only occasionally performed contrary motions. But gradually, it developed independent thoughts, drawing power through the natural link between body and shadow—even attempting to share my station…"

"It seems your shadow is breaking free," the Red Tree Apostle drawled.

The antennae twitched anxiously as Calamity admitted, distress unconcealed: "Yes. It hungers for existence, to exist independently. And more than that—"

"It even seeks to replace me, believing itself to be the true 'Calamity'… I can feel the day it fully breaks away is drawing near!"

The crimson tree lowered a vine, dangling to gently stroke Calamity’s head. Like a caring mother, Selina held compassion for all living beings, including their colleagues, and instinctively offered comfort.

Selina suggested, "Why not pray to our great goddess?"

"I don’t wish for our lord to see this cursed abomination, nor to show weakness before them."

Calamity lowered their voice, pleading: "Compared to me, you master spirit and flesh—can you help me sever my shadow?"

"Let me see…"

The tree pondered for a moment. Eyes sprouted on every leaf, myriad eyes scrutinizing Calamity from the dense canopy.

After a long pause, Selina spoke slowly: "Separating this shadow is indeed not difficult…"

"But the shadow-self bond is too deep. Severing it will inevitably bring consequences. From birth, a shadow is destined to be inseparable from its owner—without its master, a shadow ceases to exist, and likewise, one without a shadow is no longer whole."

"A shadow is virtually a reflection of the self, a fragment of the soul—to discard it entirely would mean surrendering part of your soul."

Calamity’s antennae drooped further, a pall falling over them.

The tree sighed, cautioning: "And you must understand what it means for beings of our level to lose part of our souls. Along with the missing fragment, some of your power, talents, and even your station will fade."

"If you separate from your shadow, not only will you become the least of we three Apostles without question, but you may also be outstripped and supplanted by newcomers in the future."

"……"

After a long silence, Calamity removed his outer garment, revealing the broad wings that draped down to his ankles like a gray-black robe.

Due to the mutational nature of his abilities, when he first obtained divinity, the divine form he chose was modeled after the peppered moth (Biston betularia)—an insect capable of rapidly altering its color in response to environmental demands.

Calamity declared, "I understand all the consequences you mentioned. But at this point, there is no possibility of reconciliation between me and my shadow."

"I long to kill it, and it longs to kill me—this forced coexistence is like sleeping on a bed of knives. Even at night, I can never truly close my eyes in peace. We are constantly on guard, constantly fighting each other!"

With that, Calamity took a step forward and threw open his arms toward the monolithic crimson tree before him. "Come on, let’s begin the separation!"

"Neither I nor it can endure this shackled existence any longer!"

The wind stirred the ocean of leaves, making them ripple as if Selina were nodding slowly.

"As you wish."

Next, Elius seemed to witness an invisible force slicing through space, cleaving the point where Calamity was connected to his reflection.

There was no splatter of blood, nor any sound—only the shadow drifting weightlessly downward, like a leaf carried by the wind, floating upon the lake’s surface.

The entire process was uncannily swift and smooth, like a soundless delivery.

Elius fixed her gaze upon the shadow in the water and realized:

The current leader of Longinus was actually the reflection split from the Apostle of Calamity.

The curse granted him self-awareness, Calamity bequeathed the power of the Life Domain to him, and Selina midwifed his emergence...

Then, what desire drove him to rise step by step to where he was today?

Why had such a singularly conceived High Being left neither mark nor name in the mystical world from beginning to end?

After a moment of contemplation, Elius suddenly understood.

Had the shadow willfully erased its identity and lurked in secrecy since its birth, or...

Was it simply incapable of leaving more traces, forced to maintain this nameless state?

On the surface, only the Apostle of Calamity seemed to be the one cursed, while the shadow profited entirely—gaining its own consciousness and independence from its original self.

But as a deity who now held partial authority over curses, Elius knew one inescapable truth—no one could emerge wholly unscathed under a curse.

Strictly speaking, the curse did not afflict the Apostle of Calamity alone—his shadow was also equally ensnared...

The advantages the shadow gained in one aspect would inevitably be exacted elsewhere in full measure!

In an instant, Elius recalled how, during meetings, all the higher-ups’ perception of the leader seemed limited to a voice pronouncing decrees from within a red chamber—a half-formed impression representing the seat of power.

She had assumed this was due to the leader’s habitual wariness, that he was deliberately shielding himself from everyone.

But now, she wondered—was the leader simply incapable of further direct contact with the outside world, unable to leave a more concrete impression?

—The curse had granted him new life, but it also condemned him to exist eternally as a half-realized specter.

Forever fleeting, forever incomplete—just as he had been in his days as Calamity’s reflection.

And the desire that drove the leader forward was perhaps this: to exist, truly and wholly, in every sense.

From the Moth God to the Progenitor of Cursed Nightmares, all had merely been test subjects paving his way. Dissatisfied with his current form, he sought to recreate himself anew.

Behind the facade of grand pretensions, what the leader had always craved was simply this—to become complete, perfect, alive!