Chapter 200: The Curse of Fate

Chapter 200: The Curse of Fate

The eighth dimension, with the Mother of the Tides as its foundation, lies silent beneath dead waters of countless worlds.

This was an apocalyptic tsunami that swept through numerous small worlds.

To this day, the waters continue to spread, and the realms consuming life still expand—the roaring tides rumble like distant thunder, an endless, low, and solemn dirge, dragging countless lives into the abyss as sacrificial offerings.

Among the countless small worlds, one was the origin of the tsunami.

There, the stars had long been extinguished, undulating with the tides across the vast cosmos.

In the endless waters and darkness, these dim planets resemble faded, hollow scars, like silent tombs.

In the distant past, sparks of life once flared here, scattered like stars across the planets… but all of it was extinguished by a world-ending deluge that fell from the heavens.

The universe is boundless, and so are the waters—no life could escape.

A putrid, briny stench swirls through this cosmos, churning into an immense vortex;

And at the center of the vortex lies the embodiment of the ocean’s concept, the root of the apocalyptic tsunami—the Mother of the Tides.

The Mother of the Tides takes the form of a monstrous pillar of flesh, piercing through the heart of the universe. Its monstrous surface is overgrown with countless pale, bloated corpses of drowned creatures—all who perished in the sea are forever fused with Her, like mere cells or extraneous offshoots.

These corpse-like limbs drift in the water, evoking the death throes before drowning—erratic, unconscious twitches.

The parts not covered in fragmented limbs are densely layered with fish scales.

These scales are uncanny, irregular in size and shape, clustering together in a grotesque, irregular pattern, as if torn from countless sea creatures and stitched together into the Mother’s mantle.

In truth, these scales dictate the evolutionary paths of all known and unknown marine life across myriad worlds—any creature dwelling in the sea is a subject of the Mother of the Tides, instinctively evolving and growing in accordance with Her traits.

Between the densely packed scales lie gill-like organs that pulse rhythmically. When they open and close like breathing, they emit haunting, mesmerizing songs, enough to ensnare minds and lure ships astray.

This is the earliest origin of the siren legends.

Of course, as a natural conceptual embodiment and an ancient deity, the Mother of the Tides has no humanoid form, no concept of morality as understood by intelligent life, nor does She deliberately cause shipwrecks or toy with vessels—yet Her mere existence can wield immeasurable influence on the world.

It is akin to a colossal creature passing by, inevitably crushing tiny insects beneath its feet.

Now, the Mother of the Tides sings unwittingly, her eerie yet beautiful melody rippling through the waters.

Any distant ship that might pass unharmed would likely mistake the song for a chorus of beautiful mermaids, not a massive, grotesque, terrifying monstrosity.

Suddenly, Her song turns shrill, triggering violent tremors in the sea.

It is as if She is venting pain, or screaming hysterically.

Through the bond of blood, She senses that Her eldest daughter has perished…

Her key hope for future resurrection has been extinguished as easily as a candle.

The terror of survival pricks like needles, shocking Her waning consciousness awake, nearly tearing Her free from the false world woven by Her enemies.

Then, another god remarks casually, the power of the Liar Domain spreading:

"Why wake?"

"In the world I’ve spun, your power remains absolute, your followers flourish, countless civilizations bow to the deep, casting treasures to adorn your glorious palaces beneath the waves."

"Here, you need not fret for your children, nor face the waning of your church’s dominion—nor must you see… your own weakened shell after such grievous wounds."

The Mother of the Tides’ song halts briefly, then dwindles to a murmur, almost like a grieving mother's whisper.

But this is mere illusion.

She is but the ocean’s incarnation, the manifested fury and calm of the sea—a deity guided nearly by instinct alone.

Across the eons, She may have formed faint echoes of mortal emotions—for Her children, for Her followers—yet these feelings remain fleeting, insignificant.

She resists, mumbling: "No… return… reality…"

"Return return return reality return return return return reality…"

The other deity pauses, then spins sophistry: "Is the world I spin real?"

"—Real, I assure you, no being could find fault in its fabric. So when a world is real enough, beautiful enough… how does it differ from true reality?"

These cunning words flow from the god of the Liar Domain—the Rumor Master.

Her divine form resembles a spectral heart woven from words.

The heart beats, sprouting countless mouths across its surface; the mouths part, birthing crimson hearts within.

When the Rumor Master speaks, these countless mouths utter a cacophony of tongues;

And from the depths of their throats, the pulsing hearts spill honeyed words, oozing with such sincerity it could move one to tears.

The greatest deceivers always seem the most genuine.

Under Her sophistry and power, even those who question life’s existence or death’s permanence cannot doubt the Rumor Master’s honesty.

After much persuasion, the Rumor Master sighs theatrically: "My dear friend, do you doubt me so? Then I have nothing left to say, for once doubt takes root, all words lose their power."

"Yet still, I open my heart to you—I remain your most steadfast ally, your closest confidant. We should share all, hold nothing back."

The Mother of the Tides stutters like a confused child: "Steadfast… most steadfast…?"

"Of course," the Rumor Master chuckles. "I am your most reliable ally."

"I can bring you every joy you dare imagine."

Every word the Rumor Master speaks is stitched into seamless finery, enveloping the Mother of the Tides, pulling Her back into the illusion-woven golden age.

In that world, the Mother still has everything—loyal offspring, innumerable strongholds, boundless power…

So what if it’s false?

It is beautiful enough.

This is the essence of lies—making one afraid to shatter the illusion, even knowing its fragility.

Seeing the Mother of the Tides calm once more, the mouths covering the Rumor Master twist into satisfied grins.

Soon, the Mother’s will shall be completely eroded, reducing Her to a puppet.

The Rumor Master is a heart—and hearts can infest powerful vessels.

This nature mirrors certain strange fungi, which infect their hosts, multiplying within them, until at last hijacking their nerves and usurping their flesh.

Through this method, the Rumorbringer would make up for its weakness in direct combat and even indirectly control the oceanic domain...

This was truly magnificent.

The Rumorbringer was immersed in these delightful visions, its massive heart accelerating, but it was abruptly halted by a deafening noise.

A sense of foreboding surged within, and it gazed far into the cosmic horizon, where a rift had been forcibly torn open.

From the depths of the rift, a dazzling and beautiful silver-white light emerged, like a meteor trailing a long tail.

The silver star approached from the edge of the universe, appearing serene and beautiful, yet carrying immense power. It pierced through the endless sea with the sharpness of an unparalleled silver arrow, emitting a thunderous roar.

In its wake, countless planets experienced temporal disturbances; some accelerated their decay, while others reverted to before the tide of destruction, regaining a faint heartbeat.

As the star streaked by, it brought both the sweeping force of time and a glimmer of nascent hope.

The Rumorbringer paused, quickly realizing it lacked the strength to confront Fate head-on. Its main body swiftly hid behind the pillar of the Tidal Mother, while it spawned a humanoid clone.

In its judgment, Fate would be more lenient towards humanoid beings...

This "leniency" meant not being as aggressive, not swallowing them whole immediately, thus giving it time to plead its case. For a seasoned deceiver, as long as there was a chance to speak, there were infinite possibilities.

Moreover, the Rumorbringer had ascended from the level of ordinary intelligent life and did not disdain the humanoid form.

Its clone took on the appearance it had before achieving divinity, tall and slender, with delicate limbs similar to humans, and facial features that differed little. A gentle smile graced its face, making it seem approachable and friendly, as if one could confide all secrets to it.

If there was any difference, it was that the Rumorbringer possessed no sexual characteristics, with a soft and beautiful face, a flat chest, and a smooth lower body—determined by its original species.

Its species had an average lifespan of nearly a century, experiencing two gender transitions during their lifetime: male until age thirty, female from thirty to sixty, and genderless thereafter. Based on this physiological pattern, the society of the species functioned smoothly and efficiently.

Undoubtedly, the Rumorist was in the final stage, devoid of any gender characteristics.

Their voice, too, was indistinguishably androgynous, yet not unpleasant, resonating softly: "My friend, esteemed Master of Fate, I am surprised by your arrival... but also honored."

"I recall that before you initiated the cycle of reincarnation, the tides seemed to have dominated and eroded your world. It was a cruel and merciless act, one that I can deeply empathize with..."

The silver star halted before the Rumorist's avatar, its light collapsing and compressing to form the figure of a young man.

His face was shrouded in a hazy glow, as if seen through a layer of ethereal mist, making it hard to discern, while only the outline of his tall, strong figure could be traced.

The Master of Fate had arrived unexpectedly, without the slightest hint of travel weariness.

Dressed in a common black suit from human society, with a white paper flower pinned to the lapel, He looked solemn and dignified—as if attending a funeral.

He interrupted the Rumorist's words, his tone somewhat teasing: "You deeply empathize... Is this why you led the last offspring of the Mother of Tides to my world?"

The moment the fish egg appeared, Yi Fengchu sensed something amiss.

Although the Mother of Tides was destined to be an enemy who would eventually confront Him... the timing of her appearance was peculiar.

Even with a burning desire for revenge, Yi Fengchu would not actively guide a divine being to descend upon the human world; instead, he would set the battlefield in some desolate and lifeless realm.

And His will was the will of fate.

The gears of countless possibilities turned, determining the end for the Mother of Tides, which should have come at a more appropriate time and place.

However, the current situation was such that a tiny obstruction in one of the gears caused a slight disruption in the vast rules of fate, ultimately leading to the arrival of the Princess of the Still Sea on Earth...

Behind this, there must have been the intervention of a true deity.

Yi Fengchu gazed at the Rumormonger before him and emitted a hum of ambiguous meaning.

At that moment, though the laughter was incorporeal, it brought a sense of pressure to the Rumormonger.

But the Rumormonger was a deity who controlled lies, with a resilience far beyond what ordinary beings could imagine. Even in His early stages, He could control His blood flow and heartbeat, using an expression of utmost sincerity and flawless lies to deceive a king into bestowing Him with treasures that nearly emptied half the royal treasury.

The Rumormonger’s face broke into a sincere smile: “Fate has caused the tides to wane, and it is precisely because of His decline that my attention was drawn—now, my efforts have yielded a minor result, allowing you to effortlessly eliminate your disoriented enemy. Isn’t this a win-win situation?”

“Such a chain of cause and effect, how can it not be considered a fate’s arrangement? You will always achieve your goal, and I am merely a step on the path to your objective.”

As the avatar spoke, the Rumormonger’s true form repeated the words, the overlapping voices drifting away with the rise and fall of the waves.

Each tiny heart in His mouth beat lightly, like ripe red fruits oozing sweet juice, naturally spewing out words that twisted truth.

Through feigned weakness and “honesty,” He tried to make Yi Fengchu feel that since both sides had achieved their goals, the process did not matter.

But how could the process not matter?

To Yi Fengchu, every creature parasitized by fish eggs, every night when shadows loomed over humanity, was of great importance.

If Yi Fengchu were to casually step over them, what would differentiate Him from the gods?

Yi Fengchu ceased speaking with the lying deity.

Ignoring the Rumormonger’s words, He slowly approached the Mother of Tides, his gaze sweeping over the pale limbs extending from the fleshy pillar, and he let out a gentle sigh.

He removed the paper flower from his chest and placed it in the hand of one of the drowned.

The paper flower was not for mourning the Mother of Tides, but for mourning these countless creatures swallowed by the sea—throughout endless ages, they had existed as superfluous branches and emblems on the deities, and now they could finally rest.

At the moment the paper flower was clutched by the drowned one, time began to flow more rapidly, centered around the small paper flower, spreading over the Mother of Tides.

Ten thousand years, one hundred million years, ten billion years...

Time oscillated, converging into a torrent that swept the already weakened Mother of Tides toward destruction, carrying her to the end of the river of fate.

A second passed, as did countless eons for the Mother of Tides—gradually, the tide that had washed over the entire universe receded, leaving a tiny paper flower floating in the vacuum, held by a hand reduced to bone.

At the end of the bony arm lay the vast, rotting corpse of the Mother of Tides.

"..."

The Rumor watched this scene, hesitating whether to step forward and ask fate to leave a body... no, even a skeleton would do; He wasn't picky!

If He were to inhabit the skeleton of the Mother of Tides, it might just be a bit uncomfortable for His heart, but not far from what He had expected...

Yi Fengchu seemed to find the Rumor's thoughts rather amusing and sneered.

He took out one of his prized possessions from the display case—the Deceptive Garment, which embodied the authority of the "curse" domain. The smooth, white fabric slid off His shoulder, piling up like clouds in the crook of His arm.

The Rumor suddenly felt an ominous premonition, yet could do nothing to stop the pronouncement of fate:

"I curse all who seize, possess, or exploit the authority of the sea; if they are unkind and insincere, they shall die upon the divine throne."

"This is the curse of fate."

Yi Fengchu's voice was not loud, but each word fell with the weight of heavy laws, causing the Rumor's smile to slowly fade.

Having delivered the curse, Yi Fengchu gave neither the Rumor nor the Mother of Tides another glance, swiftly vanishing into the river of fate, merging with the formless and shapeless destiny.

The compatibility between the domains of "Ocean" and "Fate" is poor, and Yi Fengchu does not possess the near-parasitic nature of the Rumormonger, making it difficult to gain control over another such domain.

However, if He cannot obtain it, He will not let the Rumormonger have it easily either!

—Those who mock fate shall ultimately be mocked and ridiculed by fate.

After Fate departed, the Rumormonger lingered before the corpse of the Mother of Tides, his expression fluctuating between light and dark.

He approached several times with hesitation, yet never fully took residence in this body.

For according to Fate's curse... if the Rumormonger indirectly controlled the Ocean, that would also be considered an "unfaithful" and "exploitative" existence using the power of the Ocean.

Even the once immensely powerful Mother of Tides was brought down by Fate's machinations, and the Rumormonger did not have the courage to face Fate's curse and malice head-on.

After much deliberation, He finally sighed, reluctantly retreating without success.

Leaving behind only the corpse of the Mother of Tides, drifting and decaying silently in this universe.

Perhaps one day, a new deity will rise from the corpse of the Mother of Tides;

The successor of the Ocean might be a sea monster, or some other creature of the marine domain;

They may gradually expand their influence, or they may die under the weight of the curse, beneath a splendid yet heavy crown...

Who knows?

The river of fate flows on as usual, while He remains silent.