In the face of this incomprehensible and terrifying scene, the man froze for a second or two. Then, he let out a loud cry, frantically threw his wine glass away, and dodged to the side.

The glass shattered on the floor, the remaining wine splashing like blood. On the surface of each droplet, subtle flickers of light and somber, majestic faces seemed to appear for a moment. The man staggered backward, nearly tripping over the sofa beside him, and steadied himself by grabbing the wall.

He gasped for breath, staring at the shards of glass and liquid on the floor, his heart pounding as if it would explode. The symbiotic Smog Jellyfish drifted aimlessly in the nearby air, gradually shrinking into a strange sphere.

The terrifying reflection had vanished from the broken glass and spilled wine. What had just happened felt like a horrifying hallucination. The man tried to breathe deeply, hoping to calm himself with fresh air. A fragile hope began to rise in his heart—perhaps it really was just a hallucination, perhaps he was simply too tense…

"It's all a hallucination, all a hallucination… it's mental instability after exposure to the sub-space," he muttered quickly, trying to reinforce his mind while drawing power from his symbiotic abyssal demon, building up mental defenses. "Stop associating, stop remembering, avoid connection, avoid connection… May the Holy Lord grant protection, allowing me to live forever in the abyss, may the Holy Lord grant…"

"I admire your optimism," a voice said in his ear. "But blind optimism doesn't solve problems. Relax, I just want to understand a few things from you."

The man abruptly stopped his prayer. The voice beside him sounded like a terrible whisper from the sub-space, gripping his mind with tangible force. He slowly turned his neck stiffly, looking toward the source of the sound, only to see the glass of the liquor cabinet—a ghostly green flame burned quietly within the glass, reflecting the spirit returned from the sub-space.

"Get out!"

A surge of courage arose from nowhere. The Annihilation Cultist suddenly became fierce, drawing on the power of the Smog Jellyfish and throwing a mass of filthy, dark corrosive energy at the liquor cabinet. With a loud bang, the entire cabinet was blasted to pieces by the energy, glass shards flying around the room.

However, before the fragments could land, the terrifying figure reappeared in a mirror in the corner of the room: "Are you done venting? If so, let's have a good talk."

The cultist in the room finally realized the pattern—it was mirrors.

The sub-space ghost could invade through mirrors!

The next second, the man unhesitatingly shattered the mirror in the corner of the room. Then, he frantically smashed the glass ornaments on the nearby shelves and everything else within sight that could produce a mirror image!

The sharp sound of breaking glass echoed through the room. He smashed what he could smash, and covered what he couldn't with newspapers, clothes, or anything else he could find. Fear turned into anger, and anger turned into false courage. Supported by this "courage," the cultist acted quickly, sealing off and destroying all the "media" in the room that could lead to the "descent" of the sub-space ghost. Throughout this process, the rising ghostly green flame and the terrible figure flashing in the mirrors relentlessly harassed him.

New mirrors always appeared, new voices always came, and new faces always floated into view, watching him gloomily.

But after an unknown amount of time, this terrible entanglement finally subsided.

The man had almost destroyed or covered everything in the room that could reflect an image. He also blocked all the windows with thick curtains. As the last glass vase was thrown into the trash can, the building fell silent once more.

Dusk had already fallen outside. Inside the room, only the light of the oil lamp flickered. The terrifying ghostly green flame had faded from the lamplight at some point. The cultist in the room stood in the middle of the wreckage, gasping for breath while warily watching the surrounding darkness and silence.

It seemed like it really wouldn't appear again.

Even the Smog Jellyfish that lived in symbiosis with him had quieted down. It looked somewhat wilted, and the floating smoke around it was particularly thin and dim, as if it had consumed so much energy in the previous confrontation that it was struggling to maintain its form in reality.

The man stood silently in the darkness for a long time, as if carefully judging something. After a long while, he slowly breathed out, grabbed the black coat thrown on the sofa, and quickly put it on.

The commotion in the room earlier had been loud and might have attracted the attention of the neighbors. Although the constables in this relatively remote neighborhood were usually slow to react, there was still a chance that trouble would come if someone reported it.

What's more, this room had been targeted by the sub-space ghost and was no longer safe. Destroying and sealing off the mirrors in the room had only blocked the channels for the ghost's "descent," but it couldn't fundamentally eliminate the ghost's influence.

Now that he had temporarily blocked the ghost from the outside world, the only right choice was to leave as soon as possible—before the constables reacted and before the ghost found another way to invade.

The man had quickly planned his next actions. He put on his coat, concealed his symbiotic demon, and walked toward the door.

But before leaving the room, he suddenly stopped again, his eyes looking at the pile of debris covered with newspapers and rags in the center of the room.

After thinking for a moment, he waved his hand and threw a ball of dark energy—the newspapers and rags were blown away, and a large pile of broken mirrors and glass scattered on the floor, gleaming with a cold, ominous light in the dimness.

"It's best if someone reports it."

The man smiled contentedly, then turned away from the scattered mirrors and quickly opened the door, slipping into the night.

He cautiously moved through the streets and alleys, using the shadows of the buildings as cover, and occasionally using the power of spells to hide himself. He quickly moved away from this unsafe area, running down to the lower city along a familiar route.

It was curfew time, and the Watchers were already on the streets. Rashly moving about outdoors could lead to being caught and questioned, but this wasn't a big problem for a cultist who had been active in the city for many years and had long adapted to the "night life."

As long as he didn't cause too much of a commotion, there were plenty of "blind spots" under the eyes of the church Watchers.

The figure hidden in the darkness successfully passed through the checkpoints between the districts and slipped into the more intricate and ancient alleys of the lower city. After bypassing countless intersections and bends, he finally stopped in front of an unremarkable old house.

The man cautiously observed the surrounding environment, and once again confirmed that there was no strange ghostly green light in his vision and no suspicious noise in his mind. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relief and stepped forward to knock on the door with a rhythmic pattern.

Then he waited patiently until footsteps approached from the other side of the door, and a low voice reached his ear:

"It's late, let's talk about anything tomorrow."

"It's too late, and my companion and I just want to come in and rest—we bring interesting stories from afar."

Silence fell behind the door. After about ten seconds, a slight click reached his ear, and the door opened silently in the darkness. In the dim light, a small, thin figure appeared in the doorway.

"Come in, don't make too much noise."

The man nodded, quickly slipped into the house, and closed the door behind him—only when the lock clicked shut did he finally relax slightly, a look of relief on his face as if he had survived a disaster.

"Why are you here at this hour?" The thin figure who opened the door was still cautiously sizing up the "compatriot" who had just entered the house. Although the newcomer's identity had been confirmed, his actions didn't follow the "rules," making him wary. "We didn't receive advance notice of your arrival."

"The situation is sudden," the man in the thick black coat shook his head, lowering his voice. "My operation failed. An unexpected higher existence intervened, and now He is watching me—but don't worry, I've temporarily blocked His channels into the real world. The immediate priority is to report this upward…"

The thin cultist's expression instantly turned serious upon hearing this. He immediately stopped the other man from continuing, grabbed an oil lamp from the nearby table, and walked toward the corner of the room while whispering, "Come with me, to the underground. Don't discuss our operations within the sight of the Four Gods."

"Okay."

The thin cultist opened a hidden door in the corner of the room, and the two figures, one in front of the other, slipped into the secret slope leading underground.

Soon, they arrived at the gathering place beneath the building.

While called a gathering place, it was actually just a secretly excavated basement—the not-too-large room had several chairs around a round table. A few oil lamps were lit on the round table, and some utensils and materials used for rituals and heretical worship were scattered haphazardly.

At the end of the room was a dark sculpture, shaped like a bizarre and terrifying "tree," its black trunk branching out into dizzying, thorn-like limbs, faintly exuding an unsettling aura.

The man in the black coat walked down the stairs and saw that several figures had already gathered there. These were obviously the "compatriots" who had entered the basement in an emergency according to procedure when he had knocked on the door earlier.

His eyes swept over these "compatriots," who also looked up, scrutinizing the visitor who had arrived after dark.

After a moment, the slightly tense atmosphere relaxed a little. The man in the black coat breathed a sigh of relief, walked to the round table, and sat down on an empty chair.

Closest to him, a gaunt man with sickly pallor looked up and asked after a moment of silence, "Trouble?"

"I couldn't break through that 'dream.' There must be something wrong with the information those Doomsday Preachers gave me—damn it, I should have known. Apart from the Holy Lord's followers, no one is trustworthy…"

"Slow down, calm down first," the gaunt man forced a smile and casually took a glass of water from the side and pushed it over. "Drink some water."

The man in the black coat took the glass and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Duncan."

(Time to recommend a book, the title is 《这个狐仙太不是人了》[This Fox Immortal is Too Inhuman], the male lead is a scumbag fox, happy and unrestrained, life is too hard, just be happy reading it.

……

"Ren Yidao! I beg you, be a human being!"

"Eh? Be a human? But I'm a fox immortal."

"Also, please call me Godfather.")

(End of this chapter)