Ascendant Home forum.
In the Casual Chat section, a flood of hot threads filled the homepage.
This had nothing to do with the posters’ skill, it was simply that too many shocking events had happened recently.
First came the Yuzawa Family incident in Sakura Prayer Country. With a large amount of evidence exposed, including the dungeon videos filmed by Guan Tong, the nation’s reputation collapsed overnight.
Even though Sakura Prayer’s official response was swift, issuing a public statement that many Yuzawa Family suspects had been arrested, people were not convinced. Most thought those arrested were merely insignificant pawns.
After those crimes were exposed, public opinion about Shadow’s assassinations flipped as well.
Many izens posted that it was yet another confirmation of Shadow God’s worth, and that they had always believed the victims must have committed serious crimes.
There were voices opposing that viewpoint, arguing that judging someone guilty before a trial violated procedural justice.
But in this era, whether those words were right or wrong, few people cared to listen.
From the first day the Doomsday Rules arrived, from the moment the hidden intelligence about the first rule was revealed, people stopped believing in procedural justice.
Because if one insisted on following that process strictly, the authorities should have arrested everyone with the title Rule Breaker, then interrogated them with lie-detection props or abilities.
Those who knew about the hidden intelligence and intentionally knocked others unconscious would be guilty of intentional homicide; those who knocked others unconscious without knowing the hidden intelligence should at least be charged with intentional harm.
In reality, no government in the world did that. So people clearly understood that in this unprecedented era of human history, procedural justice had lost practical meaning.
The other big event was the selection of the new Administrator of the Xisiya Empire.
Especially among many current academy students, when they watched the inauguration speech and discovered the new Administrator was Yelanka, who had attended classes with them, they were both stunned and thrilled.
Even though Yelanka spent those months attending classes without socializing, not living in the academy dorms and having little interaction with other students, some still felt proud to say they had been classmates with the Administrator.
Many students also believed that when Lecturer Guan Tong gave Yelanka extra tutoring, it was because of her special status, so they accepted it.
The heat around these two stories didn’t last long before being eclipsed by the “parasitized forms.”
After governments reported the presence of parasitized forms following the rule’s end, people around the world began to unravel mentally.
Previous rules tended to be over once they ended; there was no need to worry about continuing catastrophic aftermaths.
Even if a rule left long-term effects—like the mass claustrophobia after the Five Senses Elimination rule ended, or the fact that many people could never tell the truth again after The Liar’s Self-Punishment ended; even secondary disasters from the earthquake rule had not been completely cleared—these impacts were still within controllable bounds.
This time, however, the consequences of Extraterrestrial Parasitism were almost uncontrollable after the rule ended.
Everyone fell into a fear of the unknown.
People would rather the parasitized forms be grotesque monsters than retain human appearance.
Like the uncanny valley effect, the more human a monster looks, the more terrifying it becomes—if a monster looks exactly like a human, it triggers extreme panic and distrust.
Who could know whether someone next to them might be a hidden parasitized form? Until they could tell them apart, no one could feel fully safe interacting with others.
That prompted izens to join the debate en masse, searching for any “folk remedies” to identify parasitized forms before officials provided a method.
One thread, “Major Discussion: Guide to Identifying Parasitized Forms,” became the most popular.
The original poster summarized first: “Officially disclosed intel so far: parasitized forms retain the host’s memories and intelligence, able to disguise themselves as normal humans for communication and daily life. But unlike normal humans, parasitized forms seem to follow a ‘highest directive’ to spread spores and create more parasitized forms.”
“So they’re just normal people with a ‘keyword’ lock. Once the keyword comes up, they instantly turn into monsters,” someone replied.
“If parasitized forms are bound by a highest directive and their core goal is to spread spores, then I think there’s a simplest method. Never speak about spores in real life. Whoever mentions them is a parasitized form!”
“Wrong. You should make someone loudly curse the spores when you meet them. Whoever doesn’t curse is a parasitized form.”
“...How old are you, upstairs? Do you think parasitized forms are grade-schoolers?”
“Feels like there’s no good method. Maybe someone replying in this thread is a parasitized form.”
“I have an idea. Everyone knows Black Flag Country fell, right? We humans can’t distinguish parasitized forms, but they can tell humans from their kind. Easy—capture some parasitized forms and turn them to our side, have them identify their own kind.”
“Holy crap, genius!”
“Are you kidding? You think those monsters can be turned? Do you think this is a spy thriller?”
“If you can’t turn them, control them with items! Would God Liang’s hypnosis work?”
“Maybe it’s worth trying... Should we all report this to the officials?”
“I think none of your ideas will work. The simplest and most practical method is to avoid contact with others in real life. That guarantees you’ll never meet a parasitized form. Others are hell!”
Others are hell...
Lu Cheng scrolled to that line, his eyes bloodshot.
Yesterday he had sat alone in the study room all night, then gone outside the campus to an uninhabited spot and stayed until nine that morning.
At nine, the Fire Thief’s voice sounded. When he heard the three words “Congratulations to you,” he went wild with joy.
That meant he had succeeded! He had passed the rule after becoming addicted, without anyone else’s help!
Even though he couldn’t share it with others, the sense of accomplishment still made him very proud.
But that exhilaration lasted only a few hours, then transformed into equal measures of terror and despair.
Lu Cheng discovered his “spore addiction” had returned.
He couldn’t believe it. The rule had already ended, he had successfully passed and received the reward—so why were spores still inside his body?
Shouldn’t they have disappeared automatically when the rule ended, like the Blood Plague Virus did?
He could not accept that after the rule ended there were still spores lingering in his body.
An even more despairing situation drove him to the brink of collapse.
The rule had ended, and there were no spores remaining in nature.
Yet his craving had not vanished.
What did that imply? The meaning was obvious.
While others scrolled forums looking for ways to identify parasitized forms so they could avoid them, Lu Cheng’s goal was the opposite.
Although he could not see it now, the expression on his face had become nearly twisted, indistinguishable from an addict’s.
“Spores... after the rule ended, only parasitized forms have spores inside them... I need spores... I must find a parasitized form...”
Reviews
All reviews (0)