Chapter 661: The Tide of Frenzy

When madness swept over Flame City like an unstoppable tide, the impact hit instantly—either triggered by a message from Dracula in the group chat or by Lu Xin’s fateful decision with the crowd after leaving Nightmare of God.

“Offer our hearts to the true!”

“Usher in the dawn for this world…”

“…”

At East City Plaza, the chubby preacher had already slipped into a state of hysteria.

Drenched in sweat, his neatly combed hair was in disarray, with wild strands whipping across his eyes.

On one knee, his eyes half-closed, he stared up at the dazzling lights above the plaza.

Straining with all his might, he pounded at the spot over his heart.

His blows were skillful—each strike forceful and loud, yet his fist slackened as it fell, lacking heavy impact.

But those influenced by him were even crazier; they fixated on the preacher with fervent eyes. In sync with his movements, they bellowed and pounded hard at their own chests.

Boom!

Boom! Boom!

Boom! Boom! Boom!

The deafening sounds, like drumbeats, were deep and resonant.

Within the crowd, some faces turned pale and, as they pounded, blood even seeped from their mouths, yet their fanaticism did not waver. Amid the collective thrashing, blood surged from their throats up to their hearts.

Some collapsed silently under the hammering, unnoticed by those around them.

Others, from afar, succumbed to the feverish atmosphere, dazedly shuffling forward.

Seen from above, a mass of dark, bobbing heads filled the scene.

Every voice was hoarse, every motion synchronized as they raised their fists high and hammered down relentlessly.

“Black Box Codex, the Rite of Devotion to God with our Hearts…”

Unbeknownst to the frenzied masses, behind a building in the shadows, a man in a sharp suit—with a head sprouting nine snake heads—appeared quietly. His polished leather shoes glinted as he lurked in the dark. He pulled out a small electronic device, flipped through it twice, and brought up an introduction to the ritual along with its underlying principles.

“So this is really an oratory ability user manipulating the emotions of his believers, pushing them into a fervor and unwittingly driving them into a sacrificial rite to summon something?”

He slowly shut off the device, its blue glow fading from his snake heads.

“Then the key is to counter that oratory ability—break his pollution…”

“But that won’t be easy…”

“Flame has long nurtured an endless swarm of fanatical believers in the city. Changing their mindset isn’t simple…”

“Luckily, this is my forte…”

“…”

The central snake head curled into a bizarre, excited smile as its snake eyes blinked lightly.

In the next moment, his body slumped while, from a corner of the wall, nine vivid red snakes began to slither out.

The nine snakes moved silently, unseen. After a few steps, each split at the head, branching into two directions—nine became eighteen, and eighteen turned into thirty-six, and so on…

Countless red snakes slithered toward the fervent believers, crawling up their bodies.

The snake heads drew near their ears, whispering softly with hissing sounds.

As that sound emerged, the devotees—who had been furiously pounding their chests alongside the preacher—suddenly slowed. The wild fervor on their faces began to fade, their shouts dropped, and the beating of their chests slowed.

It was as if those in the heart of their fanaticism, desperately trying to please God, had suddenly had cold water poured over them…

Though their actions continued, doubt gradually crept into their hearts:

“What am I doing?”

“Is this right?”

“That fat man on the podium… how much of a clown is he?”

“Why… do I feel like… eating him?”

“…”

At Flame West City, the largest news broadcast center in town, the Singer took center stage and belted out his song with abandon.

His singing and the accompanying visuals were transmitted through every terminal in Flame, reaching countless families gathered for dinner who gradually paused their actions as they watched the screen.

Some slowly straightened up.

Some gently set down their mops.

Some gradually finished dressing.

Some eventually abandoned their children.

“…”

Their pupils were completely dominated by the figure singing at the center of the screen, while their ears filled with his music.

A stirring in their hearts continuously interfered with their minds, sparking various impulses.

Some turned their heads blankly toward the window.

Some looked toward the kitchen.

Some glanced at one another…

“…”

“…”

“Clap, clap, clap…”

In the broadcast studio, the Singer, dressed in lavish attire, took a deep breath, preparing to raise his song to a higher pitch, when suddenly a crisp, clear set of footsteps echoed through the silent room.

The footsteps merged into a continuous, delicate, and sharp rhythm.

They sounded as if a nimble dancer in hard-soled shoes had burst into an exuberant tap dance.

The Singer was puzzled—by all accounts, the studio should have been empty.

He tried to ignore it and finish his song, but the percussive tapping grew louder, filling the spacious studio and even seeping into his in-ear monitor, mixing with his vocals and tainting the purity of his performance.

His rhythm was completely thrown off; his mind buzzed uncontrollably.

Then he abruptly stopped, pressed his palm hard against his forehead, and, abandoning the live broadcast, bellowed:

“Who’s there?”

“Who is it out there?”

“…”

No one responded; only the tap-dance persisted.

Even those watching television suddenly snapped to attention, the constant buzzing in their heads fading as if a strangled person had just gulped down fresh air. Still, their eyes remained glued to the screen, captivated by the tapping.

Inside the studio, the director and guards stared in dumbfounded silence—no one had cut the signal.

Their ears were overwhelmed by the tapping as their gaze fixated on one corner of the stage.

There, a figure in a red dress emerged, her sparkling dance shoes announcing her entrance.

The tapping clearly came from under her feet.

Her face was hidden, but her graceful, joyful dance and the light, rhythmic steps of her shoes drew even the fixed cameras to follow her as she moved toward the center of the stage…

Before long, everyone watching on TV saw her dancing silhouette.

“Who… who are you?”

The Singer, noticing something amiss, suddenly looked terrified and shouted loudly.

The dancer gave no answer—she simply continued her tapping, dancing with pure delight.

The backup track, originally chosen by the Singer, melded seamlessly with her movements.

“Security… Security…”

The Singer felt his body convulse unnaturally; fear surged within him as he screamed, trying to escape. But after only a few steps, his body emitted a sharp ‘crack’—as if his bones had broken in an instant.

Desperation etched across his face as his body clattered like a marionette, performing bizarre, uncontrolled movements.

In the final shot, his eyes and mouth skewed as he glanced off-screen like a pathetic clown.

Yet none of the viewers noticed; they simply enjoyed the mesmerizing dance, laughing with delight.

“…”

“…”

In Flame North City, white shadows filled every corner.

Men drawn by websites, obscure videos, or a passerby’s silhouette became entranced by a solitary white shadow—mesmerized as it strode ahead gracefully, its lithe movements oblivious to the black chains that had already locked around their necks or the fact that they had fallen to their knees and were crawling…

Entering a vast, empty underground parking area, they discovered they weren’t following just one white shadow.

Across all seven levels of the parking area, every door, every corridor—even the elevators—had a white shadow leading a group of men as they emerged slowly. They exchanged gentle smiles as they moved toward the center.

At the heart of the parking area was a hole that connected all levels.

Peering down, one could see a bronze statue standing at the very bottom of the pit, even adorned with incense.

Spanning all seven levels, they advanced toward the center, their laughter enchanting and intoxicated.

But just as they reached the middle of the pit, a cold sneer suddenly echoed.

The white figures paused, looking up in unison.

Then they saw—a red cloak flashed across the ceiling in an instant.

The white figures froze, and suddenly the entire seven-level parking area fell into an eerie silence.

All that could be heard was the wind whistling through the empty space.

“Fox Immortal Temple, a B-level secret organization, active in the Chaos Zone. Ostensibly wild, but long since bought by Flame…”

“Preaching the descent of the Fox Immortal and the salvation of men, dedicated to nurturing life…”

“In reality, it was established by a Level-Two Hypnosis Ability User on his quest for the Third Stage. The crux is that this hypnosis practitioner, lacking proper guidance, strayed from his path—an ability user who ended up doling out freebies online…”

“…”

As that voice resonated, every white figure trembled, suddenly looking up with twisted expressions.

In their midst, a short girl in a red cloak emerged from the shadows.

She held an electronic device in one hand and a gun in the other, her face obscured by an eye mask.

Her previously stern expression shifted to one of eerie amusement, as she offered a suggestive smile:

“And here’s the clincher…”

“This document says you’re a man?”