The Ascension to Godhood Begins with the Blacklight Virus

Chapter 9 The Fragile Alliance

A deathly silence permeated the passageway, so thick it seemed impossible to dissipate.

Ah Qi's breathing was steady to the point of being cold. Her fists, wrapped in cracked wrist guards, hung naturally at her sides, but Cheng Song could feel that her entire body's energy and spirit were like a fully drawn bowstring, locked tightly on him. Any slight movement would invite a thunderous strike. Her physical cultivation's spiritual sense allowed her to perceive every agitation and every suppression of the inhuman power within Cheng Song's body.

Mi Tong's black robes fluttered without wind, and the dim black crystal on the tip of his staff still stared at Cheng Song, like a cold, one-eyed specter. His soul was wounded, and his face was ashen, but deep within his eerie green eyes, a stream of data-like light flickered wildly as he analyzed Cheng Song—the fragile balance between that dark red, devouring vortex and the remaining glimmer of humanity.

The helmet Iron Anvil removed was placed at his feet, revealing a face etched with weariness and determination. His knuckles were white from the force of the blowdown hammer. He didn't look at Cheng Song, but rather at the depths of the passage, seemingly assessing the dangers ahead and calculating the probability of survival in this moment of infighting.

Ivan lay not far away, groaning unconsciously, but no one paid him any attention.

Leaning against the wall, Cheng Song felt the excruciating pain in his right arm and the surging under his skin like waves, assaulting his remaining sanity. The energy from the guardian's flesh and blood was being digested, bringing a subtle increase in strength, but also more chaotic and distorted fragments of memory and an ever-filling, cold emptiness deep within his stomach. He had to exert all his strength to cooperate with the remaining effects of the Soul-Cleansing Incense to keep his eyes relatively clear, instead of being consumed by that devouring desire.

"Answer me." Ah Qi's voice rang out again, cold and flat, like the first cut of a scalpel through skin. "What exactly are you? Answer me in three sentences."

Cheng Song's throat was dry and sore. He forced a smile, which pulled at the wound on his face, and spoke:

"First, I am a player from the Spirit Realm, ID: Cleaner, Lv3."

"Secondly, I had an accident in a dungeon, and now... a rather unruly tenant is sharing the house with me, and I'm trying to control it."

"Third," he raised his eyelids, his dark red peripheral vision sweeping over the three of them, "my goal is the same as yours—to destroy the Mother Nest, clear the dungeon, and get out alive. At least for now, we are not enemies."

"An accident? A tenant?" Ah Qi's eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly. "Something that would make you swallow monster flesh and blood and deform your arms? You're insulting my judgment."

"Oh dear, Miss Qi, you can't say that." Cheng Song spread out his still-intact left hand, giving her a look that said, "You're too naive." "The Spirit Realm is so vast, there's nothing that can't be more wondrous. Some people level up through meditation, some through chanting spells, some through ruthless technology... What I'm doing here is simply developing a more... well, efficient and direct method of nutrient intake and reuse. It's green, environmentally friendly, and doesn't waste anything. Look at those gardeners, keeping them around only pollutes the environment. By eating them, I'm contributing to the purification of the instance and resource recycling. Doesn't that broaden your perspective?"

"The very model of your so-called high efficiency is simultaneously eroding your soul's structure and altering the very essence of your life," Mi Tong's hoarse voice interrupted, carrying a cold, insightful aversion. "That's not a tenant; it's cancer. You're not sharing a room with it; you're feeding it with your very existence, and what it gives you in return, besides power, is slow assimilation and... eventual replacement. Your tug-of-war is about to snap, Mr. Cleaner."

These words were like an icicle, precisely piercing a deliberately ignored corner of Cheng Song's consciousness. But the smile on his face only froze for half a second before becoming even brighter, even taking on a hint of madness:

"My friend, you're clearly a theorist," Cheng Song said, pointing to his head. "Soul structure? The essence of life? Too profound for me. All I know is that when you're starving, you eat; when you're about to die, you fight desperately. These cancer cells are helping me eat, helping me fight, and letting me live to get out of this hellhole—those are good cells! As for the future…"

He paused, the dark red in his eyes suddenly intensifying for a moment, but his voice lowered, carrying an almost seductive, neurotic murmur:

"Who knows what the future holds? Maybe one day I, the tenant, will overeat, have a change of heart, and voluntarily pay the rent? Maybe I can eat even more and end up digesting it? There's a long road ahead, let's not jump to conclusions. Right now, our goal is the mother nest, right? Let's achieve our performance targets first, then talk about stock dividends, isn't that better?"

Ah Qi's brows furrowed even more, and the icy coldness in his eyes almost overflowed. The shadow beneath the hood of the Secret Eye seemed to flicker, as if it were suppressing something.

The anvil's gaze finally shifted from the depths of the passage to Cheng Song's face, a face that wore a playful grin but couldn't conceal the inhuman restlessness deep within his eyes. He remained silent for a few seconds before his heavy, metallic voice slowly rose:

"Scavenger," Anvil looked at him, his face expressionless, but the pressure on his hand on the hammer handle seemed to loosen almost imperceptibly. "Your joke is terrible."

Cheng Song's smile widened, almost carefree: "Right? I think so too. But the atmosphere is so tense, how about we ease it up a bit? Shall we hug each other and have a good cry to remember Ivan who almost died?"

"Alright," Iron Anvil ignored his banter and continued, his voice as calm as if he were stating a battle plan, "If you really wanted to harm us, you had a better chance when the guardians appeared and the group was at its most chaotic. But you chose to save people and share the burden. Your 'loss of control,' at least for now, has a clear target—only those monsters."

He looked at Ah Qi and Mi Tong: "An uncontrollable bomb, and a bomb that temporarily shares the same goal and might even help us blast our way through—in a desperate situation, which one would you choose to clear a path?"

He looked at Ah Qi and Mi Tong: "You choose."

The air froze again.

Ah Qi closed her eyes, her chest rising and falling slightly, seemingly sensing and thinking in a way unique to body cultivators. A few seconds later, she opened her eyes, her gaze sharp as a knife: "He'll go first. He'll be responsible for all traps, reconnaissance, and the first wave of contact. During combat, he must be within our line of sight and attack range. He must not use his devouring ability again, and must not do anything that could trigger uncontrollable mutations. If there are any signs of loss of control, or if he does anything that threatens the team's survival—"

She paused, then said, word by word, "I will personally break every single one of his bones until he can no longer move."

This is not a negotiation, it is a unilateral verdict.

Mi Tong coughed twice and slowly said, "I can try to temporarily mark his life field with shadow magic. If the activity of 'that thing' of his exceeds the threshold, I will know. But I cannot suppress it, I can only issue an early warning." This was a way of providing some monitoring, but it also drew a clear line—he would only issue an early warning, not help control it.

The anvil looked at Cheng Song: "Your choice?"

Cheng Song felt the instinctive rage arising from the virus's hostile and murderous targeting of A Qi, and forcibly suppressed it. He slowly stood up, his movements stiff due to the pain and weakness in his right arm.

"Deal." Cheng Song answered crisply and decisively, even with a relaxed expression that seemed to suggest it was only a matter of time, as if the terrifying threat from before was just a casual chat about what to have for dinner.

Iron Anvil bent down, picked up the broken helmet from the ground, dusted it off, but didn't put it on immediately. He looked at Cheng Song and said in a deep voice, "Remember your words, Cleaner. Don't betray my trust in you."

"Don't worry, bro." Cheng Song stretched his aching neck, making a soft cracking sound, and turned around first, facing the all-consuming darkness deep within the passage. He understood that this was all the upright MT could manage. With his back to his three temporary teammates, that touch of manic laughter resurfaced in his voice, as if speaking to the darkness, and also to himself:

"I don't have many strengths, except that I'm generally reliable when it comes to my words."

There were no handshakes, no vows. A hastily formed alliance, based on absolute distrust and mutual exploitation, was forged in this dark passage filled with bloodshed and despair. As fragile as a spider's web.

"Treat his wounds, at least don't let him bleed to death while scouting." Iron Anvil gestured to Secret Eyes at Cheng Song's torn right arm, then walked over to Evan and roughly slapped him awake.

Ivan groggily woke up and, seeing the scene before him and Cheng Song's miserable state, was so frightened that he tried to pretend to faint again, but Iron Anvil grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up. "If you want to live, follow me."

Mi Tong silently walked to Cheng Song's side, took out a small jar containing a thick black ointment from her black robe, and gestured for Cheng Song to extend his right arm. Cheng Song hesitated for a moment, then did as she was told. The ointment was applied to the wound, bringing an icy chill and a slight numbing sensation, slowing the bleeding, but the deep pain and the feeling of muscle tearing remained. Mi Tong's movements were quick and professional, but there was no eye contact throughout the process. After applying the ointment, she immediately withdrew, as if avoiding something filthy.

Cheng Song tore off a relatively clean piece of lining and roughly bandaged it to cover the wounds that were slowly healing, but whose healing process had been deliberately slowed down.

The team regrouped. The formation changed to: Cheng Song in front, followed three steps behind him in a triangular formation with A Qi on the left, Tie Zhen in the middle, Mi Tong on the right, and Yi Wen stumbling along, half-draggled behind by Tie Zhen. They maintained an awkward and wary distance from each other.

They chose the passage that glowed with a dark red light. Their intuition told them that the core lay in that direction.

The passageway gradually sloped downwards, and the air grew increasingly stuffy. Regular, twisted runes, as if branded with a hot iron, began to appear on the walls, each emitting a faint, dark red glow, merging together like some kind of malevolent breath. The musky scent mixed with the smell of rust in the air was almost tangible; inhaling it brought a slight dizziness and a strange sense of unease.

Even more eerie was the whispering.

At first, it was extremely subtle, like tinnitus, but as it went deeper, it gradually became clearer. It was not a language, but a mixture of countless fragments of sounds—painful groans, frantic babbling, devout prayers, vicious curses… They drilled directly into the mind, trying to evoke the deepest fears, desires, and negative emotions within.

"A zone of mental contamination," Mi Tong warned hoarsely, raising his staff. A much thinner layer of shadow shield barely enveloped them, filtering out some of the whispers, but not completely isolating them. "Concentrate, don't be distracted. The deeper you go, the stronger the contamination becomes."

Cheng Song walked at the front, bearing the brunt of the impact. The whispers murmured in his ears, resonating with fragments of memory that flooded in as the virus within him digested the flesh and blood of the gardener, causing broken and bloody images to flash before his eyes intermittently. He had to grit his teeth and use his remaining willpower to build a dam. The dark red lines on his right arm writhed uneasily beneath his skin.

"There's a fork in the road ahead," Cheng Song said in a low voice, stopping in his tracks. The passage ahead split into three, each leading to a different darkness. The runes on the walls at the three intersections were slightly different.

"Perception," the anvil succinctly stated.

Ah Qi closed her eyes and concentrated, her pointed ears twitching slightly. After a moment, she pointed to the middle path: "There's a faint airflow, carrying an even stronger... stench of decaying life. And... a faint, rhythmic sound, like... a heartbeat?"

Secret Eyes pointed his staff to the left: "The echoes of souls are strongest on this path—pain, despair, and... twisted joy. It's chaotic."

Cheng Song silently sensed the subtle tremors emanating from the virus. All three paths exuded the aura of primordial blood, but the middle one was the most concentrated, exerting the strongest attraction on the virus, almost giving him a pilgrimage-like urge. He suppressed this urge and pointed to the right-hand path: "This one... feels the coldest to me, like a machine or... emptiness."

Anvil surveyed the three paths, then glanced at his exhausted teammates and the shivering, unconscious Ivan, before making his decision: "Take the middle. The heartbeat likely indicates the Broodmother or its primary defenses. Direct target, avoid wasting time in secondary areas."

No one objected. Or rather, amidst suspicion and exhaustion, no one had the energy to object to a clear decision.

The moment I stepped into the central passage, the whispers suddenly intensified several times over! It was as if countless people were shouting right next to my ear! The dark red runes shone brightly, and the fungal carpet on the walls began to wriggle, oozing slime.

"Speed ​​up! Don't stop!" the anvil growled.

The group began to jog. Cheng Song, enduring the mental shock and physical pain, sharply scanned the area ahead. The passage was no longer straight; it began to curve, as if spiraling downwards. Cylindrical, transparent culture chambers embedded in the walls began to appear on both sides, but many were broken, empty except for dried grime. A few remained intact, filled with indescribable, semi-melted organic tissue, some even still pulsating slightly.

"Look at this!" Ivan suddenly pointed to a smaller culture chamber as they passed by, his voice trembling. Inside wasn't tissue, but a curled-up boy who looked no more than twelve or thirteen years old. His eyes were closed, his skin was pale, and his body was covered in tubes, all submerged in a pale green liquid. But strangely, a fist-sized, slowly pulsating dark green tumor was embedded in his chest, from which countless tiny blood vessels extended, connecting him to his body.

"A second-phase experimental subject... a failed product that retained some intelligence..." Evan murmured. As a bioalchemist, he recognized the tumor as the symbiotic form of the Seed of Corruption.

Seemingly sensing the presence of a living person, the boy in the incubation chamber suddenly opened his eyes! No pupils, only a murky, ghastly green! He opened his mouth, letting out a silent scream, his body struggling violently, slamming against the chamber walls. The dark green tumor throbbed wildly, its color deepening.

Ah Qi's eyes turned cold. Without pausing, he slapped the reinforced glass of the incubation chamber with a palm strike from a distance. The pale golden energy was released and then immediately withdrawn.

"Crack." Spiderweb-like cracks spread across the sturdy glass from the center of his palm, then shattered with a crash. Green liquid gushed out, and the boy, along with the tumor, fell to the ground, twitched a few times, and then lay still, the green light in his eyes quickly extinguishing. Ah Qi didn't even glance at him, as if he had merely casually cleared away a stumbling block.

Cheng Song felt a chill run down his spine. This woman's decisiveness and ruthlessness far exceeded his expectations.

The passageway widened, gradually transforming into a massive, downward-sloping spiral ramp. Along its sides, even larger cultivation facilities appeared, some as large as rooms. Through blurry observation windows, one could see even more enormous, deformed, and indescribable aggregates of biomass within—some resembling enlarged organs, others like humanoid spheres stitched together from multiple corpses—all connected by dark green veins or tumors. This place resembled a nursery or secondary processing plant within a mother nest.

The heartbeat grew clearer and heavier. "Thump...thump..." Like the slumbering breath of a giant beast, it made the air tremble slightly. A sweet, cloying, almost overgrown, fishy smell began to mingle with the musky, rusty scent.

"Stop." Cheng Song, who was walking at the front, suddenly raised his hand to signal, his body tense.

At the end of the ramp ahead stood a massive gate, forged from some dark silver alloy, blocking the way. In the center of the gate, a complex locking mechanism, composed of transistors and biological tissue, pulsed slowly, radiating powerful energy fluctuations. Behind the gate, the heavy thumping of a heartbeat was almost within reach.