Chapter 90: Carnival Time

Piercing alarms echoed through the Vertical Farm, and urged on by the shrieking, vast swathes of fungal colonies stirred restlessly, baring their fangs and claws.

Sirian opened the backpack he carried and pulled out a heavy explosive.

This was something Sirian had commissioned Bruce to make—a perfect creation mixed with high explosives, soul marrow, steel pellets, iron fragments, and other dangerous materials. Sirian affectionately called it a “firework.”

“As a guest, how can I not knock on the door?”

Sirian said, pulling the fuse of the explosive. After a spark flashed, he threw it into the deep darkness below.

After a brief delay, terrifying flames erupted from the depths of the darkness.

The pure soul marrow ignited a wildly expanding fireball, incinerating the fungal colonies it touched. Countless figures caught in the blast instantly evaporated into ash-black shadows.

Some managed to hide under cover, but with the explosion came countless steel pellets and iron fragments. They were like a hail of bullets, riddling the metal baffles with dense holes, tearing apart those who were hiding.

The building shook violently. The expanded areas successively collapsed, and the inner walls of the fractured copper pipes were encrusted with mineral deposits like blood scabs. Steam hissed out of the cracks, accompanied by a sharp metallic grinding sound, like the dying breaths of a colossal beast.

“Enemy attack! Enemy attack!”

A Spawn of Evil reacted, activating its origin energy.

“Damn it, is it the City Guard Bureau’s attack? Why was there no warning!”

Chaotic shouts rang out continuously.

Sirian heard all these sounds, a calm, “gurgling” sound emanating from beneath his six-eyed winged helmet.

Sirian raised his jet revolver. The area below was a chaotic mess, but this didn’t prevent him from deducing the enemy’s positions through their origin energy reactions.

Similarly, he didn’t need to accurately hit the enemy’s body; he only needed to shoot and detonate.

He pulled the trigger, and soul marrow bullets transformed into burning streams of fire, raining down from above.

Exploding fireballs rose one after another, overturning sheet metal, burning through internally rusted gear sets, and melting pipes, revealing clogged humus.

The internal accumulated steam was released at this moment, Ejection columns of steam mixed with black fungal residue. Upon landing, they corroded the ground into bubbling acid pits.

“I’m here!”

Sirian shouted down, “Is no one going to greet a guest!”

No one responded to Sirian’s taunt. His arrival was too sudden, his offensive fierce and frenzied, unleashing the momentum of a thousand men by himself.

“Haha!”

Sirian laughed, throwing another explosive down below.

After an earthquake-like roar, the uppermost planting platform collapsed, and the pervasive green mist completely burned away, vanishing.

Sirian saw it.

Mycelia surged from the cracks in the ground, grey-green in color, covered with a sticky liquid that gleamed with an oily sheen in the firelight.

They seemed to possess self-awareness, sensing the impending danger, and proliferated wildly, spreading with almost mechanical precision.

They spread to a nearby large mechanical device, first coiling around pipe joints, softening the sealant, then infiltrating the gearbox, mixing with the lubricant to form a gel-like substance that gradually jammed the precise transmission system. Finally, they enveloped the entire mechanical structure, forming a translucent biological shell, with vaguely visible digested metal fragments inside—these mycelia were not mere parasites; they were devouring all matter they touched.

Sirian pulled the trigger again, and the completely decayed equipment exploded in response, igniting a sky-high blaze.

Urgent footsteps came from all directions. After a brief panic, the Spawn of Evil gathered their strength and surrounded Sirian.

Sirian roughly sensed them, and just as expected, they were all Rank One and Rank Two entities. He didn’t detect any Rank Three enemies yet.

An iron door on one side was violently kicked open. Before Sirian could see the true faces of the Spawn of Evil, a surging mist of spores assailed him.

Wherever the spore mist touched, dense fungi grew out of thin air, corroding material surfaces into pockmarks. Upon contact with the human body, they could parasitize the skin and burrow into the flesh.

Even the Iron Guards, renowned for their physical enhancements, found it difficult to resist this flesh-targeting corrosion.

In the estimation of the Spawn of Evil, within a few seconds, Sirian would be covered in mushrooms, his blood sucked dry, his flesh devoured, leaving behind a fragile husk.

But what appeared before the Spawn of Evil was a rising heatwave.

“It’s only interesting if it’s evenly matched…”

Sirian murmured, the soul marrow within him fully ignited, reflecting countless glowing red blood vessels.

He gently exhaled forward, blowing out a string of sparks.

The spore mist was killed by the deadly high temperature before it could even touch Sirian.

Terrifying heat concentrated in his palm. Sirian gripped the boiling sword tightly, and the boiling sword, in turn, burned brightly.

A crimson sword light rapidly magnified in the eyes of the Spawn of Evil.

Sirian’s slash was so fast that by the time he felt a delayed pain, his neck and chest had already been completely split open.

“No…”

The Spawn of Evil’s proud self-healing ability failed at this moment.

The flesh swept by the boiling sword was charred and vaporized, losing all vitality. No mycelia grew, and no blood flowed.

Sirian suddenly stopped and spun, severing a head with one swing, freezing the last sight in the Spawn of Evil’s eyes upon the boiling sword.

He opened the cylinder, ejected the spent casings, and reloaded.

Sirian raised his jet revolver and pulled the trigger three times in quick succession towards the passage ahead.

Three explosions arrived belatedly, filling the passage with rampant fire, thereby slowing the advance of the Spawn of Evil.

Sirian strode rapidly into a control room.

Under the corrosion of chaotic energy, mycelia emerged from the cracks in the instrument panel, encasing the pointers in twisted, tumor-like growths.

Sirian didn’t know what exactly this place was used to control, but that didn’t stop him from plunging the boiling sword into the instrument panel.

“Haha!”

Amidst Sirian’s laughter, the pointers on the control console spun wildly.

“Where! Where!”

Sirian looked around expectantly, wondering where the next unexpected event would occur.

A commotion came from another platform.

Deeper within, inside a steam boiler completely devoured by mycelia, a mycelial network formed an insulating layer on the boiler’s inner wall, while steam was transported through mycelial pipes to provide energy to distant fungal colonies.

Sirian’s playful actions broke this fragile balance.

The roaring flames inside the furnace roasted the thick metal walls red, like a piece of iron firmly clamped by tongs, gradually twisting and deforming.

The internal pressure continuously climbed. Finally, at a certain moment, tiny cracks on the metal wall rapidly spread into grotesque gashes.

Sirian mimicked a sound.

“Boom!”

The steam boiler collapsed and exploded. High-temperature steam, like a wild horse unbridled, surged out, carrying intense heat and ferocity. The air was torn into countless fragments, and a shockwave swept all around.

Countless figures and buildings fell in unison, like fields of wheat flattened by the wind.

Before they could get up, the splashing metal fragments, carrying immense kinetic energy, created a secondary killing effect, riddling the flesh with holes.

The collapse caused by the sudden cooling of the steam created a reverse water hammer impact, further tearing pipes and support structures. A series of pipes ruptured, and it began to rain in this deep underground area.

Sirian walked through this ruin, each step crushing a mixture of mycelia and metal, emitting a teeth-grinding crunch.

The scorching heat of the steam and the chilling dampness of the mycelia clashed in the air, forming a pungent, acidic smell. In the distance, the groaning of jammed gears intertwined with the viscous sound of growing mycelia, as if the ruin itself was whispering.

Sirian softly spoke the ruin’s whisper.

“There is no salvation here, only corruption and the finality of death.”

Then, rustling sounds arose from all directions. Those figures who should have been killed by the explosion stood up again.

Some had lost arms, some had large holes in their bellies, and some were headless.

People should have died, yet they lived again. Mycelia writhed in their horrifying wounds, like a mass of maggots devouring flesh, as if trapped in the world by some malevolent curse, unable to find peace.

“I cannot save you all, nor do I intend to.”

Sirian spoke to himself, continuing his previous line, as if he were on a stage, performing a solo show.

Countless decaying corpses wriggled out of the darkness like maggots, emitting chilling growls, surging towards Sirian like a tide.

“But fortunately, I can mercifully grant you eternal peace.”

Sirian rushed into the horde of corpses like an arrow from a bow, his sharp blade cutting through the air, bringing with it a sharp whistle.

With a flick of his wrist, the boiling sword instantly slashed across a corpse’s neck, black blood gushing out like a fountain. Without stopping, with a nimble turn, the boiling sword swept horizontally, like a scythe of death, cutting several corpses in half at the waist. Rotten flesh and internal organs rained down.

Sirian walked and killed, reaching a high point.

These corpses posed no danger to him. What he truly needed to watch out for were the lurking Spawn of Evil.

“It’s a bit disappointing.”

Sirian thought to himself, he had strolled in so brazenly, brutally destroying everything of theirs.

He had expected the Spawn of Evil to clamor about faith and madness, and engage him in a fair fight.

But apart from the few he killed at the beginning, Sirian could only sense the presence of chaotic power, with no other Spawn of Evil in sight.

“Cowards!”

Sirian cursed hysterically.

He turned sideways, raised his elbow, and slammed it hard into a corpse’s chest. At the same time, the boiling sword stabbed upwards, piercing its chin and going straight into its brain, exploding into a splatter of foul blood.

The horde of corpses grew even more frenzied, raising their hands. Sirian raised his hands with them, letting out strange cries of cheer.

“Fan meet and greet!”

Sirian shouted warmly, the boiling sword whirling like a tornado. Wherever it went, corpses were dismembered, severed limbs flew in the air, and black blood poured down like a storm, staining him a blood-red man.

In an instant, hundreds of corpses fell beneath Sirian’s sword, their deaths gruesome. Even the most professional coroner would struggle to piece these bodies back together.

Flashes of origin energy suddenly rose from among the corpses. The Spawn of Evil appeared at this moment, seizing Sirian’s momentary pause, and swung their deadly daggers.

The dagger aimed at Sirian’s throat, but the boiling sword struck down a step ahead.

Blades met, and the two, holding their swords, stood in a stalemate.

“Reverse Falcon, after such a grueling battle, how much origin energy do you have left? How much soul marrow can you still burn?”

The Spawn of Evil mocked, gripping his dagger with both hands, attempting to overpower Sirian.

“Oh, why don’t you try and find out?”

Sirian responded with a smile. The high temperature spreading from the boiling sword heated the Spawn of Evil’s dagger red, and then… melted it!

Blessing: Wrathful Devourer.

Like cutting through soft water, the boiling sword melted and severed the dagger, plunging heavily into the Spawn of Evil’s chest.

His eyes were wide with shock, disbelieving everything that had just happened before him.

“Why?”

Why did Sirian still possess such boundless origin energy? Why did he still have soul marrow to burn? Why did he still have the physical strength to fight?

Even, why was he so ecstatic?

The Spawn of Evil couldn’t understand, and he wouldn’t get the chance to.

Raging flames consumed his remains. Sirian stepped over his corpse, striding forward.

The ouroboros seal was pleased with Sirian’s atrocities, and he himself was ecstatic with his actions.

“Next!”

Sirian shouted, raising his sword.

“Where is the next challenger!”

Suddenly, a hazy green mist spread, and wherever it went, fungi grew wildly, transforming the scarred ruins into a lush green landscape.

A knight in bulky heavy armor gripped a moss-covered halberd and strode towards Sirian.

“Oh, the challenger is here.”

Sirian said, firing at the newcomer, his soul marrow bullets igniting a series of explosions.