Unholy Player Chapter 499 Breaking the Shell

The possibility that the man was leading them into an ambush still carried weight, even though she gripped a genuine treasure in her palm.

However, his subsequent words demolished the final remnants of her suspicion.

Mad Scientist stood up once more. He no longer attempted to maintain a composed facade, allowing exhaustion to sit openly upon his features. When he finally spoke, his tone was heavy with significance. "Because only a God can stop a God."

Any rational or virtuous man in the Midlands would have met that claim with laughter, dismissing him as a lunatic.

This cult, however, did not. To them, those words resonated as a fundamental truth and a declaration of raw ambition.

A future where their God rose to challenge the others, annihilating them and dismantling the four main paths, was a vision they would gladly sacrifice their lives to witness. It was the very core of their existence.

Observing another soul who shared the dream they lived for was sufficient; they accepted his determination without further inquiry.

With all doubts extinguished, the leader tightened her grip on the key, sensing its physical weight and the subtle thrum of power vibrating through it. She turned away from the man and approached the pool of blood.

The cultists immediately stepped aside, creating a path while falling to their knees once again before the vessel resting upon the crimson surface.

Stopping at the water's edge, she let the key slip from her fingers. It tumbled into the blood with an indifferent, almost casual motion.

Then, she too lowered herself into a kneeling position. From this moment on, nothing remained but to offer silent prayers and wait for the blood to consume the Rank 4 treasure.

Mad Scientist stayed where he was for a time, observing the ritual's progress, not daring to disturb the atmosphere with even the slightest noise.

After a while, he finally turned back, retreating into the looming shadows until the darkness swallowed him and his form faded from sight once more.

Far from the site of the ritual, a gentle wind drifted through the thick woods. It carried the warmth of a sun that was brightening into a vivid yellow, coaxing the leaves and limbs into a soft rustle.

A bird sang into the air, basking in the warm draft and greeting the changing hues of the sky, welcoming a new day with simple, satisfied notes.

Spreading its small, bluish wings, it leaped from a nest perched on a high branch. It left its newly hatched brood behind to hunt for the breakfast they were incessantly chirping for.

As it glided between the trees, it peered down at the forest floor. Its bead-like blue eyes searched for anything edible—roots, bushes, or patches of soil—letting nothing escape its gaze.

Yet, there was nothing to be found.

No insects to hunt, no fruit to gather, nor a single living creature in sight.

It seemed as though the entire forest had been deserted in a silent exodus while the mother bird slept. Life had retreated, leaving only a lingering, heavy stillness behind.

Her instincts shrieked at her to flee this place just as the others had. Nevertheless, her wings kept beating, compelled by the necessity of feeding the hungry beaks waiting in the nest as she soared above the treeline.

Shortly after breaking through the canopy, something unfamiliar caught her attention—something that had not been there the evening before.

A massive clearing had been carved through the woods where only trees once stood. It appeared as if an invisible force had simply shoved everything aside, leaving a jagged gap in the greenery.

In the center of this void sat a lone red object, gleaming under the sunlight with a luster that triggered the bird's primal hunger.

The bird flapped her wings with renewed vigor and dived toward the strange entity. It looked like an egg—similar to her own—but it was far larger and entirely crimson.

Perceiving no danger, only the intoxicating scent of a potential feast, she landed on the smooth, glassy surface. She drove her beak downward, determined to devour this fragrant egg.

The initial strike hit a wall of solid resistance. Pain surged through her skull from the force of the impact, a dull throb blooming behind her eyes.

Still, she refused to relent. She pecked again. And again. And again.

Finally, a sharp noise echoed through the clearing.

Crack.

The egg, however, remained unblemished and whole. It was the tip of the bird's beak that had splintered, worn away by the repeated strikes. The sharp point was gone, leaving only a jagged stump.

Even so, the bird did not cease. She continued to hammer her mangled beak against the shell, each strike growing more frantic. The original mission of feeding her young vanished, smothered by an all-consuming obsession to taste the contents of the red shell.

Desire became her master, and greed became her end.

After battering the shell until her beak was ruined and her head was crushed and bloody, the bird finally collapsed. She lay motionless, with only a faint tremor of her wings signaling the departure of her life force.

Had the bird possessed greater awareness, she would have seen the true nature of what surrounded that egg—a prize that promised life but delivered only death. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of other birds and small beasts formed a ring around the crimson shell. Each had been lured by the same hunger, and each had perished in the exact same manner.

None of them were truly to blame. The egg itself was the predator, its very presence acting as a lure that exerted a pull the forest's denizens were powerless to resist.

As time passed, more creatures and insects arrived, only to add to the growing mound of remains. The pile of carrion rose higher around the egg until, at last, a change occurred within.

The red shell, which no tooth or claw had managed to dent, began to vibrate. Harsh, splintering sounds pierced the clearing as thin, blood-colored fractures spread across its surface.

Once the cracks had webbed across the entire exterior, a surge of power from within erupted in a violent burst, shattering a large portion of the shell.

An arm emerged from the wreckage.

It was stark white, the skin flawless and smooth, possessing a soft, almost human beauty that felt inherently wrong to behold.

Blood-red nails tipped the long, elegant fingers, making the limb look less like a part of a living being and more like a masterpiece carved by a genius—every curve too precise, every proportion unsettlingly perfect.

The arm did not stop at breaking a single hole. It thrust outward, smashing the surrounding shell to create a wide passage for the figure inside to emerge.

The man who stepped out walked across the carpet of animal and insect corpses without a shred of concern, lifting his gaze toward the radiant sky.

His dark red hair shifted in the light wind, and his eyes, resembling a turbulent crimson ocean, lazily fixed upon the bright sun.