MCDWTBS Chapter 73

Chapter 73: Chapter 73 “Our Cooperation with the Duke of Noah’s Mansion…”

At the same time, within the Celestial Palace Shrine on Celestial Star, an extremely treacherous energy rippled, momentarily disintegrating the defenses above Celestial Star.

The blood of female and sub-male insectoid attendants flowed from the cracks in the palace doors, slowly trickling down the gleaming long steps. The insectoids passing by seemed oblivious, pausing briefly before cautiously moving on.

Inside the main hall of the Shrine, Pope Lund sat high on his throne, one hand propping up his chin. The attendants around him had already been torn apart by his mental energy. He sat alone amidst the blood-red scene, seemingly serene, as if listening to music.

The technological equipment within the hall had been completely destroyed by the energy field, with only a sliver of light filtering through the large windows cut from transparent gemstones. Lund’s face was half-lit, half-shadowed. The bright half of his face remained young and exquisite, his eyelids half-closed, like a Buddha with lowered eyes. The shadows covered the other half, the treacherous energy surging beneath his skin like maggots crawling. In the blurred area where light and shadow met, a hellish malice seemed to tear at Lund’s skin, an evil so potent it could make even gods tremble, as if it were about to break free from its cocoon.

Any creature would be terrified by this scene, but against all odds, a young and childish sneer pierced the silence beneath the throne.

“Heh… cough… hahahaha…”

Silvery-white hair, as pure as moonlight, cascaded down. The owner of the hair casually tore off the damaged priestly robe from his shoulders. Saint Francis laughed so hard he could barely stand, brazenly mocking the crumbling foundation of the Holy See for millennia in front of the Pope.

He laughed so hard he almost choked, the taste of blood filling his throat, but he didn’t care. As he laughed, his fingers tightly gripped the blood-splattered on his robe. The blood was still warm, and its owner had been carefully and piously serving the Pope just moments before.

He had seemed so obedient, so honored, his face full of piety and unwavering faith, serving the Pope as if he were a true god. But in the next instant, before the piety on his face could fade, he had become a pile of corpses, his blood splattering onto the Saint’s white robe ten meters away.

The Saint could feel the artifact around his neck burning and tightening, symbolizing the Pope’s silent rage and murderous intent. But he couldn’t stop his open ridicule and provocation. Why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he? This world was absurd and disgusting to the core. Ever since he had been forced to transmigrate, he had been looking for an opportunity to use the Pope’s disgusting, old, undead face to mop the floor, to witness his twisted face after his schemes were shattered. As for the consequences?

The Saint couldn’t care less. He had suffered from severe misanthropy on Earth. After transmigrating to the morally bankrupt insectoid society and being reduced to the “Saint,” leashed by the Pope, he didn’t even want to live. If it weren’t for the fact that he had protected some homeless female and sub-male insectoids in recent years, he would have ignored the artifact controlled by the Pope around his neck and fought him to the death. Death would be a welcome release.

The strange smell of a burning soul wafted through the air. The image of a young male insectoid, maintained by the Saint’s mental energy, crumbled like an illusion. A delicately featured infant, like a child laughing in the arms of the Virgin Mary in a Western oil painting, knelt on the ground in disarray. His silvery-white hair was soaked with sweat, clinging to his androgynous, exquisite face. The intense pain made his body tremble, but the corners of his lips remained raised in a defiant smile.

He was still laughing. After an unknown amount of time, the Pope on the high throne seemed tired of the game. He walked barefoot down the long steps, treading on the sticky, filthy blood, and stopped in front of the Saint. He lifted his foot and kicked the silver-haired infant’s convulsing, limp body over.

“You disappoint me too much, Francis.”

The Pope’s voice was smooth and deep, as if carrying a gentle scolding for the infant, but his power continued to drive the artifact to burn the Saint’s soul.

“Do it.” The Saint’s face was swollen from lack of oxygen. The smile on his lips was stiff and ugly from trying to maintain it, but his eyes were stubborn and bright. “You don’t… dare… to kill me?”

The Pope’s feigned kindness shattered for a moment at his provocation. After a moment of silence, the Pope sighed, as if looking at an unrepentant child:

“This is your last chance, Francis. I have high hopes for you. Even for my own male children, I have never cared for them as much as I care for you. But you have repeatedly trampled on my cultivation… You are a foolish wild dog, my child. Your soul is sick; it doesn’t know how to make pleasant sounds. That is your original sin.”

The Saint only felt like vomiting, but his suffocating throat wouldn’t allow him to react. He could only cough up a little fragmented sound, more like the whimper of a wounded puppy.

The Pope finally seemed satisfied. He closed his eyes, as if enjoying the Saint’s desperate and obedient demeanor, and then, before the Saint could make another sound, he mocked:

“Stop your foolishness, Francis. Do you know what your most stubborn problem is? You want to save those inferior, foolish female and sub-male insectoids. You invest too much experience in them, and my indulgence has made you what you are today… My poor child, you should be more focused.”

His voice was falsely gentle, but the hidden murderous intent and threat made the Saint feel cold for the first time. The silver-haired infant, still trembling uncontrollably, lowered his head for the first time—of course, he knew that continuing to resist meant that the female and sub-male insectoids under his protection would all be killed by the Pope without exception.

He didn’t really know much about those female and sub-male insectoids. The Saint was a college student with many psychological problems and trust issues before he transmigrated. He didn’t even think his sexual orientation was male. His skillful flirting was just a disguise. After transmigrating, he used his limited abilities to protect some female and sub-male insectoids he didn’t even know. He provided them with shelter and necessities, but he couldn’t always protect their comfort.

The Saint fell silent completely. The Pope gracefully bent down, patted the Saint’s head, and murmured:

“This is the last time I will tolerate your endless rebellion, Francis. Serra is already surprisingly troublesome. You should be a good boy in these troubled times, shouldn’t you?”

The Saint didn’t answer. The Pope’s finger, dipped in the Saint’s blood, gently twirled it, and said in a gloomy voice:

“I have summoned her billions of times, but she never listens to her children. Since she chose to leave, she shouldn’t linger, because a world without gods will breed new gods.”

“Everything changed when she left… We have new rules; she shouldn’t choose to come back. My mother god… and her forever biased heart.”

“Our contract with the Duke of Noah’s Mansion has been terminated. That fool, favored by God… he will bear the wrath of the Holy See.”

The Pope dabbed the Saint’s blood in the void, and a huge hexagram covered in runes rose from the air. In the center of the hexagram, a human figure, tightly covered by six hundred and sixty-six chains, manifested. Crimson blood floated in the air. The Saint raised his face, but only saw half of the sharp, beautiful face revealed by the figure in the center of the hexagram.

That was the face of a woman—the mother god.

*

Serra spent his first night in the senior military officer’s residence on the frontier star and fell into a second pupation and transformation due to the residual energy of the mother god.

Some higher male insectoids would undergo two transformations before evolving into complete adults, but Serra’s situation was too special, and he had only just experienced his first transformation. No insectoid had anticipated this sudden event. Edwin stroked the male insectoid’s pitch-black giant cocoon, the sight of Serra’s apologetic and comforting face before he was engulfed by the cocoon still lingering in his mind, along with the love in the male insectoid’s eyes—

Love, what exactly is it? Even after Serra’s countless explanations, Edwin still couldn’t understand. He leaned wearily against the giant cocoon, which rose and fell gently with his breath, his fingers still trembling slightly from today’s continuous changes.

He knew that probably all insectoids were as moved as he was. No creation could calmly face their god, just as no moth could reject the light—for thousands of years, no, from the beginning of life, female and sub-male insectoids heard the mother god’s voice for the first time. They knew for the first time that they were also seen by the mother god.

And Edwin realized even more that Serra, who was by his side, was the true son of god—that was not the mythical story told by the male insectoid Holy See, nor was it the holy image hanging high on the wall—his young one was a genuine favorite of the mother god.

Only a unique favoritism could make the mother god repeatedly save him, could make the mother god unleash divine power for him. The eloquence of facts surpassed all fabricated fabrications. Even if the royal family and the Holy See’s trolls were controlling public opinion and the internet at this moment, and even if countless stubborn female and sub-male insectoids still dared not believe that the mother god would really send down a divine decree for them, Edwin knew that the change Serra had been waiting for had already begun.

Edwin just didn’t know how he could protect his young one unharmed in this huge change.

He quietly accompanied the giant cocoon for a while, and then he stood up again. He had hardly slept, but the iron-like physical fitness of the military male insectoid allowed his body to keep running. He placed many robots and protective shields next to the giant cocoon, and then gently picked up a tendril that was trying to hold him back, paused for a moment, and then wrapped it around his ankle.

He vaguely remembered that when Serra was still a young one, his tendrils were particularly fond of this position.

After a long time, he walked out of the room and began to interview and review all the senior military officers of the Fourth Army, and to coordinate with Sison and Clison, who were in charge of allocating resources from the Duke’s Mansion. The strength of the Fourth Army was the weakest among the four major legions, but it was mostly composed of military male insectoids from civilian backgrounds, and the distribution of power was relatively simple, which saved Edwin a lot of trouble.

In fact, the real trouble had dissipated for the most part after the insect mother’s song. The military male insectoids of the Fourth Army had burning eyes. The warm feeling of being seen by the mother god—of being cared for by the mother god—settled in their chests, almost becoming their second heart. This army was now fearless and easy to command. This was everything Edwin needed now, and everything he wanted to protect.

On the seventh day of his reorganization of military affairs, the pitch-black giant cocoon slowly peeled off its bark-like rough skin. A strong arm pierced through the giant cocoon, the bulging muscle lines shining with a moist luster under the light.

Edwin raised his eyes and met Serra’s pair of deep, focused, and gentle caramel-colored eyes.