Chapter 18 Part 2

“Bad news, Hastur. Your sudden awakening destroyed all the mental tentacles across Districts G through I. A huge number of employees can’t go to work… You need to figure out how to switch back to your original form as soon as possible.”

“?” Hastur felt this wasn’t “bad news” for most of his colleagues—it was more like manna from heaven.

Of course, it was the exact opposite for the Finance Department folks.

Lv Zhucao rubbed his temples in exasperation. “Also, your holographic helmet cracked under the strain. Unless you shrink back to your normal size, or the Research Center makes you a custom one for your current head size, you won’t be able to keep playing the game.”

Intelligence in the game didn’t translate to reality, but Hastur’s mind sparked with clarity. “I can control the size of my mimicked head.”

“…” Lv Zhucao was visibly choked up. “Do you realize how you sound right now? Like a NEET whose house collapsed around him and whose legs got crushed, but all he cares about is his game. Is that game really that addictive for you?”

Hastur nearly blurted out, “Weren’t you awakened in it too?” But before he could, he latched onto something else first.

Lv Zhucao didn’t know about the “secret intel” in the game.

Otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked that.

Human curses. So the one trying to leak intel to you through the game wasn’t Lv Zhucao?

The voice in his mind cursed.

Good thing you didn’t confront him directly before.

But this raises another issue… Does our dear Regulator know about the company’s intel lockdown?

The warmth of Lake Hali gradually chilled over with the ice of lies.

Hastur betrayed none of his thoughts, replying in his usual flat tone. “It soothes my Nesting Desire. The company’s Finance Department won’t want me to keep demolishing neighboring sectors. I need to keep playing the game.”

Lv Zhucao couldn’t hold back a deep sigh. “…You’re right. The Finance Department won’t want to see more budget losses. I’ll get the new helmet to you ASAP. Try to revert to your original form quickly, okay?”

Lv Zhucao hesitated for a long moment, finally looking at Hastur with helpless resignation.

“Just remember one thing, Hastur.”

“The biggest selling point of holographic games is their realism. They hook you with all those authentic little details, making you fall for the thrilling, perilous game world instead of your crappy reality. So no matter what, don’t get addicted.”

Hastur’s mimicked eyeball twitched for an instant. “I lack the organic structure to become addicted.”

Lv Zhucao muttered things like “Yeah, almost forgot” and “not even carbon-based,” before being dragged away by subordinates rushing to hustle their boss back to work.

Hastur quietly melted his mimicked eyeball back down.

His vision shifted rapidly across every spot his mental tentacles reached. Soon, he fixed his gaze inside the tallest astronomical observation tower in District I, on the sole surviving console still faithfully relaying footage from the artificial satellites.

One mental tentacle slithered up to a public tour computer in the lobby’s open viewing area and typed:

Aldebaran.

He quickly adjusted the observation data to match, suppressing a faint heartbeat as he peered through the eyepiece at the cosmos.

An enormous, orange-red light orb blazed in the lens.

It burned brighter and larger than the sun, like the furious eye of a bull.

…But no Carcosa.

Stop, Hastur. You’re forcing a satellite too close to a burning star—the company will notice you destroyed an artificial satellite! The inner voice barked.

Hastur ignored it, fixated on the orange flames on the screen.

The image zoomed in closer, then distorted, ultimately plunging into darkness.

“…” Hastur stared at the screen for several seconds before abruptly contracting all his mental tentacles. “No, they’ll discover that everything in Districts G through I got pulverized by me—the Nesting Desire monster who couldn’t get a holographic helmet. Every artificial satellite controlled from the District I observation tower has crashed.”

Are you sure the Boss’s “you can nest in reality” covers this?

“Failing to provide sedatives to a subject entering nesting phase is the Research Center’s screw-up, not mine.” Hastur irritably flung all his tentacles skyward, slamming them into the ground without restraint. Reality softened instantly into a thin drumhead, booming with dull thuds. “And yes, I’m sure.”

“He never breaks a promise to me, just like I don’t to him.”

The drumming waves spread outward, one after another, startling employees in nearby sectors into panicked screams.

Humans always conquered their procrastination in desperate straits. The new holographic helmet, which would have taken days to arrive, was delivered to Hastur’s grasp in under three minutes by Combat Division members in isolation helmets.

His colleague’s gaze was downright envious. “How come my bloodline awakening doesn’t rate this kind of spectacle… The Boss approved another paid day off for you, you know? Full pay, no hit to perfect attendance. Could you maybe… drum some more? Everyone’s dying for a paid holiday.”

“?” What was this about drumming some more? What did they take him for? Hastur replied, “No. Come up with your own excuse for leave.”

~~~

After downloading the game onto the new helmet, Hastur logged in with some lingering unease.

No one knew if switching helmets would affect whoever was passing him intel. What if the old helmet had a virus that let it bypass the company’s lockdown to relay messages?

Fortunately, the familiar login PV lit up before his eyes, easing his doubts.

【October 1st · 8:00 a.m. · Phoenix District · Orphanage】

Sunlight and warmth enveloped him. It took a moment for him to realize he was still submerged in Lake Hali.

After yesterday’s successful placement, the system had forcibly filled in and reclaimed land north of the orphanage, expanding a “backyard” big enough for the entire lake.

Finnian was out there now, hugging a basket of bedsheets and curtains, hanging them up on a makeshift clothesline in the open yard.

Ithaqua sat by Lake Hali’s edge with a steel basin in his arms, spacing out. When he spotted Hastur’s enormous yellow pupils opening, he jumped to his feet. “Father! Breakfast?”

Sunlight danced on the lake’s surface, shimmering like golden scales. Hastur’s milky eyelids narrowed for a bit before he politely declined. “My satiety bar is full.”

He still didn’t know how to revert to his original form—no toggle switch in the interface—so he simply sprawled openly in the lake.

“Has Detective Dustin contacted you since last night?”

As he spoke, he opened his inventory and pulled up the asset list he’d skipped yesterday.

According to the Game System’s tally, Coran Domino’s personal account held only 130,000 left.

He’d sunk most of his assets into buying Poe Lake at the Lowend Center. His original plan was to build an opera house there, turning it into a golden goose for endless cash flow—but that dream was dust now.

Hastur lounged in the lake water, so it was hard for him to gripe about Coran’s reckless investment; after all, he was reaping the biggest reward.

130,000 it was, then. Plus whatever the cruise ship wreckage could fetch and the original 30,000, that made a decent 200,000 for construction funds.

Hastur closed the game interface with optimistic resignation, just in time to hear the diligent laundry worker Finnian—clamping down obvious displeasure—hurl a bedsheet onto the line with force. Even his words came out gritted through clenched teeth.

“Called him already. He said to have you ring him back once you’re up—but seriously, did you two grow up without eyes or hands? I handled washing the bedsheets, fine, but you couldn’t even pitch in on hanging them? Just standing around like lords?”

Ithaqua had been lost in a fog of ridiculous thoughts—”How am I supposed to feed Father breakfast?” “Toss the sandwich into the lake so he catches it in his mouth?” “…That’d be like feeding ducks”—when he jolted upright. He scrambled to his feet and dashed over to share the chores with Finnian.

Hastur, ever the old hand at dodging work, leaned back casually. “I don’t have a bedroom. I don’t sleep on bedsheets. And I don’t shed hair or dandruff.”

Having fully laid out his airtight reasons for skipping housework, he proceeded to boss around the clumsy Ithaqua. “Use the landline. Call Detective Dustin back for me.”

Finnian was so furious he nearly wrapped the bedsheet around Hastur’s head and yanked. After muttering curses under his breath for a good while, though, he pulled back his hands. Fishing a phone from his pocket, he tossed it to Ithaqua. “Use mine. Speakerphone.”

Detective Dustin picked up almost immediately. A burst of noise flooded the line at first, then gradually faded to quiet.

There was the sound of a door slamming shut, followed by the detective’s hoarse voice. “The Dean was right.”

“After we locked up Domino, we followed his social connections and digital trail. Only about a third of the missing Cradle Cult followers in Phoenix District were his doing. The other two-thirds? No connection to him at all.”

“In other words, there are at least two groups behind the cultist disappearances in Phoenix District.”

The one clue blocked by Intelligence still gnawed at Hastur. “Did you check the missing persons’ medical reports?”

“We couldn’t track them down,” Detective Dustin replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion. The sound of coffee brewing came through the phone—probably another all-nighter. “Not every cultist has the cash for a proper hospital. Most of them scrape by on Black Clinic visits, and places like that don’t keep standardized records.”

“Plus, at least one in five of the missing were homeless drifters. No addresses, no friends. Tracing their social footprints is a nightmare.”

A cup crashed to the floor on the other end of the line, followed by the detective’s muttered curse. Ithaqua couldn’t help blurting out, worried sick, “You should head home and get some rest, sir. The clues won’t magically appear just because you’re depriving yourself of sleep.”

“I know, I know…” The detective mumbled through a barely suppressed yawn. “I’m just feeling a little… homeless right now—I mean, I don’t want to go home just yet. Not until the lunch break—”

Thud!

The door flew open with a bang.

A sharp, urgent exclamation burst from the phone. “Detective Dustin! New case! You’ve been after the Cradle Cult—I think this one’s right up your alley…”

Meanwhile.

A knock echoed from the Orphanage’s front door—polite enough, but with a rough edge that screamed “professional muscle.”

Finnian whipped a semi-automatic pistol from his leather jacket in a flash. He started to hiss at the others, “Take cover,” but his eyes landed on Ithaqua, who loomed half a head taller than him, and then on Hastur, who was sprawled across the entire lake and still expanding like some kind of watery blob. “…”

He paused, then calmly holstered the pistol. “I’ll get the door. You two hang the clothes.—Flip them inside out!”

He was practically roaring.

Hastur had to admit, ordering Outer Gods to hang laundry felt a lot more surreal than answering the door unarmed.