Chapter 6

A ten-year-old child held a gun and skillfully and precisely killed everyone related to him by blood. After that, he went completely mad. Walking down the street, if he encountered an alien, he shot it dead. If anyone looked at him for a moment too long, he killed that person too, whether human or alien—slaughtering gods and Buddhas alike, without principle, thoroughly turning into a killing machine. The blood-soaked little boy walked silently down the main street; wherever he went, terror and slaughter followed. The best way to deal with it was to never catch his attention.

If all this had been his act of revenge, there would have been some logic to it, but what he did later could only be described as a complete loss of humanity: he began breaking into people’s homes at random, driving entire families out. Those who didn’t cooperate, he killed; those who did, he chased from their houses before setting them ablaze, never allowing them a peaceful life. These people gradually became homeless wanderers. Some said it was a projection of his own experience—from a happy family shattered to pieces. He couldn’t stand to see any intact families. Of course, some wanted revenge against Hels, but no matter how they schemed against him, they couldn’t kill a child and could only accept being counter-killed.

The Tower turned a blind eye. The entire Loch City lived in panic, everyone afraid of inexplicably becoming one of his targets. This state lasted a long time.

Until one day, on the busiest street in Loch City, the name “Red Light District” lit up. Some of those wanderers remained wanderers, while others became toys in the Red Light District, subjected to the whims of guests. At the same time, a brand-new mask technology emerged, brought out by Hels—the masks that now fused completely to people’s faces, seamless, as if innate. This only increased his importance in the aliens’ eyes, making them even less able to touch him.

“They can even fuse completely to the face, and still have high and low classes?” Horne recalled what the man had just said about making a wish for a high-class mask.

But the man paused there, looking at Horne with puzzlement.

Horne knew he had said the wrong thing and said flatly, “I mean, it’s unnecessary.”

The little girl nodded quietly beside him. “I think so too. I hate this thing. When will humans be able to stop wearing it?”

“Masks are their profession, so of course they need to distinguish high from low, noble from base. They need hierarchy.” The man pointed ahead, toward the Tower.

He returned to his story. Fortunately, after the Red Light District opened, Hels stopped the random killings and gradually returned to a normal life. He took on the mask-making for the entire city, assigning everyone their place in life. He was so busy he rarely appeared, occasionally visiting the Red Light District. As long as no one provoked him, he made no extra moves and was just an ordinary pedestrian on the street… The problem was, who knew when they might cross his path? So the best choice was simply to stay far away from him.

“There was actually another story at the beginning.” The wide-brimmed hat man recalled a version he had heard. “They say his mother was actually killed by his father. To kill his father, he chased him all the way to the Tower District. His father hid there, and the aliens valued masks so much that when they tried to stop him, he killed his father and the aliens together. Two of the family died, but masks had to exist, and he could already make ones that fused to the face, so the aliens let him go—as long as he didn’t conflict with them anymore, they each stepped back.”

At this point, the wide-brimmed hat man touched his own face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Horne glanced at him. “Full of holes.”

“Of course. It’s just an urban legend with who knows how many versions. Just listen for fun. The parts about a ten-year-old kid single-handedly storming the Tower, massacring aliens on the main road—those are dubious. But the random targeting to drive people out and burning houses? That’s real. He did chase families out and force others to work forever in the Red Light District. If you meet some sex workers or bottom-tier servants, they’ll tell you their stories.” The wide-brimmed hat man’s gaze swept over the Red Light District hall, taking in those busy figures who no longer owned their own lives.

No one dared show off in front of Hels, afraid of becoming his next random target.

The wide-brimmed hat man shrugged. “Of course, maybe he had his reasons. Who knows? Maybe he’s just a bona fide madman—the richest and most powerful kind. Oh, right…” His gaze fell on Horne’s battered body, lingering for a moment before he kindly reminded him, “If you want something, you can win the game and make a wish to him. They say he’s sincere about that. Like asking for a perfectly safe place to rest, or the best doctor.”

He didn’t need the best doctor.

The doctor in front of him roughly treated Horne’s wounds. After Horne thanked him, the man hurried away.

After eating something, the tension in his body hadn’t eased. He had no interest in Hels, urban legends, or the Holographic Game. He only wanted to know what had happened in the past century, why the military had surrendered.

But in his current state, going to the Tower was suicide.

Even if, against all odds, he won this childish game, could Hels fulfill his wish?

He wanted all aliens scattered to ashes and dust, humanity to endure forever.

In the end, the game and the rumors were just illusory distractions. He had no time to tangle with such people.

With that thought, Horne turned his head and saw the little girl who had been silent beside him. He paused, then finally softened his voice. “What’s your name?”

At the same time, the wide-brimmed hat man entered the Red Light District’s public restroom. Red, blue, and purple lights flickered, casting shifting shadows on his face.

He glanced outside to confirm no one followed, then activated the micro terminal behind his ear.

Two seconds later, he lowered his voice. “I’m done. He really didn’t recognize me. Anyway, I hinted at the game to him. We’ll see if he takes the bait.”

A serious female voice came from the terminal. “Are you sure he’ll enter?”

The wide-brimmed hat man closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyed. “Of course not. I don’t know how to hint without a trace. He’s so smart, he might realize I did it on purpose. Sigh, as long as Hels doesn’t know. And I have Plan B ready.”

The other end fell silent for a moment, then said, “Han Ya, no matter what method you use, make sure he enters the game. We can’t gauge Hels’s attitude now. No opportunities outside. Also, have those two already met?”

Han Ya glanced out at the booth again, seeing Horne chatting with the little girl Ains. He ducked back, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Don’t know. I have a way to test if they’ve met, but Horne doesn’t remember Hels either. Heh, perfect. Forgotten completely.”

“Mm. Be careful.”

The terminal disconnected. Han Ya let out a long sigh, looking at the two not far away. After making a report call, he leaned lazily against the restroom door wall, idly rubbing an old keychain, waiting.

Another group arrived in the Red Light District hall, and another left. The place was like a giant beast with its jaws open, devouring people’s waxing and waning desires.

In the booth, Horne remained expressionless. He said to Ains, “Don’t come to places like this alone anymore.”

His speech was either curt single syllables or this commanding tone, making Ains, who was being ordered, lower her head aggrievedly. “Got it, brother.”

At the word “brother,” Horne frowned. He looked at Ains’s face several times before uncertainly asking, “Do you know me?”

Ains lifted her head, puzzled. “I didn’t before, but I do now.”

…Fine.

Of course. After a century, how could anyone still know him?

With that relaxation, Horne felt a bit at a loss. He looked at the blood still uncleaned on his body and the clothes soaked through.

Balance: 0. Nothing he could do. Actually not quite zero—there was still debt.

Thinking of the debt reminded him of that man.

Rather than wishing to Hels, that man seemed more reliable, even though he knew neither.

Staying here wasn’t a long-term plan. He intended to leave this place, find an empty corner—a bridge underpass, even the Slum from earlier would do—to rest and recover. He didn’t think he could hold out much longer. Even a slight relaxation put his mind on the brink.

He still needed to go to the Tower, but his current condition wouldn’t allow more conflicts. Sneaking away was best.

The wide-brimmed hat man hadn’t returned from the restroom. Horne sat without moving, his head slightly lowered, hair draping over his face and eyes, concealing his expression. Unobtrusively, he confirmed Wang Wudao and Ye Shu were temporarily absent.

After waiting a while, Horne stood. “Let’s go home, Ains.”

Ains stood with him, nodding obediently.

As he took the first step, a terrified scream erupted from the Red Light District entrance.

What now? Horne frowned and instinctively looked toward the door. At the sight, unprecedented suffocation gripped his throat.

His body stiffened, his heart nearly stopping in that instant before pounding wildly upon recovery, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.

The Red Light District’s doors stood wide open. Everyone around halted their actions, staring dazedly at the thing staggering in.

A massive flying bird with enormous black wings, two to three people tall. In the center of its six-winged frame protruded a slender neck, half like a black crow’s head, half like a black swan’s—eerie and pitch-black.

Horne almost forgot to breathe. His hands shook involuntarily. Almost subconsciously, he took a step forward, his chest shifting from dead silence to turmoil.

An alien. An alien—here of all places.

Past, present, future—awake or in dreams—the aliens’ form was etched into his mind.

He could never forget. He would never forget. He couldn’t escape, couldn’t erase it.

“Brother?” Ains’s puzzled voice echoed in his ears, growing fainter.

Horne couldn’t tell if the sudden chill was from blood loss or his stress response to the alien.

The alien leaped into the air, flapping its wings, its sharp tail sweeping. Countless particles gathered before it, forming words in midair.

The moment he saw those words, Horne’s pupils contracted sharply.

[Where is Horne?]

“Brother, are you okay?” Ains asked softly, worried.

Horne breathed raggedly, unable to answer.

“Brother? Brother?”

Horne heard nothing. He staggered forward a step.

[Hand over Horne, or you all die.]

The air grew so heavy it was suffocating. Humanity’s fear of aliens was bone-deep. Beneath the airborne alien, everyone scrambled away on hands and knees.

The words hung persistently in the air, like a mark of death.

“Who’s Horne?” someone asked.

Once, where there were aliens, there was slaughter. Humans and aliens couldn’t coexist on the same land. But now, everything had changed.

[Hand over Horne.]

The alien gave no answer. No one dared speak or move. No one knew why an alien had come here looking for someone, or who Horne was.

The hall’s air grew solid. The alien’s sharp beak pointed at everyone.

[You have three seconds. Three.]

The alien blocked the door, trapping everyone inside. Panic spread among the inescapable crowd; they didn’t want to die as collateral. Some dragged others back, and in the crush, someone fell screaming. Another stammered that they didn’t know Horne.

The alien’s massive black wings whipped up howling winds in the hall.

[Two.]

Horne struggled to suppress his muscle spasms, his gaze shifting until it landed on the waist of a security guard a few meters away.

A gun.

Kill the alien—that was the instinct carved into his flesh.

He could seize that gun in two seconds. A laser gun would be better; an ordinary one needed several headshots to temporarily kill an alien, but a laser gun needed only one trigger pull to make it dissipate.

The wind grew fiercer, scattering hair everywhere.

[One.]

At that moment, a familiar female voice rang out, echoing through the fear-shrouded hall.

“I don’t know which Horne you’re looking for, but there’s one named Horne here.” Ye Shu raised her hand, pointing toward the booth where Horne had been sitting.