In the face of this incomprehensible and terrifying scene, the man was briefly stunned for a second or two, then suddenly let out a loud cry, throwing the glass in his hand away madly while dodging to the side.

The glass fell to the ground, shattering instantly. The remaining liquor splashed across the floor like blood, and on the surface of each drop of liquid, subtle flames and gloomy, majestic faces seemed to appear for a moment. The man staggered backward, almost tripping over the sofa beside him, finally steadying himself by grabbing the wall.

He panted heavily, staring at the broken glass and liquid on the ground, his heart pounding as if it would explode. The symbiotic Smog Jellyfish wandered blindly and chaotically in the nearby air, gradually shrinking into a strange sphere.

The terrifying reflection was gone from the broken glass and liquid on the floor. What had just happened seemed like nothing more than a horrifying illusion. The man tried to catch his breath,

wanting to calm himself by inhaling more fresh air, and a faint, wavering hope gradually emerged from the bottom of his heart. Perhaps it really was just an illusion, perhaps he was just too nervous.

"It's all an illusion, all an illusion... it's a mental aberration after encountering the subspace influence..." he muttered to himself rapidly, applying psychological suggestion to himself while drawing power from the symbiotic abyssal demon, constructing a mental defense, "Stop associating, stop recalling, avoid connecting, avoid connecting... May the Holy Lord grant protection, grant me eternal life in the abyss, may the Holy Lord grant..."

"I admire his optimism," a voice entered my ears, "but blind optimism doesn't solve problems—relax, you just want to learn some information from him."

The man suddenly stopped praying, the voice beside his ear like a terrifying whisper from subspace, clenching his mind as if it were tangible. He slowly turned his neck stiffly, looking in the direction of the voice, only to see that it was the glass on the liquor cabinet—a faint green flame was burning quietly in the glass, and the ghost returned from the subspace was reflected in the flame.

"Get out!"

A surge of courage rose from who knows where, and the Annihilation Cultist suddenly became fierce, waving his hand to draw on the power of the Smog Jellyfish, throwing a mass of turbid, dark, corrosive spheres towards the liquor cabinet. With a loud bang, the entire liquor cabinet was blown to pieces by the energy ball, and shards of glass flew in all directions in the room.

However, before these fragments could land, that terrifying figure appeared once again on a mirror in the corner of the room: "Had enough venting? If so, let's have a good talk."

The man stood silently in that darkness for a long time, seemingly cautiously judging something. After a long while, he slowly took a breath and reached for the white overcoat thrown on the sofa, slowly putting it on.

The sharp sound of glass shattering rang out one after another in the room. Anything that could be smashed was smashed, and anything that couldn't be smashed was covered with newspapers, clothes, or anything else that could be found. Fear turned into anger, and anger turned into false courage. Supported by this "courage," the cultist moved slowly, sealing and destroying all "media" in the room that could lead to the "descent" of the subspace ghost. Throughout this entire process, the rising green flames and the terrifying figure constantly flashing in the mirror almost never stopped entangling him.

"Come in, but keep it down."

Soon, they arrived at the underground practice area located beneath the building.

The man cautiously observed the surrounding environment, and once again confirmed that there were no strange green flames in his vision and no suspicious noises in his mind, and then he breathed a slight sigh of relief and went forward to knock on the door a few times in a rhythmic pattern.

"Good."

What's more, this room has already been targeted by the subspace ghost and is no longer safe—destroying and sealing the mirrors in the room only blocked the channel for the ghost to "descend," but it could not fundamentally eliminate the ghost's influence.

"Ren Yidao! I beg you, be a decent human being for once!"

(Time for a book recommendation, the book is called "This Fox Immortal is Too Inhuman." The female lead is a sly fox, hilarious and without morals. Life is too hard, it's good to read something carefree.

But before leaving the room, he suddenly stopped again, his gaze fixed on the pile of

clutter covered with many newspapers and rags in the center of the room.

Even the Smog Jellyfish symbiotic with him had quieted down, but it looked a little listless, and the smoke floating around it seemed particularly thin and pale, as if it had consumed too much in the previous confrontation, making it difficult to continue maintaining its form in reality.

Calling it a practice area, it was actually just a secretly excavated underground room—not too large, with several chairs placed around a round table. Several oil lamps were lit on the round table, and some instruments and materials for performing rituals and heretical worship were scattered messily.

Hearing these words, the thin cultist's expression instantly became serious. He immediately stopped the other party from continuing, and casually picked up an oil lamp from the table next to him, speaking in a low voice as he walked towards the corner of the room: "Come with me, to the underground. Don't discuss our actions within the sight of the Seven Gods."

The man in the white overcoat walked down the stairs, seeing that several figures had already gathered here, apparently the "comrades" who had hurriedly entered the underground room according to procedure when he had knocked on the door earlier.

The man in the white overcoat took the glass of water and breathed a sigh of relief: "Thank you, Duncan."

The man had already quickly planned his next course of action. He put on his overcoat, concealed his symbiotic demon, and then walked towards the door.

It seemed that it really would not appear again.

It was already curfew time, and the Wardens had appeared on the streets. Rashly venturing out was likely to lead to being caught and questioned, but this was not a big problem for a cultist who had been active in the city-state for many years and had long adapted to the "night life."

The figure hidden in the darkness smoothly passed through the outposts between the districts and slipped into the more intricate and complex old alleys of the lower city. After bypassing many forks and turns, he finally stopped in front of an ordinary-looking old house.

"The situation is sudden," the man in the white thick overcoat shook his head, lowering his voice, "My actions were exposed. An unexpected higher existence intervened, and now He has His eyes on me—but don't worry, I have temporarily blocked His entry into the real world. The urgent matter now is to report this matter upwards..."

Now that the ghost was temporarily blocked by him from the outside of the real world, and before the constables reacted, before the ghost found a way to invade here again, the only correct choice was obviously to leave here as quickly as possible.

"I couldn't break through that 'dreamscape.' Where did the information from the End of Days preachers go wrong—damn it, I should have known, no one is trustworthy except the Holy Lord's leader..."

"Speak slowly, calm down first," the woman with a sinister face squeezed out a smile, casually taking a glass of water from beside her and pushing it over, "Drink some water."

The thin cultist opened the secret door in the corner of the room, and the two figures, one in front of the other, slipped into the hidden slope leading to the underground.

After a moment, the slightly tense atmosphere relaxed slightly, and the man in the white overcoat breathed a sigh of relief, walked to the round table, and sat down in an empty chair.

"It's late, let's talk about things tomorrow."

The commotion in the room earlier was loud and may have attracted the attention of the neighbors. Although the constables' reaction was sometimes slow in this relatively remote neighborhood, there was still a chance that trouble would come knocking if someone reported it.

The cultist in the room finally discovered the pattern—it was the mirrors.

The man nodded, quickly slipped into the house, and casually closed the door—with the soft click of the lock falling into place, he finally breathed a slight sigh of relief, a look of relief after surviving a disaster on his face.

The man smiled with satisfaction, then dared not look at the scattered mirrors on the ground, turned around and decisively opened the door, slipping into the night outside.

The man almost destroyed or covered everything in the room that could reflect an image, and also blocked all the windows with thick curtains. With the last glass vase being thrown into the trash can, the building once again fell silent.

"Why are you here at this hour?" The slender figure responsible for opening the door was still cautiously sizing up the "comrade" who had just entered the house, even though the identity had been confirmed, the other party's actions did not conform to the "rules," which made him feel vigilant. "We didn't receive your advance notice."

He cautiously moved through the streets and alleys, using the shadows of the buildings as cover, and often using the power of spells to conceal his figure. He quickly left this area, which was no longer safe, and ran down the familiar route in his memory to the lower city.

The subspace ghost could invade here through the mirrors!

His gaze swept over those "comrades," who also raised their heads one after another, scrutinizing the visitor after dark.

At the end of the room could be seen a dark sculpture, the sculpture shaped like a bizarre and terrifying "tree," its pitch-black trunk branching out into dizzying branches like thorns, faintly exuding a disturbing aura.

"Eh? Be a decent human being? But I'm a fox immortal."

Closest to him, a woman with yellowish hair and a seemingly sickly, sinister face looked up at him and suddenly asked after a moment of silence, "Encountered trouble?"

"It's too late at night, my companion and I just want to go in and rest—we bring some interesting stories from afar."

"It's best if someone reports it."

Then he waited patiently until the sound of footsteps approached on the other side of the door, and a lowered voice entered his ears:

As long as they didn't make too much noise, there were many "blind spots" under the eyes of those church wardens.

In the next second, the man mercilessly shattered the mirror in the corner of the room, and then frantically smashed the glass ornaments on the shelves and everything within his sight that could produce a mirror!

Darkness had descended outside, while inside the room only the light of the oil lamps flickered faintly. The terrifying green light had faded from the lamp flames at some unknown time. The cultist in the room stood in the midst of this mess, panting heavily while vigilantly watching the darkness and silence surrounding him.

But after who knows how long, that terrifying entanglement finally gradually stopped.

The door fell silent, and after about ten seconds, a slight clicking sound entered his ears, and then the door opened silently in the darkness, a thin figure appearing in the doorway in the dim light.

"Also, please call me Godfather.")

He thought for a while, and waved his hand to throw out a mass of dark energy—the newspapers and rags were blown away, and the large pile of broken mirrors and glass that had been covered before was scattered on the floor, reflecting a cold and ominous light in the dimness.