Chapter 241: The Storm Descends

"I believe the disasters Earth has suffered in recent years, and the innocent people sacrificed by the Evil God's followers, should be enough to answer this question," Yang Yi replied calmly.

Dismissing this A-Rank Awakener, Yang Yi announced the meeting would continue.

The meeting agenda had entered the verification stage of the base's recycling system, with complex blueprints for the underground base displayed on the main screen.

Attention in the hall had just been pulled back to technical details; the previous incident seemed pushed beneath the surface, leaving only a few ripples lingering in the hearts of some delegates.

Just as the moderator prepared to switch to the next chart—

"Screech—"

A sharp speaker noise suddenly tore through the hall's solemn silence.

The charts on the main screen and all auxiliary displays in the hall instantly distorted, replaced by a field of violently shaking static.

Immediately following, a high-definition moving image suddenly occupied all display interfaces.

The video's background was incomprehensible in terms of Earth's ecology: a dark red sky churning with black-gray clouds, an eerie green forest that seemed to breathe, giant plants twisted like internal organs, and of course, various terrifying and grotesque alien creatures.

And in the center of the frame was Yang Yi, suspended in mid-air.

She wore the familiar white shirt and black trousers, but behind her hovered a vortex distorting light, as if a black hole were slowly rotating.

Her arms were extended to both sides; this was not a combat stance, but rather a kind of... passive acceptance, or active guidance.

Her face tilted slightly upward, eyes tightly closed, brows furrowed, forming an extremely complex expression—that was pain deep into the soul, as if countless red-hot steel saws were tearing through her mind; yet at the same time, the corners of her mouth uncontrollably curled upward slightly, leaking a near-intoxicated, almost addictive tremor.

Pain and pleasure, two extreme emotions, intertwined and fought like twisted vines on her face.

Below the frame was a hellish scene.

Countless alien creatures, grotesque in form and varying in size, constantly screamed, frantically trying to move away from her, surging like a tide toward the edges of the vision.

But this struggle was destined to be futile.

Every alien creature seemed to be having its life force extracted, stripped away in wisps and clumps of bright or dim, flowing light-mist—that was their life essence.

Defying the laws of physics, these light-mists moved against the direction of escape, turning into hundreds of beautiful yet cruel streams that flowed toward Yang Yi in the air, merging into her body as if being absorbed by her.

The video playback lasted about seven seconds.

The video's shooting angle was professional, possessing a documentary-style cruelty, far from a hasty sneak shot.

Seven seconds were enough for everyone in the hall, and all viewers worldwide connected to the live broadcast signal, to see every detail clearly: Yang Yi's face in the video, that complex expression mixing self-loathing with addictive pleasure, and that "extraction" scene identical to the Evil God harvesting lives.

Seven seconds later, the image suddenly cut out, the video ended abruptly, and the screen returned to darkness.

The hall was plunged into a deathly silence.

A vacuum-like silence, where even the sound of breathing vanished.

Over a thousand gazes froze on the suddenly blackened screen, then stiffly turned toward the figure on the main stage who was equally frozen.

Yang Yi sat in the main seat, her arm suspended in mid-air; she had just used her telekinesis to cut off the video.

Under the cold white light from the ceiling, her face was white, almost transparent.

For a brief moment, all subtle human expressions on her face—even that habitual indifference—completely vanished, leaving only an empty void, as if her soul had been instantly drained. Her pupils dilated, reflecting endless darkness.

Outside the venue, on streets, in squares, in every home, in every corner with a screen, the same deathly silence was broken, replaced by suppressed, sweeping gasps and screams, people's disbelieving murmurs, and mutual stares.

Information exploded in the online world; social media platforms instantly overloaded.

Inside the hall, the silence was broken by the first out-of-control gasp, followed by the sound of chairs being abruptly moved, papers sliding, and low yet sharp whispers of "Oh God..."

Shock, horror, confusion, and the most primal fear of the unknown and powerful predators quickly spread across the faces of all attendees. The previous awe and trust in Yang Yi, and the compliance born of her fierce counterattack, were at this moment shaken to the brink of collapse by the seven-second footage.

This video was too "real," real enough to transcend the realm of ordinary forgery, pointing directly to a possibility they were unwilling to believe.

Yang Yi moved.

She used almost all her willpower to force herself to stand up. Then she raised her hand and made a decisive downward chopping gesture toward the control console.

The backup power activated; the main screen and all sub-screens flared to life, forcibly switching back to the meeting logo and agenda pages, as if that terrifying scene had never happened.

"The signal source was hijacked; this is a technical attack," Yang Yi's voice rang out, attempting to maintain steadiness, though those in the front row could detect a barely perceptible, desperately suppressed tension beneath that smooth tone.

Her gaze did not look at anyone in the audience; it shot directly toward the technical control area and the location of the security chief at the rear of the hall, cold and bone-chilling, exerting a tangible pressure.

"Trace the signal intrusion path. Block all related data ports. On-site security, immediately take control of the technical area and all suspicious personnel. The intelligence department, connect; I want a preliminary report within ten minutes." Her commands came one after another, swift, clear, and unquestionable, attempting to regain control of the chaotic situation with efficient action orders.

She finally turned her gaze toward the audience, sweeping over the faces filled with doubt and uncertainty.

Her usually calm face was now taut, but her voice forcibly regained composure, even adding a rare sarcastic remark: "Vader and the remnants of the anti-human forces behind him have never ceased their slander and attacks against the 'Civilization Continuity Plan' supervisor. From forged recordings to fabricated personal histories, they have now escalated to using technically synthesized fake images, attempting to shake the foundation of the plan at a critical moment and create panic and division."

She paused: "Their goal is to make us suspect each other, wasting precious resources and time on internal strife, ultimately crumbling before the true crisis. We have already published conclusive evidence of the Divine Punishment Organization guiding public opinion and sacrificing civilians; what just happened was merely another new attack."

Mentioning the crimes of Vader previously published by the Xia Kingdom government, the eyes of some in the hall wavered and retreated.

Yes, what couldn't the Divine Punishment Organization do? Forging such a video, technically... perhaps it wasn't impossible?

Especially since Yang Yi was acting so calm now—though this calmness seemed a bit too forced—and had quickly taken countermeasures; this looked more like a reasonable reaction from a victim and leader.

The tense atmosphere showed a tiny, extremely subtle loosening.

Several delegates closely tied to the Xia Kingdom whispered to each other, nodding slightly.

Most fell into silence; rationally, they tended to believe Yang Yi's explanation, but deep inside, the seven-second image was like a rusty nail driven into flesh; even after being pulled out, it still occasionally brought a stinging doubt.

The moderator, pale-faced, at Yang Yi's gesture, stammered: "Uh... technical malfunction... already handled, we... we continue the meeting agenda, regarding, regarding item seven, verification of the base's internal recycling..."

The meeting was forcibly pulled back onto its predetermined track in an awkward manner. Speakers' voices were dry, listeners were inattentive, and everyone's eyes could not help but drift toward the figure on the main stage who had sat down again, or quickly glance at their personal devices to see if any new explosive news had popped up.

Yang Yi picked up a paper document again, her gaze falling upon it, as if fully focused.

Only those extremely close to her might see her fingertips gripping the edge of the document turning slightly white from excessive force; the smooth surface of the paper had been pinched into fine, unsmoothenable wrinkles.

The calm she strived to maintain was like the false tranquility within the eye of a storm.

She knew the storm had already arrived.

Just as people inside the hall forced themselves to focus on the meeting content, outside the venue, the cut-off seven-second video had a more impactful "full version"—at the end, clearly and unmistakably stamped with a line of blood-red large characters:

【She is the Evil God.】

The video was spreading like a virus, breaking through all data blockades, copying and spreading wildly in every dark and bright corner of the internet.

Every click and view cast an increasingly heavy boulder into the hearts of billions of people.

What is the truth, exactly?

Once the seed of doubt is sown, it grows at an unprecedented speed under the watering of fear.

The meeting continues.

The debate continues.

And a storm sweeping the globe has just had its acceleration key pressed.