Chapter 322: The Sculptor

"Should we go down and find that 'Trigger'?"

"I don't think it's suitable for everyone to go down together." Kraft took out the last two sample vials; the richness of this journey's harvest far exceeded the past, and various samples might refresh cognition soon.

"To be precise, it's not suitable for any human to go down, but unfortunately, I can do nothing about it here."

He did not avert his gaze like the others, avoiding it; instead, he stared at the moving sculpture constantly seeping black fluid for a while, patiently waiting for these things, impossible to define, to react.

However, they did not; they merely moved slowly in a fixed rhythmic cycle, appearing uninterested in the living creature and the heat and light so close at hand.

"I have an idea." Kraft tentatively tossed the burnt-out torch into the pit; it still failed to stir more reaction. "The rope we brought should still be there, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just in case, I need someone to pull me up if necessary." Kraft took the rope Brother Wading handed him and tied a knot secure enough over his waist and shoulders.

The rope had weight and a toughness matching that weight; it was truly hard on Brother Wading to carry things all the way here. Originally prepared to secure the boat or traverse special terrain if necessary, it had finally found its use.

"I suggest friends in a daze turn their backs. When needed, I will pull the rope three times in succession, quickly, as a signal; then you will pull me back with as much force as possible, as fast as possible."

He stretched the rope hard, confident that even if he were pulled into two pieces, this thing would not break in two; a diameter about the thickness of two thumbs pressed together was enough to win a tug-of-war against a carriage.

"See you in a moment." The professor set down his bundle, tossed the rope loop back into Brother Wading's hands, gave the near end to the priest, and took the first step toward the pit that looked like a picture of hell.

He spread his arms to maintain balance, placing his feet, bearing no weight, on what looked like sturdier petrified limbs; blindly swaying tiny branches scratched the surface of his boots, leaving white marks and a sound like sandpaper rubbing.

His body's center of gravity moved slowly, crossing the edge and leaning forward until his second boot lifted and stepped in as well.

Then came several seconds of long waiting; Green saw Kraft signal "all normal" behind him and take the second step, holding the lantern level.

It was merely a distance of one body length; that figure stumbled, as if suddenly crashing into a viscous, heavy environment, where the physical and mental pressure was shared by buoyancy, becoming slow and light.

His hands instinctively gripped the rope tight; he almost felt he would receive the signal in the next second, or that the other party had already lost the ability to send one.

But Kraft immediately regained his balance, stepping forward again, seemingly adapting to the change quickly.

It felt not like active walking, but like a fish being pushed by the tide on a patrol, heading to a place destined to be reached in life, always so, as it should be.

Hundreds of slender palms and fingers gathered as if knowing, becoming the most understanding servants, always just right to rush ahead and lay down a red carpet where the VIP would step, forming a road that changed with the direction of advance.

Pain temporarily faded; the mind was clear and empty, and the environment, in turn, accommodated its own will to make changes.

Everything was inverted yet comfortable; the road advanced with the footsteps, objective rules obeyed subjective will, and spirit determined matter.

The situation was somewhat strange, yet the empty consciousness was free and light, which was very comfortable. He continued walking for a stretch, relaxing and letting his arms hang down, swinging naturally, and handed the lantern to his empty hand.

As he went deeper, the lengthening rope grew heavier, pulling his upper body to tilt slightly backward. Consciousness diverted some attention to instruct his hands to lift it; the feedback texture was not clear, the thick rope light as cotton thread.

Another step-like descent; black fluid gathered here. He reached out to support his soles, lifting himself up, away from the liquid surface rippling with scales.

The body seemed not as light as at the start; a sense of sluggishness hindered consciousness from controlling the limbs. More attention was needed to perform fine movements, as if waking from a long nap in a library, moving arms numb from pressure, while the weight pressing on the arms remained present.

Between countless spiral levels, tall bookshelves stood in close rows, filled with spines of four colors, arranged in pairs facing each other, full of order.

Consciousness naturally took the handed book, opened it, and read. The pages were dense with text paired with patterns so exquisite they were bizarre, while the gaze, like spilled ink, quickly swept over, swallowing sentences and penetrating to the pages below.

Brand-new knowledge flowed in consciousness; its novelty and brilliance were unheard of. Some stood high above mainstream views, while others started from unimagined blind spots of thought, pointing out new pathways, interlinking and connecting content that originally had little relation, from points to surfaces, making the horizon suddenly clear.

What had been learned before couldn't even fill the Prologue; indeed, there were countless omissions and errors, so crude it was shameful.

The enlightenment gained in the first instant locked onto possible causes for several diseases traditionally with unclear pathogenic mechanisms, then conceived targeted treatment plans.

Consciousness, like a dehydrated person opening dry lips, received the pouring information; yet they only stayed briefly, passing through the mouth and flowing away, merely moistening the tip of the tongue slightly, and even that moisture evaporated.

This left him bewildered and at a loss. He raised his hand to find a flaw, pressing against both cheeks, covering the jaw, trying to grasp the throbbing esophagus. The rough texture, like sand grinding, made the skin feel a slight strangeness.

Kraft propped open his eyelids, which had closed at some unknown time, trying to observe the surroundings; the suddenly intensified burning sensation of cheek abrasions prevented his neck from turning further.

The lantern's light was thrown far behind, imperceptible; multi-toed limbs crowded around him, the petrified texture pressing tight against his face.

A multi-jointed, flexible arm extending from the darkness below reached out to him, gripping his left hand tightly. Long and short slender fingers passed through the gaps between fingers, wrapping the back of the hand and wrist; the pale, geometric shard-like foreign objects embedded on the two arms shone in mutual reflection.

The stinging pain in the palm reminded him that something had pierced the skin; this pain quickly vanished in consciousness.

【Trigger】

He "held" something, but it was not a palm; it was an irregularly shaped hard object. His slender "fingers" reached into the crevices, hooked onto small depressions on the surface, and twisted deeply into this object, merging with it into one.

Space narrowed drastically, but not in a way that cut off spiritual senses; the body seemed to return to an embryonic state without memory, the amniotic cavity so flat it couldn't move, the thin amniotic fluid insufficient to cover the whole body, with some unformed tissue soaking in it, developing.

The self was infinitely diluted, like ink dropped into a lake, spreading into a new body cognition—space had not shrunk, but he had grown larger.

This connection must be severed immediately, but before severing, one last thing must be done.

Mobilizing all thinking ability, he temporarily intercepted a small segment he had seen from those unretainable knowledges: information on how to rapidly deposit and solidify a certain substance into a tough structure.

It could build the most basic support framework for high-level movement, or, under super-limit usage, transform these frameworks into spikes from the inside out.

It remained in consciousness for only a moment, but even an instant was enough.

【Calcium】

Centering on one theme, consciousness wove it with "pacemaker," lightly plucking the waves covering the thin "amniotic fluid."

In that moment, Kraft was certain he was satisfied. He was a sculptor, using a crude chisel in his hand to complete the desired work.

Under the effect exactly opposite to digitalis, cells excreted calcium ions in large quantities, while a second command, through a mechanism already slipped from the mind, caused the secreted calcium to deposit at a speed millions of times faster, transforming into true stone before having the chance to become bone—hydroxyapatite, calcium phosphate, calcium carbonate, calcium oxalate... all the damn things that couldn't be easily reabsorbed.

Sand and gravel generated in tissue gaps and circulation, clogging blood vessels, jamming joints, turning soft tissue into rough calcified lesions.

Pity that the only person here who could understand this work had just died; even if alive, he was unlikely to share this joy.

And the remaining ignorant ones could only see the celestial light flashing across the ground like an illusion.

Before they could react, the sculpture was already complete; three regular tugs came through the rope in hand.