Chapter 1524: NO.139: He certainly never came here

NO. 139: He certainly never came here.

Life lies in exercise; many parents say this when urging sedentary children.

And when the child grows up and becomes an adult yet still stays at home, this saying turns into a boomerang—either aimed at the parents or continually used by them to educate the grown‑up child.

Of course, the Aomo household is different.

He often acts more like a parent, and when it's rare for Morien to educate the child, even the vampire can't utter anything about life being in motion.

Thus this saying usually appears only in the family conversations that Aomo observes.

As for making a group of iron‑gray humanoid figures repeat at high frequency in a chase……

This can be called quite peculiar.

Yes.

At this very moment, Aomo's group is running.

To be precise, Sirius Symbol, Aomo Lindun, and Federico Giallo are running, while Xizi Feng, the team's weak link in physical fitness, was directly given a levitating balance vehicle by Aomo—he handles it decently, living up to what Aomo has heard.

"Aomo!"

He even had the leisure to shout loudly while speeding down the corridor and turning.

In contrast, Aomo is sparing with his words:

"I'm listening."

"Shouldn't this play be a reconstruction of what actually happened on stage?!"

"Indeed."

"What the heck are these weird things?!" Xizi turned his head to glance at the reddish‑eyed figures whose bodies seemed to melt, with synthetic skin and metal limbs mingling and scattering, "They look like android skeletons—is this an AI rebellion?!"

"Androids are androids, rebellion is rebellion, but rebellion can have many causes, and insanity is a fairly common one."

"Insanity? Will Moon‑chase Symbol use a virus?"

"He probably would, but it seems unnecessary—after all, he originally came to seek help from Miss Arturo, not to destroy the theater."

"Then we'd better find him first."

As the words fell, the long charge reached the end; after taking another corner, Xizi Feng saw ahead a vast expanse of androids slaughtering each other.

The sight of circulating fluid and shed skin splashing together gave an impact not inferior to flesh flying everywhere, making him instinctively want to brake, but a claw trailing pale patterns seized him, forcing him to continue forward despite a slight loss of balance.

"Don't stop." said the owner of the claw, his voice deep and resonant.

"Want to charge? No, I want to ask why we have to run at all—can't we just deal with those guys?"

The moment he said that, he hurriedly looked ahead and gripped the handle, for speeding through the chaotic hallway brawl is a skill, especially when both sides are not lacking in ranged weapons.

The 3D version of the bullet‑hell game is a test for every passerby, enough to make him focus completely and fall silent, while the now‑rare demon‑transformed Aomo swiftly spreads four wings and shifts his flame‑spitting mouth.

"The premise is being ready to go to psychiatry afterward—are you willing to spend that money and suffer that?"

Two arms, no longer sharp bone spikes, surged forward in the sudden burst, reaching toward Sirius Symbol and Federico respectively, causing the two to instantly grab hold and push off the ground while bending their knees.

Although they hadn't trained for this, with everyone's adaptability being solid, this ceiling‑clinging suspension dodge formed smoothly, clearing obstacles in seconds and letting each go their separate ways.

"What does this mean? Dealing with those things also carries mental risks?"

He eased the balance vehicle a bit, turned his head to watch the opposing androids being swallowed by the strange pursuers and quickly assimilated—each began to rot and melt, their eye lights shifting from blue to red—Xizi Feng shuddered unconsciously and sped up to catch up.

"What's the principle behind it?"

He asked the figure that had not reverted to human form but continued to run on the ground as a near‑three‑meter demon, claws sliding in mid‑air, gazing at something unknown—Aomo.

"A curse, or perhaps a blessing—an unconscious power…" Realizing his explanation was too vague, the white pupil in his black‑flame eyes glanced at Xizi and asked, "Do you know anything about the Old Ones?"

"What?"

"Cthulhu and Hastur—these two, who gain high popularity on the dark web by streaming their anthropomorphized, moe‑ified versions—you've surely heard of them, right?"

Although some people don't want to admit it, the two are indeed walking the idol route, enough to come up in Xizi Feng's coworkers' conversations.

"I'm not ignorant of this; I want to know what it has to do with those Outer Gods!"

"It's simple!"

He suddenly braked, then swept left and right to create two quasi‑substantial airflow barriers to slow down the two runners ahead who were going too fast.

"First stop, that batch has already been shaken off," he said, then quickly sketched the terminal panel, showing the three of them the theater's internal map, "We're here now; straight ahead is the staff area."

The preparation and design of all flesh‑and‑blood puppets are overseen by the playwright while the employees carry out the actual carving, maintenance, and even control; thus, in most horror productions of Gulan Jiner, this place counts as a temporary safe house.

"You know this much?" Xizi Feng jumped off the levelling balance vehicle, glanced back at the now‑much‑quieter corridor, and said, "No, you haven't explained your connection to those Outer Gods yet—how can it be so simple? Was what you just said just a topic?"

"There are two, but don't rush."

"The link is right here."

Saying that, he stepped forward, grabbed the handle of the front iron door, twisted it off, and kicked it open.

Since we're already in the drama, whether we kick the door or not doesn't matter.

Xizi Feng somewhat noticed that this drama felt a bit like a tabletop RPG run, and since he wasn't the host he naturally didn't care about Aomo's brute‑force tactics; he simply walked straight up, and together with Sirius Symbol and Federico trailing behind, he saw the place filled with posters, statues, figurines, and slogans daubed in green or yellow, with each workshop's little factory hung high.

"……"

More than one person was stunned—Aomo himself, who had kicked the door open, couldn't help but twitch his facial nerves.

Knowing that there are Outer God believers here is one thing; the aesthetic of their workstations is quite another.

He had imagined this place would be cold, damp, and slimy like the writings of the Outer Gods, just as the pen‑stroke of Howard Phillips Lovecraft, nicknamed 'Love‑craft' in Dongyan, would be.

He also thought modern cultists might appear unusually normal, like the theater's flagship roles—seemingly normal psychiatric patients, which could straight‑up be called a landmine type and that would be fine.

This place could be utterly ordinary, with no apparent problems at a glance; of course, idol‑fan details don't matter, and adding more plastic figurines or obscene models is fine—after all, those two's livestream costumes are top‑notch, a cute girl and a mature lady would naturally be likable.

But he still hadn't expected this.

A beautiful‑girl figurine can sit alongside a chubby‑boy model, and a mature‑woman pillow can be placed with simulated tentacle ornaments.

Cultists being cultists, the degree of their mental derangement still broke through his logical inertia, making Xizi Feng's first retort upon turning around:

"Why are you reacting like this too? Have you never been here before?"