Chapter 350: Gospel Church

Federal Weird Investigation Bureau, Data Center.

Under the hemispherical dome are twelve curved screens, normally used to synchronize the real‑time situation of Weird Domains worldwide. At this moment all screens are playing the same footage.

Night in the slums.

The metal shed is smashed apart, fragments bouncing on the ground. A monster covered with white Bone Spikes on its back staggers out of the frame, and the sound it makes is not a roar.

It is crying.

The cry of a father.

The footage shakes violently; the cameraman is clearly fighting to suppress his own tremor. The camera sweeps the ground, a half‑severed arm rises from the mud, its fingers still twitching.

A believer stands at the center of the ruins, pulls a handful of crimson Seeds from a Cloth Bag and scatters them into the crowd.

"This is not a disaster; this is redemption!"

His voice is compressed and crackling through the phone microphone, yet every word is heard crystal clear.

The footage freezes at the moment a ventilation duct is torn open, a hand covered with Compound Eyes reaches into the metal crack, then the signal cuts out and the screen fills with static.

A thirty‑second video.

It loops four times.

No one speaks.

The Data Center seats forty, and today there are thirty‑one. Department heads, frontline Captains, core members of the analysis team, plus a few special operatives fresh from the front, sit packed together, filling most of the room.

The white noise from the air‑conditioner vents is the only sound in the room.

Seated in the second row, Intelligence analysis chief Qian Feng speaks first, his voice pressed low: "Before this video was intercepted, it had already circulated on three civilian forums for at least forty minutes. Preliminary stats show over 700,000 views; although we launched an immediate sweep of the entire network, mirror sites and private backups… cannot be fully traced."

He flicks his finger on the tablet, and the main screen switches to a heat map. The Federation's map is peppered with red dots, clustered in slum districts of several coastal cities and post‑disaster resettlement zones.

"In the past seventy‑two hours, at least nine cities have shown traces of similar activity. They call themselves the Gospel Church; their core propagation method uses those crimson Seeds—temporarily coded as 'Weird Catalysts'—to force ordinary people to mutate by oral ingestion."

Qian Feng pauses.

"Mutation success rate: one hundred percent."

Those four words drop, and several chairs screech in unison. Some lean back, others press forward.

"The problem is," Qian Feng's Adam's apple rolls, "these Mutated Entities differ from the monsters we encountered in Weird Domains. They retain basic obedience and agency, can follow orders and coordinate, even—"

He opens another intercepted communication log.

"—and can even regain partial speech after forty‑eight hours; a tiny fraction can also restore a human body."

In the third row, a special‑ops officer in camouflage slams the pen in his hand onto the table.

"Speak human! Are they Weird or human?"

Qian Feng opens his mouth but does not answer.

A hoarse voice comes from the back of the conference room.

"In my view, both are."

Everyone's spines straighten.

Wei Gong sits in the corner of the last row, his Zhongshan suit buttoned up to the topmost button, his graying hair glaring under the fluorescent lights. He remains silent, so many who entered later never even notice his presence.

The elder does not stand; he simply places the Thermal Cup he has been holding onto the tabletop.

The clink of the cup lid against the desk is faint.

But everyone falls silent.

"Play the third segment," Wei Gong says.

Qian Feng hurriedly switches the footage. The third segment comes from street surveillance in a coastal city, its picture quality far clearer than the phone video.

In the frame, a Mutated Entity encased in a shell crouches at the center of an intersection, facing a believer in a shabby suit who kneels.

The believer is teaching it to speak.

"Recite after me—'Respectfully welcome the Gospel.'"

The shell of the Mutated Entity's mouth cracks open, emitting garbled breathy sounds.

"Gong... Ying..."

The believer pats its head.

"Good."

The surveillance ends here.

Wei Gong slowly stands.

He does not look at the screen, but scans the faces of everyone present.

Silence. Fear. Bewilderment. And on a few faces, a more dangerous expression—doubt.

"I heard someone whisper a line during the second playback," Wei Gong's voice is low, but the Data Center's acoustics let every syllable be heard, "He said, 'At this spread rate, it can't be contained.'"

No one admits it.

Wei Gong also does not intend to pursue who said it.

"If it can't be contained, then we just don't contain it?"

He slaps the Thermal Cup onto the desk; tea splashes from the rim, soaking half a stack of Files.

That slap truly wakes people up.

Several people instinctively straighten their backs.

"S-Class Anomaly Domain is terrifying," Wei Gong says, "Cities are devoured, armies annihilated, nuclear bombs useless. Yet the Weird Domain is an external entity; it has boundaries, it has Rules, it can be strategized against."

He points his finger at the kneeling, worshipping Mutated Entity on the screen.

"This thing has no boundaries."

"It burrows into the human heart. It tells you not to struggle, tells you the authorities won't rescue you, tells you that swallowing this Seed makes you the master. It turns the most desperate into monsters, then sends those monsters to proselytize."

"That is the true cataclysm."

Wei Gong walked to the main screen, his back to everyone.

The screen's cold light stretched his shadow long.

"From today onward, 'Gospel Church'—its threat level is raised to the same priority as S-Class Anomaly Domain. All intelligence concerning its activities shall bypass the normal approval process and go straight to my desk."

He turned around.

In those eyes surrounded by wrinkles, there was now no trace of the old man's cloudiness.

"To put it bluntly—Weird Domain is a wound, this thing is cancer. No matter how severe a wound, you can endure it; if cancer isn't cut out, you just wait to die."

The room fell silent for three seconds.

Qian Feng raised his hand: "Director, regarding personnel… Jiang Yuan's squad is currently deployed at the edge of the third Weird Domain area on the east coast—"

"Jiang Yuan, stay put."

Wei Gong cut him off and brought up the global troop deployment map.

Dense blue markers covered the perimeters of six Weird Domain zones, as if the Earth were plastered with band‑aids. Jiang Yuan's codename "Shadow Lord" was marked on the boundary of the largest domain, with a string of operation serial numbers beside it.

"Jiang Yuan is the hardest punch we have; his mission is external. The Weird Domains are expanding, even showing signs of cross‑contamination, and he can't leave."

Wei Gong traced his finger across the Federation's interior on the map.

"The internal tumor must be cut out by someone else."

His finger stopped at a spot with no markings.

"And we need someone sufficiently capable."

——

Three days later.

The Federation Investigation Bureau headquarters underground parking lot.

Su Ming emerged from the elevator wearing a Black Combat Suit, the A-level Permission card pinned to his waist, his steps neither hurried nor slow.

Behind him trailed a hulking creature over two meters tall.

Jia Shan.

The monster in the shelter, covered in Compound Eyes, was now shoved into a specially made bullet‑proof vest, its limbs bound by alloy restraint rings. The rings' indicator lights flashed green—signifying "controlled state."

Yet every staff member in the parking lot who saw Jia Shan instinctively squeezed toward the wall.

Not because of his size.

It was because when he walked, the ground trembled. That dull, muffled thud traveled up from his soles, making one's teeth ache.

Su Ming paid no mind and walked straight to a conference room at the end, bearing an access badge.

The door opened.

Wei Gong sat inside, a ridiculously thick Cowhide Paper File Bag spread before him, its cover stamped with three layers of red classified seals.

As Su Ming entered, his peripheral glance caught Jia Shan—this fellow had to turn sideways to squeeze through the doorway.

"Sit." Wei Gong gestured to the chair opposite.

Su Ming didn't sit. He lifted the file bag on the table, gauged its weight, and found that besides paper documents, it also contained a USB drive.

"Don't rush to read." Wei Gong pushed the Thermal Cup aside, pulled a thin commission letter from the drawer, and said, "Sign this first."

Su Ming skimmed the commission letter's contents.

"Federation internal purge Special Task Force Core Captain." The permission field read six characters—"cut corners, act first, report later." Below were Wei Gong's private seal and the Investigation Bureau's Highest Authorization steel stamp.

"That permission is too broad," Su Ming said evenly.

"Just right for you."

Wei Gong poured a cup of hot water from the Thermal Cup and handed it over, but Su Ming didn't take it.

The old man wasn't annoyed and drank a sip himself.

"Have you seen the slum video?"

"Seen it."

"What do you think?"

Su Ming thought briefly and gave a very concise reply: "Catastrophic."

Wei Gong stared at him for a few seconds.

No panic, no despair, only composure.

That's exactly the kind of person he wants.

He won't have his psychological defenses pierced by the tragic scenes on screen, nor be swayed by the believers' twisted logic. A pragmatist cold to the bone.

"You've probably grasped Gospel Church's propagation logic," Wei Gong said, "They don't confront head‑on; they target the most vulnerable. Slums, post‑disaster resettlement sites, resource‑scarce zones— the more desperate the place, the higher the Seed's acceptance."

Su Ming opened the file bag and pulled out the first page.

It was a preliminary portrait analysis of believer distribution.

The second page contained personal information of Liu Fang, the photographer who confirmed the death.

From the third page onward, dense entries listed suspicious aberration incidents reported from various regions.

Su Ming flipped through quickly; in under two minutes he finished the entire paper material. His gaze lingered half a second on a few pages, but his expression never changed.

Wei Gong nudged the USB drive forward.

"Inside is a high‑frequency transmission we intercepted; after decoding, it confirms—the Seed supply source behind Gospel Church points to a person."

"Sai Men." Su Ming supplied the name.

Wei Gong nodded.

"But Sai Men is only a supplier; the ones truly running the pyramid scheme are the believers he cultivated. The first batch numbered at least seventeen, and we don't know how many have since proliferated."

Su Ming rolled up the file and slipped it into the inner pocket of his combat suit.

"Target priority order?"

"Kill one when you see one. No matter whether the opponent is a believer, a Mutated Entity, or an ordinary person who has been bewitched—once they swallow the Seed, they are no longer human."

Lord Wei's voice sank.

"No matter who gets involved, kill without mercy."

Su Ming's eyebrows twitched.

These six words weighed heavier than the two lines on the commission letter. "No matter who gets involved"—the subtext being that if the Gospel Church infiltrates the official system, he likewise has the authority to act.

Lord Wei handed him a knife.

He also handed him a black pot.

Su Ming understood clearly.

But he still folded the commission letter twice and stuffed it together with the files into his pocket.

"What about supplies?"

"The key to B2 Warehouse has already been activated on your permission card; you can take ammunition and equipment at will. As for manpower—"

Lord Wei's gaze passed over Su Ming and fell on the massive creature at the doorway that was almost warping the doorframe.

Jia Shan, his body covered in Compound Eyes, stared at the ceiling fluorescent tube, his head tilting, looking inexplicably dazed.

"Are you sure bringing this thing to the front line won't be a problem?" Lord Wei asked.

Su Ming glanced back at Jia Shan.

Jia Shan felt the gaze; his Compound Eyes all turned toward Su Ming, and he instinctively stepped back half a step.

Within those countless tiny eyeballs, the same meaning was written—fear.

"No problem," Su Ming said.

He walked to Jia Shan's side, raised his hand, and patted the forearm that was about as thick as his own waist.

"Let's go."

The two words were as casual as calling one's own dog out for a walk.

Jia Shan's restraint ring indicator light flickered, and his massive body immediately fell in step with Su Ming, the ground again emitting that dull thud that made one's teeth ache.

Lord Wei remained seated, watching the silhouettes of a man and a monster disappear into the farthest light.

He lifted the Thermal Cup and took another sip.

The hot water had already cooled.