To the southeast of the Moon Creek Plain, there is an inconspicuous village. It's not much different from the hundreds of other villages on the plains. Rustic villagers, muddy paths, low bungalows......

But deep beneath the village, few people know about a huge naturally formed crater that existed here thousands of years ago.

As the temperature gradually cools down and the space becomes wider and wider, the headquarters of the "Relief Society" is gradually revealed in the depths of the pit.

"President, Subject Fifty-Six is no longer good. A man in a wide gray robe and a hood carefully walked up to Theodore and said respectfully.

The old man stopped what he was doing, put down the pen and paper, and motioned for the other party to take him to have a look.

Walking through the damp and dark corridors, the light of the torches on the walls flickered on and off, and even with a thick mask, the man could still smell the stench that seemed to come from hell. He glanced quickly at the president of the relief society beside him, and the other party's expression was as usual, and he didn't see anything unusual, which made him secretly surprised in his heart.

The two came to a heavy iron door, and Theodore motioned for the guard to push it open.

The sound of the "squeak, squeak" of the reels sounded slowly, dull and harsh.

The man glanced at the scene inside the door, his heart froze, and after a while, he pinched his thigh hard, and followed the chairman in front of him.

The word "hell" is used here to describe it, and it is the most compassionate way to say it.

Stout chains, huge cages, terrifying howls, dozens of monsters stitched together from stump pieces, locked in cages on both sides of the cave. They scraped the stones beneath them with their hands and feet, and slammed their bodies against the sturdy iron cages, blood and saliva spraying the ground, like strong acid, and a deadly bubble of poison.

The members of the "Relief Society" who were in charge of the care were divided into several teams. A team is tasked with guarding and suppressing these 'Necromantic Inheritors', who wear a strange bone whistle on their chests that blow vigorously whenever a monster is overactive or self-harming. The whistle has no effect on the human body, but it can cause these terrifying monsters, from under the skin on their backs, to make a rattlesnake-like sound that can calm them down or faint.

Another team was at the other end of the room, doing the work of the pickers. In the sloping chute on the mountain wall, from time to time, "fresh materials" processed by the "slaughterhouse" will fall into the iron bucket for collection. These human remains are selected and sorted by the main workshops of the pickers, and some of the high-value "inheritors" or "xenomorphs" limbs will be tagged and sent to the "furnace room", and the remaining corpses of little value will be consumed as food for the "necromantic inheritors".

The last team of members, on a raised stone that looked like an operating table, placed the selected pieces together, and then used needles and threads to assemble the remains into a complete corpse, and then carried it into a strange sarcophagus, which was soaked in black liquid.

The man accompanied Theodore to an iron cage, and the monster in the cage collapsed to the ground, the muscles and bones of his body slowly dissolving, and red, green, and white liquids mixed together, flowing everywhere along the cracks in the ground.

The man flipped through the book in his hand and read word by word: "Subject 56, it has been twenty-six days since the smelting was completed. Using the inheritor's skeleton and fourteen other corpses, the plan was to inject seven different abilities, including "Poisonous Blood", "Regeneration", "Speed", "Limb Sharpening", and "Scream", and four were actually successful. Three days ago, he was sluggish and weakened, and this morning his flesh was dissolved...... Forehead...... President?"

Theodore's eyes looked at the monster in front of him, as if he was in a state of flux, and he didn't move.

After a long while, the old man suddenly asked, "Would the first person in the world to discover fire think that in the future, human beings will not only use it to cook food, but also use it to burn their own kind?"

"Huh?" the man listened to the other man's words, unable to understand how the president, who had been obsessed with research in the past, could suddenly ask such a question.

Theodore's face was full of doubts, and he whispered, "Is it right or wrong that I gave up staying in the capital and chose to part ways with those three people, join the 'Council of Elders', and try to end all strife with the results of my research?"

The man looked at Theodore's face and asked cautiously, "President, what should we do with this test subject?"

The latter glanced at the cage, dropped a word, and turned to leave the hall.

"Burn it. 』

Back in his underground lab, Theodore watched as the locked door was opened from the inside, and looked at the figure in the room with a gloomy face.

"Who gave you the guts to enter my room without my permission?!"

The throat bone wrapped in the black robe did not pay attention to Theodore's roar, but found a chair and sat down, looked at the other party and said, "Lord, I think it is necessary for you and me to talk. ”

"Let's talk?" Theodore laughed angrily, "Why do you think you're qualified to talk to me?"

Laryngeal glanced at the manuscripts and manuals on the table, and sighed, "Are you still planning to give up our decades of research to the Knights of the Twilight?"

Theodore slammed his fist against the table and roared, "We?!That's my research, you're just my assistant at best!"

The laryngeal bone stood up from his seat, his body knocked over the chair, and his voice was raised by three points: "You should know! There are many people in the Relief Society who have died because of the persecution of the Church!

Theodore froze in place when he heard this, and the anger on his face slowly subsided.

He found a chaise longue and sat on it, and his eyes softened a little when he looked at his throat: "I remember that when I rescued you from the prison of the Inquisition, you were only 7 years old. Your parents and sisters, who are aliens, have been tormented by the church and have chosen to commit suicide to find relief. And you, without food and water, lived in a cage for thirteen whole days. When we meet, you are like a puppet, sitting in the pile of corpses of your loved ones, and your whole body has been bitten by rats, and you can't see a piece of good meat......"

As if remembering the purgatory-like memories of the past, the corners of his throat's eyes twitched as he took two steps closer to Theodore: "President, you and I live in a dark, hopeless, cannibalistic and eaten world. If you want to survive, then you must have the power to match the darkness! Entrust yourself to others, and hope for the mercy of others, and sooner or later, this kind of behavior will only make us fall into the food of others!"

Holding the manual and pages on the desk, there was endless fanaticism in his throat bone's eyes, and he said to Theodore in a strange tone: "Do you know what I have in my hands? These are the stairs to the gates of heaven, the scepters to become the masters of the world! As long as the technique of the 'Necromantic Inheritor' can be perfected, the 'Relief Society' can change the rules of the world and rule all the kingdoms......! You can even become a god!"

Theodore's eyes widened, watching his throat bone's every move, and finally shook his head: "You're crazy. ”

There was indescribable disappointment in the eyes of the throat bone, he reluctantly put down the book in his hand, and his face returned to calm: "Elder, there is a last question, I asked it a few days ago, but I still want to confirm it with you today." ”

Theodore gave the other a cold look.

Larynx smiled and asked, "You really haven't thought about joining the church?"

Theodore raised his right hand, pointed out the door, and said loudly, "Now, leave my room immediately!"

The laryngeal bone nodded slightly, bowed, and walked out of the door.

As he walked on the road, he took out a handkerchief from his bosom, turned over the layers of fabric, and lay quietly in the innermost half of a small letterhead that had not yet had time to burn.

On the letterhead, the other handwriting has long been scorched yellow and blackened, and only the inscription is still faintly visible.

"Your dear old friend, Boswell"