Chapter 503: The Man Playing Dead on the Cross
Chapter 503: The Man Playing Dead on the Cross
When Fang Cheng entered the underground floor, the space instantly narrowed and twisted like some buried maze. The lights grew dim, revealing strange statues lining both sides of the path and bizarre carvings on the walls.
From the guard’s memories, he knew this level had been built after Gates of Heaven partnered with corporate interests – deliberately designed to look heavily religious. Hidden in shadows, he studied the statues and symbols to decipher what deity this cult worshipped.
The imagery blended Christian elements with aliens. Crosses dotted the area, some bearing crucified figures with octopus heads. This seemed to be Gates of Heaven’s version of God.
Black-clad believers finally appeared here in numbers, but all shared identical features – clones like those from the villa. Worse, these clones had all taken Superman medicine granting steel-like skin, creating an entire superpowered army.
Fang Cheng suspected Gates of Heaven and their backers aimed higher than mere cult activities. With the Ark, weapon suppliers, and mass-producible super-soldiers, they could start a world war. This scale of power could even found a new nation abroad. Not his problem though – let the North American government deal with that headache.
The bald man soon located a high-ranking believer with patterned robes. “Come. The cult leader has time.” The clone’s flat voice matched its blank expression. Fang Cheng spotted a faint “2” tattoo on its neck – marking enhanced Subject No. 2 Superman medicine compared to regular No. 3 clones.
They passed more identical clones moving through corridors. More prison than holy site, this place trapped soulless replicas in religious trappings.
At a heavy door, the No. 2 clone gestured entry. Shivering from the eerie atmosphere, the bald man pushed inside expecting opulence. Instead, he found a church.
The cross-shaped dome rested on four thick pillars, eight slimmer ones supporting 24 arches. Ceiling murals showed religious scenes – except the Virgin Mary and Jesus sported octopus heads. Colorful glass and decorations lined the walls above marble floors, where rows of benches held praying figures.
“Excuse me… is Lord Walker here?”
The bald man whispered to the nearest person, but received no response.
Upon closer inspection, he realized the figure showed no breath—it was a corpse.
Looking up, he felt a chill rise from the depths of his heart.
The crowd packed on the benches might all be corpses.
Fang Cheng noticed every praying corpse had a “1” tattooed on the back of its neck.
These were clones injected with Subject No.1’s Superman medicine—the strongest variety.
Yet they’d all perished.
Fang Cheng detected neither heartbeat nor warmth from them, confirming their death.
The bald man swallowed hard, yearning to flee this eerie place. But since Lord Walker remained notoriously busy, he feared missing this rare chance.
Gritting his teeth, he entered. His footsteps rang sharply through the hollow silence of the church.
A four-tiered altar dominated the far end.
Custom demanded statues of Christ, the Virgin Mary, Saint Peter and Saint Paul here.
Instead hung a crucified man.
Naked, corpse-pale, head bowed to hide his face.
At first resembling stonework, closer inspection revealed flesh—though whether living or dead remained unclear, with no breath visible.
Approaching the altar, the bald man frowned. Wasn’t Lord Walker supposed to be here?
“What do you want?”
A cold voice shattered the silence.
The bald man froze, then tilted his head upward.
The crucified corpse had raised its head to stare at him.
The face matched the clones outside perfectly, save for appearing forty years older.
Suddenly animate, warmth and pulse returning to its form.
Fang Cheng withdrew his presence into shadows, recalling every trace of blood around him.
Benjamin Walker served as the evil god’s proxy—one slip meant discovery.
Walker’s face solved the mystery—he was clearly the clones’ original template.
“Lord Walker, how…”
The bald man remembered a refined scholar, nothing like a cult leader.
How had he become this cross-bound corpse within months?
Walker repeated flatly: “State your business.”
The bald man hurriedly explained his purpose.
At the mention of Tony Kent sending assistance, Walker’s mouth twitched in silent mockery.
“You mortals are getting more outrageous, daring to send spies to watch me.”
The bald man’s scalp prickled as his heart nearly stopped beating.
He’d known Tony sent him for deeper purposes, but never expected Walker would expose him so directly.
If Walker killed him in anger, Tony’s personality would surely make him call with apologies.
Luckily Walker simply ordered: “The god’s offerings arrived at base. They’re restless – go calm them. Sacrificial ceremony’s in two days.”
The bald man hurriedly agreed.
Walker lowered his head, reverting to corpse-like stillness as body heat and heartbeat vanished.
The bald man retreated from the eerie chamber, the church door slamming shut behind him.
Wiping sweat from his scalp, he glanced back.
The Gates of Heaven and their backers shared no true alliance.
Benjamin Walker obeyed only the evil god’s commands, while Tony’s group cared solely for profits.
Their clashes happened often – like Walker’s fondness for mass suicides and sacrificial rites under evil god guidance.
Such behavior drew North American government scrutiny. Tony’s faction repeatedly demanded restraint, but Walker persisted.
Only sunk costs prevented their separation.
Sending the bald man probably meant: “I’m watching – don’t cause trouble.”
Walker’s reaction showed utter indifference.
Exiting, the bald man found Subject No.2 clone.
This time he was led to clustered three-story buildings housing exactly 1000 people.
700 ordinary believers lived alongside 300 specially invited North American talents holding Gates of Heaven letters.
All had been secretly quartered here for weeks.
While believers stayed calm, the recruits grew restless, feeling cheated.
Many would’ve left if not stranded in unfamiliar territory.
The bald man’s mission: keep them pacified till ceremony day.
Easy work – he’d handled worse while disciplining safety agency’s external personnel.
As the bald man prepared, Fang Cheng emerged from his shadow to explore underground level.
Mother’s body lay with Walker, but the cross-pretending corpse likely didn’t carry it.
Fang Cheng needed to locate the storage spot.
Clones couldn’t detect him. Soon he’d scouted entire basement – five times smaller than upper base.
Central hollow resembled Roman gladiatorial arena containing only altar.
Surrounding cramped buildings revealed nothing. Only unchecked place was Walker’s church.
Fang Cheng considered entering but feared alerting Walker. Yet retrieving mother’s body meant inevitable confrontation. With backers absent, this might be best chance.
As he hesitated, Iyaya’s voice echoed mentally:
“Act now and he might flee.”
Fang Cheng stiffened. “When then?”
“At the sacrificial ceremony.”
The goddess rarely gave direct answers: “Best strike then. He won’t run during rites.”