When Lilith’s words “Just tear it up” dropped softly, the entire cocktail party seemed to hit the pause button.
The air froze, and even the virtual starry river flowing across the dome seemed to stagnate for a moment.
Everyone’s gaze focused on this silver-haired little girl who dared to provoke the mysterious intruder to her face.
And for Kafka, these words were no less than a cosmic collapse.
“Tear it up?” The smile on her face didn’t change, but deep within those smiling eyes, something shattered.
Elio’s script is the foundation of all Stellaron Hunters’ actions, the iron rule that runs through destiny, and the irreversible ultimate truth.
Countless civilizations have flourished or perished under the guidance of the script, and countless powerhouses have taken the stage or bowed out under its arrangement.
Tear it up?
The word itself was a form of blasphemy.
‘System!
How much energy did that just consume?
I feel a bit weak.’ On the surface, Lilith maintained an arrogance that looked down on all living things, but internally, she was already frantically calling for help.
[“The temporary ‘reality’ construction of the ‘Finality’ authority consumed energy equivalent to a full salvo from the Space Station’s low-Earth orbit defense satellite array,”] the system’s voice carried a hint of weakness.
[“Host, please use counterattacks cautiously; our ‘mana bar’ is running low.”] ‘I know, I know, fortune favors the bold!
If I don’t bluff her, we’ll both be stripped bare today!’ Lilith took a deep breath, knowing now was the best time to press the advantage.
She had to completely destroy Kafka’s psychological defenses before she could recover from the shock and reorganize an effective mental attack.
She took another small step forward, completely leaving Herta’s protective range, and proactively met Kafka’s searching, dangerous gaze.
“The future?” Lilith tilted her head, her crimson pupils flashing with a discerning mockery, as if listening to an extremely childish joke.
She didn’t answer Kafka’s question, but instead used a voice that was equally soft yet dissected the other’s soul like a knife, slowly asking in return: “I see a woman who thinks she is the Chess Player, chasing every word on the script her entire life.” “She enjoys the thrill of hunting prey, toys with people’s hearts, guides the destinies of others, and finds pleasure in it.” With every word spoken, the smile on Kafka’s face faded a bit more.
Her fingers holding the wine glass tightened unconsciously.
The crimson liquid in the glass rippled ominously.
The surrounding researchers were completely stunned.
They didn’t understand what Lilith was saying, but they could clearly feel that the mysterious woman, whose aura was powerful enough to make even the Station Master wary, was being pushed into a corner step by step by this little girl’s words.
Herta’s pupils shrank suddenly.
She understood.
“script,” “Chess Player”…
these terms pointed precisely to the mysterious leader of the Stellaron Hunters, “Destiny’s Slave” Elio.
Lilith, how could she know these things?!
A storm more violent than when Silver Wolf invaded surged in Herta’s heart.
She had originally thought Lilith was just a child with an unknown Prophecy Ability, but now it seemed the depth and breadth of the secrets she knew far exceeded her imagination.
Looking at Lilith’s small but incredibly upright back, an unprecedented emotion—a mix of pride and intense unease—seized her heart.
And Lilith’s “performance” continued.
Her voice paused, and in that suffocating silence, she stepped forward again.
This time, she was almost pressed against Kafka’s ear.
A distance close enough to make Herta’s killing intent boil, and close enough for her whisper to reach only Kafka’s ears like a devil’s curse.
“But she never knew…” Lilith’s voice was extremely low, filled with a malicious, cruel pity.
“Every thrill brought by her heartbeat, every pleasure brought by her choices, even her curiosity about me…
right now…” “…is just a line of code already written in the script.” Boom!
These words were more vicious and lethal than any “Spirit Whisper.” It didn’t attack Kafka’s will, but directly attacked the “foundation” of her existence—her belief in “freedom.” Kafka had always believed she was the executor of the script, not its slave.
She enjoyed the process, chose the methods; she had the “freedom” of choice.
But Lilith’s words ruthlessly revealed a deeper, terrifying possibility she had never dared to think through: even her “enjoyment” and “sense of freedom” were themselves pre-designed programs.
She wasn’t a player; she was just an NPC with a player’s perspective.
“A marionette who thinks she is free, yet comes to ask me, a prisoner in a cage, what I see.” Lilith pulled back slightly, tilting up her exquisite doll-like face.
In her crimson pupils, she saw the reflection of Kafka’s slightly dazed face, which could no longer maintain its perfect smile.
She curled her lip, revealing an extremely mocking smile belonging to a victor.
“Kafka, don’t you think…” “…this is quite ridiculous?” Crack.
A very subtle, almost inaudible crisp sound.
A fine crack appeared on the wine glass in Kafka’s hand.
Her flawless smile, which seemed measured by a precision instrument, finally vanished completely.
Replacing it was a mix of shock, confusion, and a hint of…
fear that she herself hadn’t noticed.
For the first time, in front of a seemingly weak and harmless child, she felt the tremor of being “seen through,” of her soul being stripped bare for all to see.
This child is not The Prophet.
She is…
a devil outside the rules.
‘Phew…
finished acting…
my legs are a bit weak…’ Lilith let out a long breath internally, her back already soaked in cold sweat.
She knew she had gambled correctly.
To deal with an expert at toying with hearts like Kafka, the only way was to be even crazier and better at it than she was.
Just as the atmosphere froze to the breaking point and Herta was about to step in and clear the mess.
Suddenly, Kafka laughed.
It wasn’t a return to her previous composed, disguised smile.
It was a new kind of smile, carrying a hint of madness, a hint of self-mockery, and a more intense, more burning…
interest.
She casually tossed aside the cracked wine glass, letting it fall to the floor with a crisp shattering sound.
“Ridiculous?” She extended the tip of her tongue and lightly licked her lips.
In her refocused eyes flashed an undisguised excitement and possessiveness at having found a new toy.
“No, not at all.” “You…
are truly interesting.” ————————
It might not seem tempting right now but who knows what the future holds?
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”