Mythos Reboot

Chapter 6

Signing an unequal treaty for the first time, Wayne felt slightly nervous. He eagerly flipped through the Book of Greed, wanting to see who the lucky scapegoat was.

The result wasn't great—the contracted party wasn't just not alive, it wasn't even human.

A dog!

The moment the contract was signed, a table of contents appeared on the second page. Opening to the section on the Spirit of Vengeance, the true form of the first subordinate servant was revealed.

A vicious dog with half its body rotted away, gums exposed, one eye gray-white while the other just an empty black socket, ribs protruding from its abdomen, all internal organs missing from its cavity.

The remaining black fur clung to festering muscles, with oozing black-yellow unidentified fluid acting like glue, as multiple forces worked together to barely hold this ruined body intact.

An utterly nauseating sight—even though it was just an image, Wayne could practically smell the revolting stench wafting from it.

“yue~~~”

He gagged twice, nearly vomiting in the car.

“Buddy, if you puke in my car, I swear I'll throw you out,”

the taxi driver grumbled furiously. This vehicle was his beloved, and he wouldn't tolerate anyone making a mess of his treasure.

"Can't blame me—your 'lover' reeks," Wayne shot back, pinning the foul odor squarely on the taxi driver's cherished ride.

After this brief interlude, Wayne returned to flipping through the Revenant's pages and uncovered both good and bad news.

Revenants were familiars—technically, the moment they became Revenants, they ceased to be vengeful spirits and were instead transformed by the Tome of Avarice into magical entities.

As Wayne's familiars, servants, and summoned beings, Revenants relied entirely on his magic for their actions, and only his magic could sustain them.

The problem？ Wayne had no magic. The only reason he could open the Tome of Avarice and bind his first familiar was due to the residual spell William had cast on him.

Therefore, he couldn't summon and command his familiar.

If deprived of its master's magical power for too long, the Avenging Spirit would go mad from hunger until completely vanishing.

At this point, the Avenging Spirit has two choices.

First, devour its master to gain freedom, roaming through the night mist as a new urban legend.

Second, wait in place for annihilation, offering its most sincere curse to the master before death.

Reading this, Wayne shuddered, fearing his familiar might haunt his dreams at midnight.

He consoled himself that dogs are loyal, humanity's best friends - what ill intentions could a dog possibly harbor？ Devouring its master was absolutely impossible.

The good news was that the contract shared some similarities with sacrifices - Wayne gained two partial abilities from his familiar: enhanced smell and supernatural perception.

The enhanced smell needs no explanation - dogs excel at this. Supernatural perception is easily understood too; in humans it's called sixth sense, while in dogs it's animal instinct.

Both abilities required no magic to activate, becoming instinctive habits the moment acquired. Using magic could expand their range and intensity.

Unfortunately, he couldn't - having no magic at all.

How did things come to this…

For the first time, I opened the Book of Greed and signed a contract to become part of the supernatural. Two joyous events coincided, and these two joys brought me even more happiness. What I gained should have been a dreamlike time of bliss…

But why… why did it turn out like this…

Why are they all support skills？ Not a single offensive skill？

Until dusk approached, until the taxi arrived at the warehouse district, Wayne was still wallowing in self-pity.

The rookie was weak, helpless, and pitiful. The sprawling warehouse complex loomed before him like ferocious beasts crouched on the earth, ready to tear him to shreds the moment he stepped inside.

The Death Cult's stronghold was at Warehouse 66 in Zone F, at least a twenty-minute walk away. Was there still time to learn magic now？

Wayne looked pale. Under his speechless gaze, Veronica took the lead, detouring toward the rear of Warehouse 66 in Zone F.

Splitting into two groups for a pincer attack—this was setting themselves up to be wiped out in one fell swoop!

"Wayne, I admire your courage and your determination to fight against dark forces to the end. Even though you're scared to death, you still came along." William saluted with two fingers while dragging Wayne forward with his other hand.

“The hymn of humanity is the hymn of courage. For justice, I'm willing to contribute my modest strength.”

Weakly, Wayne said he only tagged along because he feared missing Veronica and William—who knew when he'd meet another mage—not out of any courage or conviction.

“Don't panic. Veronica is strong, and with me here, you'll be fine.”

Hopefully no one dies!

It must be said, while William is gay with formidable transformative power over same-s*x individuals, his robust physique also radiates security, making Wayne feel much safer in his presence.

And William wasn't wrong—Veronica truly is formidable. That handsome face, that slender figure, casually worth nine figures after one night. If anything went wrong, she alone could draw all enemy fire.

————

Time reached 6 PM as the sun fully submerged below the sea horizon, sparse streetlights flickering to life in the warehouse district.

Fog followed immediately, misty as gossamer, gently enveloping the entire city of London.

No sooner had Wayne gained supernatural perception than a thin mist aroused an ominous premonition in him. His intuition warned him that nights in Lundun were truly perilous, and the solution was to hurry home, sealing himself under blankets in bed.

Yet the fog-shrouded path home was fraught with dangers. Too afraid to walk alone at night, he chose to stay by William's side.

“The scent of death… a barrier. This is definitely the place…”

William gazed at Warehouse 66 in Zone F from afar, then retrieved a black hooded cloak from his briefcase, draping it over his tall frame.

After a moment's thought, he pulled out another and handed it to Wayne—Veronica's black robe, which fit Wayne quite poorly.

“Stay behind me. If fighting breaks out, keep to the sidelines…”

Shrouded by darkness and fog, William calmly stepped through the barrier—an ordinary sensory-type ward with low specificity, serving only as an alarm. This indicated the death cultists gathered in the warehouse were mediocre, posing no real threat.

William easily avoided the barrier's detection. Wayne didn't need to—his thick aura of death marked him as an ally to the ward, requiring no concealment to bypass the alarm.

Wayne kept thinking about how the barrier could bring him magic power. Since it was all magic, if the Book of Avarice could devour William's magic, it should certainly be able to consume the Death Cultists' magical barrier as well. If he could sign the contract a second time, he might even find himself an excellent servant.

One that comes with its own attack skills.

But nothing happened. The Book of Avarice successfully activated, but its standards had risen—it wouldn’t just feast on anything now. From then on, if Wayne wanted to wield the book, he would have to rely solely on his own magic.

The problem circled back to the beginning: Wayne had no magic!

At this moment, Wayne felt an unprecedented desire to become a mage.

At the warehouse door, William pressed his ear against the door, listening carefully. It could be seen as bold and meticulous—or perhaps just lacking stealth experience.

Wayne frowned at the sight. He was too inexperienced to comment but could only assume that this was how mages operated—crude as it seemed.

Moments later, William’s ears caught the faint murmur of prayers, confirming that the cultists were collectively praising the Goddess of Death. Quietly, he pushed the warehouse door open and slipped inside with a crouch.

Waving hand.JPG

Wayne stared at the waving hand, wanting to complain but afraid of disrupting the proceedings. He glanced around the fog-covered warehouse district, feeling as if ghosts lurked everywhere. Left with no choice, he mimicked William and ducked inside.

William politely closed the door while mumbling some incomprehensible words, then confidently joined the collective chanting of the devotees.

……

At the center of the warehouse, about twenty people gathered together, all wearing hooded black robes.

They stood in a circle around a candle-formed pattern, fists crossed over their chests. The dim candlelight failed to cast elongated shadows, their half-revealed faces flickering between light and dark. Combined with the eerie-toned prayers, everything made Wayne intensely uncomfortable.

Judging by the style, the devotees of death clearly weren't benign figures.

Wayne passed by the shelves, casually picking up a crowbar to grip in his hand. He hummed and hawed in feigned prayer, putting on an act as he joined the praying ranks.

The devotees were too absorbed to notice two strangers had appeared among them.

Pretending to praise the goddess, Wayne's gaze fell upon the candle pattern—a familiar inverted triangle, not particularly complex.

No blood, no sacrificial offerings, and consequently no scenes like disemboweling pure maidens.

As the devotees prayed devoutly, Death responded to them. The candle flames darkened, the inverted triangle symbol momentarily turned pitch black, and eight tentacles unfurled from both sides, pointing toward the warehouse ceiling while writhing chaotically.

Wayne stared transfixed, his mind drifting as if hearing something—a deep voice whispering in his ear, asking whether he would unreservedly offer everything.

Wait a minute, why does the Goddess of Death sound so… manly？

Wayne was baffled. Could the Goddess of Death actually be male, cross-dressing to better reap souls like harvesting leeks？

As Wayne's thoughts wandered off track, the whispering in his ears abruptly ceased. He snapped out of his daze to find the surrounding worshippers had stopped praying, all turning their gazes toward him.

Instantly becoming the center of attention, Wayne couldn't help but gulp nervously.

The dim surroundings and the worshippers' faces mostly obscured left Wayne unable to discern their expressions. He could only imagine savage visages and eyes burning with fury.

Astonishingly, William bared his teeth and joined their ranks, shouting threats while retreating behind the crowd.

You promised you'd protect me!

“Intruder, this is no place for you.”

A figure emerged from the crowd—likely their leader—who waved his hand, signaling his companions to restrain Wayne.

Perhaps sensing the aura of death around Wayne, the man cheerfully spat out threats, promising that Wayne would receive the goddess's blessing tonight and be completely transformed into one of them.

Cut the nonsense! Your 'goddess' is a full-grown man with a gruff voice!

Wayne retreated step by step, holding the crowbar crosswise in front of his chest. Seeing the cultists halt collectively, his courage surged momentarily.

I take back what I said earlier—the crowbar is humanity's best friend.

Then Wayne watched as the cultists picked up steel pipes from the shelves, twenty of them advancing toward him with sinister grins.

Sweat poured down Wayne's face as he croaked, "No need for a full-scale brawl over something so trivial. How about… we settle this with fists？ Fewer years in prison that way."

BOOM!!

The high window at the far end of the warehouse shattered as a slender figure leaped in, dashing to the center of the warehouse at sprinting speed.

It was Veronica. She didn’t waste the opportunity Wayne had bought her—while the cultists were away from the candle array, she hurled a glass jar straight at the center of the inverted triangle symbol.

After a crisp shattering sound, a cloud of green mist surged forth. Lush vegetation bursting with vitality rapidly grew, disrupting death's rhythm and causing all eight spider legs to swiftly wither, drooping limply downward.

“Damn it, it's Nature's minions!”

“Capture the heretic—she ruined the sacred ritual! Make her pay the price!”

The leader flew into a rage as the fanatical followers howled and redirected their charge, brandishing steel pipes as they rushed toward Veronica.

Just then, the warehouse lights suddenly flickered on—William had found the electrical switch on the wall.

Veronica narrowed her eyes slightly. Facing twenty burly men charging at her with steel pipes, she calmly opened her small handbag and gripped a delicate, compact pistol.

“Nobody move. One twitch and I shoot.”

The devotees froze in unison. At William's barked orders, they grumbled curses but dropped their pipes and lined up against the wall with hands pressed flat.

Wayne: "…"

That's it？ Seriously？

This is the brutal war of faith？ This is how mages fight？

Pathetic cowards—aren't you devotees of the Goddess of Death？ Where's your fearless embrace of mortality？ Why so scared to die？

Just a bystander here, but that pistol holds ten bullets at most. There are twenty of you—rush her together, she can't win!