Chapter One: The Tentacled Assassin

Chu Hengkong opened his eyes to discover himself at the heart of a bizarre summoning ritual.

Dim candlelight flickered throughout the chamber as blood and ink flowed along carved grooves, forming an intricate array of three interlocking circles on the floor. Figures draped in white robes stood around the ritual, their thin, pallid forms resembling humanoid worms. The leader of these worms wore a purple pendant and held a large silver-bound book. His voice boomed, thundering through the chamber like a sudden storm:

“Hear my call! Compiler of the Primordial Codex! Master of Abyssal Wisdom! Great Mystic Eye, the Probing Touch…”

The titles that followed grew ever more grandiose, as though reciting an endless menu from some otherworldly cuisine. While Chu Hengkong quietly committed them to memory, he idly observed his surroundings—there was little else he could do, for he hadn’t yet truly “manifested.” He was only a presence, unable to act, his vision fixed in the center of the triple circles, as if he’d been flattened into a single sheet with no substance.

Thirteen people in total, all clad in flimsy white robes offering no protection, most armed with daggers, clubs, spears—simple cold weapons. Their stances were anything but professional, more akin to the private militia of some rural cult. The chamber itself was small, with only a single doorway ten meters ahead—no escape possible.

No threat at all.

As Chu Hengkong came to this conclusion, the summoner’s breathless recitation at last reached its end. The man’s face had turned a liverish purple, yet he pressed on, forcing the final words out of his lungs with sheer will: “...Omniscient Lord of All Mysteries! By Your sacred runes, grant us wisdom and redeem this despairing world!”

At last, the interminable chant concluded, and the ritual was complete. The pale yellow tome floated into the air, its blank pages rifling at unnatural speed. Though it was only paper flipping, a deafening gale rose in the chamber, sending heavy iron candelabras flying and tossing all thirteen cultists into the air. They watched as the ritual circles became awash in a twilight glow; from the dusk emerged an indescribable presence, shining forth the first ray of a great being’s descent into the Mortal Realm!

“It’s here… I-It’s here!” High Priest Alex shouted, wild with excitement. “The god has descended!!”

Though buffeted and thrown about by the storm, the fanatics forced their eyes wide with reverence, desperate to witness the honor of their deity’s arrival. Bit by bit, they tried to glimpse that unfathomable form: a left arm gleaming with mysterious silver light, flesh of an unsettling hue, a maddeningly plain green coat, hair as dark as night, and features as tranquil as a shadowed lake…

Indeed, the divine appearance surpassed human comprehension. One fanatic couldn’t help but cry out:

“…Why does it look so human?”

Then the twilight faded from the ritual, and with it the storm ceased abruptly. The cultists crashed to the ground in a cacophony of squawks and groans. Alex, who had flown highest, landed hardest. He caught the silver-bound tome and was about to roar at the uninvited arrival when he suddenly froze. “Wait! Look there!”

All eyes turned to a single spot, confusion and uncertainty mirrored on every face. Chu Hengkong ignored their reactions and released a long breath. His physical body and senses, which had vanished, returned at last. He could move freely again—a difference as profound as returning from being a mere paper cutout to a real, flesh-and-blood man. The contrast was like being reborn.

Regaining mobility was a relief, but there was a new problem at hand…

He slowly shifted his gaze to where the dumbstruck cultists were all staring: just below his left sleeve, something silver, slender, and glistening with mucus protruded—

A tentacle.

Chu Hengkong hastily rolled up his left sleeve, discovering that the silver sheen stretched from the tip of the limb all the way to his shoulder. What had once been his “left arm” was now an elongated, boneless appendage. The shock froze him for a solid second.

What the hell—how did my arm turn into this?!

No matter how he looked at it, it was a tentacle. No fingers, no bones, not even proper joints—just a writhing mass of muscle, flexing in an inhuman, worm-like undulation. Worse yet, the tip oozed sticky secretions, flinging snot-like mucus with every motion!

This, of course, was the source of the cultists’ confusion. They suspected he was just a hapless interloper caught in their summoning, and yet he bore the impossibly beautiful Touch of the Great One. Perhaps the Omniscient Lord’s aesthetic sense was simply beyond mortal comprehension, choosing to fashion its own flesh in such a way.

Paralyzed by uncertainty, no one dared make the first move. Then Chu Hengkong raised the tentacle. The cultists held their breath, thinking that if this truly was the deity incarnate, these would be its first divine words.

“How hideous!” Chu Hengkong exclaimed in genuine disgust.

The cultists’ expressions instantly contorted with rage, as though he’d spat upon their ancestors before their very eyes. The next moment, High Priest Alex’s furious bellow thundered: “How dare you insult the great god! Kill this ignorant intruder and offer his flesh to the divine Touch!”

Weapons flashed into hands, murderous intent replacing their earlier confusion. Accidental interlopers were a known hazard in summoning rituals, and they were prepared: if the god failed to descend fully, they were to kill the interloper at once and use the partially manifested god’s body for a second summoning.

The three closest cultists attacked in unison—one ahead raised a hand crossbow to shoot, a burly one on the right lunged with a spear, while another behind drew a dagger, aiming for Chu Hengkong’s back. Deliberately avoiding the tentacle, they struck only at human vitals, with not a shred of hesitation.

But in that instant, a flash of silver blazed before their eyes.

Like a bolt of unnatural lightning, the silver arc expanded into a blinding ring. The first three attackers, upon touching it, were sent flying as if struck by a tempest, leaving the rest momentarily breathless with shock.

They now saw the true nature of the silver ring: a tentacle, raised high and then slashing down, its speed like lightning and its force like a tidal wave. Three grown men had been sent flying with a single blow, and the tentacle’s sweep was only just beginning—its range still growing!

The silver tentacle’s elasticity was astonishing, its length surging with every increase in force. It could reach every corner of the chamber, and the cultists hastily shielded their heads and vital organs with their weapons. But Chu Hengkong bent low, crouched on one leg, and the tentacle’s second sweep struck at their lower bodies, the silver arc cutting through the crowd.

It was perhaps the longest leg sweep in history, with a radius of five full meters. The cultists were swept airborne, never having imagined a human could possess such might—enough to hurl thirteen grown men with one hand. And this time, they did not land gently, for the tentacle’s onslaught continued.

Chu Hengkong straightened, raising the tentacle higher. He was like a madman spinning a hammer in the confined space, the blistering acceleration turning the tentacle into a devastating bludgeon. The chamber rang with the relentless thud of flesh striking flesh—a silver whirlwind raging through the room!

When the whirlwind ceased, only one man remained standing. High Priest Alex, pressed tight against the chamber wall, held the silver tome in one hand and the purple crystal pendant in the other. The solid tome had shielded him from the tentacle’s blows, while the crystal enhanced his perception, allowing him to follow his enemy’s movements.

Alex seized the moment, lunging from the right. Dropping the pendant, he gripped a pitch-black staff—carved from obsidian mined in remote volcanoes, famed for its hardness, capable of making even steel doors groan when struck. From this angle, the tentacle couldn’t reach in time. He had a chance to end his foe.

But as his hand descended, another force intercepted the blow—Chu Hengkong’s foot! His right leg shot up like a dragon, his kick so fierce that the staff was sent flying, splintering to pieces from the sheer force.

Chu Hengkong followed with a downward strike, his heel crashing into Alex’s shoulder. The high priest was thrown to the ground, raising his head to see the young man standing amidst a haze of black dust, eyes as keen as blades.

“Who are you?” Alex’s voice trembled.

The young man finished him off with a final strike from the tentacle, then shrugged at the senseless high priest.

“My name is Chu Hengkong. I’m an assassin.”