Demon Bible

Chapter 109: Al and Fass

The South District.

Though similar in size to the North District, its population was several times larger.

On paper, the entirety of Tail Fin Town only held about half a million residents.

Yet, the South District alone currently harbored well over that number.

The demographics of the North District were much clearer. Aside from the secret death-sworn warriors and private soldiers hoarded by certain nobles, their census was generally accurate, sitting at less than one hundred thousand people.

Therefore, in stark contrast to the comfortable and pristine North District.

The environmental sanitation of the South District seemed perpetually beyond salvation.

Trash littered every corner, filth stained the streets, and a thick, nauseating stench constantly clung to the air.

Arsey Kia. Those familiar with him usually just called him Al.

Right now, he was being anxiously dragged into an alleyway on Seventh Street in the South District.Quite a crowd had already gathered here.

It was obvious that these people were of the lowest social standing, with many lacking even a single intact piece of clothing.

They formed a circle around a similarly impoverished man, their eyes burning with fervent intensity.

It was not because they were planning a robbery or anything of the sort.

If this were a mugging or some other violent act, the atmosphere would not be so quiet; it would be far more chaotic.

Furthermore, his newfound friend would never have brought him here in the first place.

The man at the center of the crowd showed no fear at being surrounded by so many people. Instead, he was visibly thrilled, speaking with immense confidence.

"From now on, you all follow me. I am going to establish a new gang and grant you power. When that time comes, you can eat whatever you want!"

"The God of Fiction will protect us!" he added passionately.

Al froze, a cold sweat instantly breaking out across his back.

Unlike these commoners, he possessed a noble surname and understood the true nature of faith.

The back of the Azure Sky Whale was the domain of the God of Precepts. Missionary work for any other deity was strictly forbidden.

Any group that attempted it was invariably labeled a heretical cult.

And Al had never even heard of this so-called God of Fiction.

'This is a huge problem!' he thought. Without hesitation, Al grabbed his companion's hand, desperate to drag him away.

His companion was a young laborer. His name, given casually by his family, was Fass—a word meaning bread baked without sawdust or husks.

Fass was currently staring at the eloquent speaker of their age with a burning, rapturous gaze.

He was only fourteen, yet he spent every single day hauling heavy cargo at the docks. Despite being named Fass, he had never actually tasted pure bread in his entire life.

"Will I be able to eat fass then?" Fass asked eagerly. In his feverish state, he was completely oblivious to his friend Al tugging at his arm.

"Yes, you can eat anything!" The man in the center replied immediately, delighted by the support. "You can eat all the fass you want, and drink as much milk as your stomach can hold!"

At his words, the eyes of the surrounding crowd lit up, as if they were already envisioning that beautiful future.

"But what about the Hemp Rope Gang?" At the Seventh Street Docks, the Hemp Rope Gang controlled the area and extorted protection money from everyone.

Most of the people here were simple laborers. Normally, they didn't even dare to make eye contact with the gang members; a single lingering glance was enough to invite a brutal beating.

"Have no fear, for the God of Fiction has blessed me with power!" The man burst into hearty laughter, gesturing for the crowd to step back before tearing off his shirt.

His scrawny torso was covered in various scars. That was entirely normal.

In the South District, everyone had taken their fair share of beatings.

What made Al feel uneasy was the Inverted Pentagram Ritual Array etched into the man's chest. At that moment, the man clenched his fist tightly and struck his own chest.

Immediately, tendrils of dark aura seeped out from the Inverted Pentagram Ritual Array.

The dark energy coiled around him, and his previously emaciated physique instantly swelled as if pumped full of air.

"Come on, pick up that club from the ground." His sudden transformation caused the circle of people to stumble back in fright.

The fact that they worked as laborers and had never joined a gang despite living here for so long was a testament to their inherent meekness.

They had no problem boasting in their free time, but when faced with real danger, cowardice always took over.

"I will do it!" Fass, however, seemed entirely intoxicated by the promise of unlimited bread. He immediately snatched up a wooden club from the dirt.

"Smash it right against me!" The man declared, urging Fass to strike.

Fass didn't hesitate. He hoisted the club and swung it with all his might.

The wood snapped with a sharp crack upon impact, yet not a single red mark appeared on the man's skin.

He brushed the splinters off his body and cast a triumphant gaze over the stunned crowd.

"Do you see? This is what true power looks like! Right now, I am not even afraid of a blade!" As he spoke, the man retracted the dark aura, ceasing his display.

According to the esteemed member of the Construct Protocol, the power within him could be activated at any time, but it could only be sustained for a total of half an hour.

Once that thirty minutes ran out, the strength would dissipate entirely.

He needed to recruit more believers for the God of Fiction in order to continuously receive this power.

If he managed to convert enough followers, he too could enter the Construct Protocol, sign the pact to change his fate, and become a true Protocol member.

Witnessing this undeniable, tangible power sent a wave of electric excitement through the onlookers.

They swarmed around the man, eagerly asking him question after question.

However, he did not reveal anything else of substance. He merely stated that if they wanted this power, they had to join his newly formed Black Star Gang. Then, he continued to paint grand illusions of the future, spinning tales of what they would accomplish and how everyone would live a life of luxury.

This sort of rhetoric was incredibly enticing. At the very least, Al noticed that Fass, standing right beside him, had been completely captivated.

"Al, didn't you say you were looking for a chance to learn some Breathing Technique or Meditation Method to gain power?"

"This is the perfect opportunity! How about we join the Black Star Gang together?!" Fass, to his credit, still remembered that he had brought his friend along.

His face flushed with excitement as he turned to ask Al.

"We need to leave right now, Fass!" Although Al had fallen into destitution, his upbringing and knowledge warned him that this kind of power and this method of preaching were far too dangerous.

"What is wrong?" Fass had not yet snapped out of his euphoric haze, looking at his friend in sheer confusion.

Before Al could explain in detail, a sudden commotion erupted from a short distance away.

A group of men, each with a thick hemp rope tied around their shoulders, began closing in from both ends of the alley.

"It is the Hemp Rope Gang!" Fass shrieked in terror the moment he turned his head and spotted them.

"Do not panic! I am here!" The leader of the newly formed Black Star Gang stepped forward and bellowed confidently.

Unfortunately, the alleyway was too chaotic. The mere mention of the Hemp Rope Gang was enough to send these laborers into a desperate panic, their only thought being escape.

Aside from prompting a small handful to cluster nervously around him, his shouts did little to calm the broader crowd.

At the end of the day, they were nothing but a disorganized rabble.

Nevertheless, the leader of the Black Star Gang proved somewhat capable. He knew clearly that only by securing a victory could he win their absolute trust and bolster their courage.

And so, a 'grand battle' broke out.