From God of Lies to Lord of All Worlds

Chapter 45: The Hidden History of the Aztecs

"Wake up, Jeron!"

A companion pulled open Jeron's tent, rousing him from his slumber and announcing the arrival of a new day.

Still half-asleep, he followed his teammates to collect breakfast, clothing, flags, and hoods, then marched under the direction of another hooded man toward the streets they were assigned for the day.

"Today, our goal is to drive those damned grey-skinned dogs and green-skinned dogs out of our streets through protest!" the leader shouted loudly. "This is our home, our territory! They have no right to evict us!"

The crowd echoed in agreement, "That's right! They have no right to kick us out!"

Jeron joined in shouting a couple times, putting in extra effort to earn his food ration.

As an "illegal immigrant" who had smuggled himself in from Central America, he really had no choice. If he didn't join the protest marches, he wouldn't get to eat.

But participating in the protests meant facing brutal police and military forces. His leg, hit by rubber bullets yesterday, still throbbed with pain!

So after collecting his food and flag, Jeron immediately worked his way toward the center of the crowd—usually the safest spot, not the primary target for police assaults.

But this time, for some unknown reason, he seemed to become the police's main target. Rubber bullets and batons struck him repeatedly, while metal handcuffs seemed to materialize out of thin air, clamping onto his wrists."Don't arrest me! Don't arrest me!" Jeron screamed, jolting awake from his nightmare.

Opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling above him, he gradually let out a sigh of relief.

Thank goodness—he was still the widely revered "Pope," not that street-level "illegal immigrant" from before.

Jeron prepared to get out of bed to find something to eat, but when he lifted his arm, the sensation of restraint and cold metal against his skin fully awakened him!

He raised his hands to see champagne-colored handcuffs secured around his wrists, jolting him completely awake.

So the handcuffing wasn't just a dream? Only this bed was real, then.

"Clang!" The metal door swung open as two fully armed officers entered, approaching Jeron. "Awake now?"

"Looks like he's awake!"

The two exchanged glances, then moved forward to grab Jeron, taking positions on either side and hauling him directly from the bed.

Jeron struggled violently. "Let me go! I want to see my lawyer! I want to see Inspector Smith from the Los Angeles Police Department! You have no right to detain me privately!"

But unfortunately, these two officers were exceptionally burly. His struggles proved utterly useless, and they showed no intention of responding to his demands. They shoved him into a restraint chair and walked away without another word.

Meanwhile, across from Jeron's room, behind one-way glass, a group of people observed him closely.

Gao and Joris had formed a joint interrogation team and were currently studying the man while reviewing documents in their hands.

"It's strange," Joris remarked. "If I didn't know he'd been shot in the head yesterday, I'd have trouble believing these completely normal test results came from a Chosen One's body!"

Clearly, Joris was taking the lead in the interrogation, while Gao merely watched without speaking.

But beside them, Professor Peyton Edwards held a different perspective.

For the elderly professor, these past two weeks had been a true rollercoaster of extreme highs and lows followed by even more extreme highs...

After all, he had studied Mesoamerican mythology his entire life, yet never imagined that at his age, he would actually encounter mythological beings in reality!

Flipping through the materials provided to the team, he deeply regretted being in San Francisco rather than Los Angeles yesterday. Otherwise, he could have witnessed the battle between the Wind God and Rain God—the two creator deities—with his own eyes!

"Divine Manifestations come in many forms," Peyton explained. "In their mythology, there are both power-bestowing divine gifts and more subtle manifestations. I suspect what he experienced falls into the second category!"

Hearing this, Joris asked curiously, "So Professor Edwards, is there any way to extract information from him?"

Peyton nodded. "I have some ideas. Let me try first."

As a renowned mythologist, he had researched certain Aztec customs. He activated the intercom and began reciting a mysterious incantation in an ancient language:

"Let golden dawn dust soak the corn tassels,

Command twilight's purple veil to cloak the pyramid peaks;

Toads harmonize with the rainy season's drumbeats,

Jaguar pupils reflect the star-trail fissures—

O Spirits of All Things!

We offer dew-stained cochineal,

In exchange for your weaving of life-and-death's rainbow bridge!"

The ancient words seemed to strike the bell of destiny, while the bewildering notes appeared to conjure final illusions. Jeron, who had seemed confused moments before, suddenly grew completely still.

His body stiffened abruptly, his eyes darkened instantly, then transformed into pure blue, glowing with peculiar light as they manifested before the observers!

"Who... calls upon the Ten Thousand Spirits?" The sound of chiming bells and stone drums echoed in everyone's ears, yet it wasn't piercing—instead, it sounded strangely monotonous!

"What is this? Divine Manifestation?" Joris asked warily. He certainly couldn't handle this professor summoning another world-ending crisis for their city with a single phrase!

That creator deity from Aztec mythology, the Feathered Serpent God Quetzalcoatl, might still be lurking around!

Seeing the concern on Joris and others' faces, Peyton shook his head with a smile. "Of course not. I'm neither a ritual priest nor a chief. Without holding holy artifacts, lighting sacred fires, or performing blood sacrifices, how could I connect to their gods?"

"This is a spirit communication technique recorded on ancient stone tablets. It can connect with those special shamanic spirits and spirits of all things, allowing us to communicate with them!"

Peyton marveled, "We always thought these were merely ancient ritual records, but now it appears they're not just records—they might be markers of externalized Divine Power!"

Peyton naturally possessed no Divine Power himself, so he assumed he was utilizing the other party's power.

But the next moment, the elderly man completely fainted, throwing the special interrogation room into chaos!

Soon, medical examination results came back, and they revived Professor Peyton.

"Sir, it's anemia!" they reported. "Professor Peyton has developed severe anemia and requires immediate emergency treatment!"

"No! This isn't anemia!" Peyton exclaimed loudly. Lying flat on the bed, he spoke rapidly, "This is the price! The cost of using spirit communication! Chief, ask your questions now, quickly!"

After saying this, he fainted again.

Hearing this, Joris whirled around to face "Jeron," whose eyes now glowed with blue light. "Have the Aztec Gods returned?"

"The Gods will not return. This is not the Prime Realm, merely one among many realms—not particularly important." "Jeron" replied. As these words emerged, Joris immediately exchanged glances with Gao—the information contained in this single statement was already incredibly rich!

Gao instantly followed up, "Then why have they never manifested over these past few hundred years?"

If the Gods had been present all along, why had the Native Americans been so thoroughly oppressed?

"The Gods delivered their final oracle: they would enter eternal slumber. All rituals and prayers would receive no further responses!" The answer remained equally calm and serene, yet the implications it carried were enough to shock many people profoundly!

Joris pressed on, "What does the current return of the Gods signify?"

"The Gods awaken, connections reestablish. Some deity remembered this world, that's all." The Ten Thousand Spirits responded indifferently, prompting the two men to engage in even more rapid mental calculations!

Gao continued questioning, "Why would deities want to destroy the world? Don't they care about their followers?"

"Gods don't need followers—followers need Gods! Among deities, there exist masters of malice and embodiments of goodwill. For Gods, world creation and destruction, follower life and death... all are mere passing thoughts..."

"Hah, of course Your Grace Quetzalcoatl is particularly petty and easily angered... In your terms, would you call it 'waking up on the wrong side of the bed'?"

The next instant, something of monumental narrative scale seemed to sweep past them, raising every hair on their bodies. The spirit communication abruptly terminated.

As if immense malice had flashed by momentarily, yet still chose not to linger here.

Jeron stopped speaking, while the two men before him fell into prolonged silence, contemplating these extraordinary responses.