From God of Lies to Lord of All Worlds

Chapter 49: The Greedy One

"Hahahaha! Excellent, excellent!" Baphomet said with laughter, then amidst his smile, before Remus's eyes, was enveloped by an even more massive flame!

Soon, a figure radiating with dark and gloomy radiance arrived before Remus.

He had a goat's head, a human body, a pair of enormous bat-like wings, legs resembling hooves of even-toed ungulates, and a pitch-black tail!

Now, he truly looked like a demon!

However, his body didn't carry that so-called sulfur smell, nor was it truly physical—it seemed more like a projected illusion.

The illusion raised its hand and placed it on Remus's back. A strange power immediately entered Remus's body, while an ancient, solemn chant and prayer resounded from Baphomet's mouth:

"I swear by Satan's inverted wisdom!

Let the power of the contract pierce through the nine layers of flint hell—

When your horseshoes shatter the holy sanctuary's halo,

My teeth shall gnaw through the angel's trumpet,Until the day the Nineveh stars fall into ruin,

The sparks of hell's furnace shall forever splash your name!"

As the words fell, a mysterious inverted pentagram rose from the ground as if blazing with hellfire, appearing around Remus's body!

And from within Baphomet's illusion, a drop of special silver substance slowly dripped down from one of his goat horns!

"Drip!" This molten silver drop, seemingly sentient, fell onto Remus's back and then drilled into his spine!

"Ah!" Remus felt an indescribable pain, as if his spine, his back, his very soul were being torn into countless pieces at this moment, bringing unbearable, terrifying agony!

This pain seemed like it would last for a very, very long time, making Remus feel as if time had stretched endlessly and the world had become utterly unfamiliar!

After what felt like an eternity, Remus regained his senses from the pain.

Before his eyes, a parchment remained, bearing Baphomet's words:

"Your soul, your faith, your emotions and sacred senses—all belong to hell now! At this moment, the contract is sealed!"

The parchment burst into flames, turning to ashes before him, but another parchment remained tightly clutched in his hand.

This contract was Remus's deed of servitude.

He moved his fingers, wanting to pick it up and look at it again, but the parchment transformed into a beam of light, appearing on his chest as a goat head tattoo.

His attempt to reread the servitude contract failed, so Remus decided to first assess his own condition.

The dagger that had been in his chest now lay on the ground, and the previously injured area looked perfectly smooth, as if nothing had happened.

If not for the dark red blood on the ground silently reminding him that what happened wasn't an illusion, Remus might have doubted it for a while.

"Wait, my eyes!" Remus suddenly sensed something was different—he now had binocular vision, not monocular!

His blind eye had healed!

As he looked down, a complete foot extended from beneath his hollowed pant leg, and from the side sleeve, his other hand moved autonomously!

In that instant, he had become a "living person" again, no longer a cripple!

"I'm back!" Remus whispered, gazing toward a certain direction in the city. "Are you ready?"

...

United States Department of Veterans Affairs, New York Division, Manhattan Branch.

Wells Harden sat happily in his chair, opening his NASDAQ account to check his earnings.

Then he saw a sea of red, angrily punching his desk. "Bullshit! How are these guys operating? I bought so many stocks, not a single one is rising—they're all falling?"

Looking at the dismal scene, Director Wells felt a stabbing pain in his heart. "Looks like I'll have to transfer some more money from the accounts!"

But he felt absolutely no guilt about embezzling public funds!

Veteran pensions? Wounded soldier subsidies? Do you really think this money belongs to you?

A bunch of social parasites, claiming mental health subsidies without real injuries—what kind of decent people would they be!

Of course, even for those actually injured, Wells wouldn't pay them. If he paid one, wouldn't he have to pay all the others?

Then his embezzlement would be exposed, wouldn't it?

That simply wouldn't do. He couldn't use his own money for stock trading—he could only use these veterans' funds.

"If necessary, maybe I should use these people's names to prescribe some psychiatric medications and sell them back?" Wells suddenly thought this was a great idea!

The U.S. military? Drug abuse is rampant, mostly due to medication overuse in the military!

So the Department of Veterans Affairs had specialized medical systems and hospitals that could help discharged soldiers get these medications more easily.

But these drugs never actually reached the veterans—they were directly taken by people like him, then sold back to veterans on the black market.

"Making money both ways from the same drugs, but the profits aren't that great—it's all hard-earned money!" Wells thought silently, picking up his phone. "Has that crippled freak been dealt with? Coming here every week, almost attracting journalists—what a nuisance!"

"Of course, respected Director!" an extremely sycophantic voice answered from the phone. "I found two black guys who said they'd make him shut up permanently!"

"Good, you didn't handle it yourself, right?" Wells asked.

"Of course not! You know how it is—there are always people willing to be middlemen, and they only care about money, nothing else needed!" The man's voice on the phone sounded exceptionally obsequious. "Director, about my promotion report..."

"Promotion? What promotion!" Wells said directly. "Old John is retiring next month, right? You'll naturally have to take over his workload too!"

Endless delight came from the other end of the phone. "Hehehe! Yes, yes, I'm young, I should work more!"

Wells hung up, lying back in his chair contentedly, contemplating his next moves.

"Seems like another batch of pension funds should be arriving soon? Let me check which people have no connections or channels—I'll deduct half first!"

He muttered to himself and got back to work!

Of course, did you think he wouldn't deduct the other half? That would be impossible—the other half was for his superiors; Wells couldn't keep that much for himself.

While Wells wore headphones and worked diligently for his financial future, downstairs at the Department of Veterans Affairs entrance, a man was slowly closing the main door.

The two security guards at the entrance watched the door-closing man, looking at his tattered clothes and hole-ridden pants, and already had their batons ready.

Of course, you can't openly carry guns on New York streets, so batons were their best weapons.

Looking at these two guards who had previously thrown him out, Remus spoke without emotion, "I'm a veteran here to collect my pension and unemployment benefits!"

Hearing this, the two guards stepped aside.

They didn't connect this man with the person they had thrown out before, even though the faces were somewhat similar.

Who would believe this man was the same cripple they had tossed out? Common sense said it was impossible.

Remus walked straight forward, his target being the middle-aged clerk at the counter window—the same person who had repeatedly rejected his applications and even had him thrown out.

But the clerk wasn't at the window; he was near the balcony, talking on the phone.

Remus's ears twitched slightly. The power from the demon had greatly enhanced his five senses, allowing him to hear the other person's words...