Hell Game: Starting from Metropolis

Although they didn't speak, their eyes conveyed the same message.

"If you want to recruit new talent, then you need to solve the problems, otherwise don't expect us to support you as vice president."

The black cat naturally understood their thoughts and sighed helplessly.

It still had high hopes for this newcomer, but no one expected such an accident to happen.

"I'm sorry, delivery driver."

Black Cat took out a monocle from his jacket pocket and walked towards Liu Zheng.

As for Hishikibu? She was already frozen in shock.

"Wait a moment."

However, while the platinum authors reached a consensus and the authors below the gold level remained silent, a discordant voice emerged from the audience.

The novelist knelt and leaped onto the stage like a jumping spider.

Then, she flashed forward and blocked the black cat's path.

"I will not allow anyone to hurt him."

The novelist said with a serious expression.

“I understand how you feel, but right now it’s not us who want to hurt him, it’s him who wants to hurt himself and us.”

The black cat spoke with great patience.

The black mist would run out in a while, and it wanted to try to persuade the other party.

After all, a novelist is no ordinary person. Offending her would not be good for him in his future work as head of the association.

“I can take him away.”

The novelist said.

"Don't be silly. You should know that once a dance battle starts, it can't stop unless a winner is decided."

“Even if you take him out of the ‘quill’ club, the blood mist on his body will not disappear.”

"Even more so, when the gospel has fully arrived, it won't be us arresting him, but the city hall."

The black cat shook its head.

"I can pull strings with the city hall."

The novelist said, pursing his lips.

"Even if you can pull strings at the city hall, can you still get your hands on the Bloody Restaurant?"

"That's what the black cat said mercilessly."

"Half-human, half-black goat cubs are useful employees, but black goat cubs blessed by the Gospel are the most delicious ingredients."

"I understand everything you said."

The novelist said calmly.

Her family background was far more illustrious than the black cat's, and her history was much longer. How could she not understand these intricacies?

But so what?

"He is the man I have reserved. No one but me can touch him."

The serrated blade tore through the large sleeve, revealing the snow-white skin underneath.

The novelist held his sword horizontally, pointing it at everyone in the Writers' Association.

Chapter 229 Amon, you bastard!

"Izanami, do you really know what you're doing?"

The black cat gradually lost patience.

Writing sweet romance novels is just a job; gossiping and spreading rumors is my life.

What's more, the novelist also used to write tragic stories.

"Call me a novelist. I know very well that if I hear the truth in the morning, I can die content in the evening."

The novelist stated firmly.

"I see, so you want to go down the path of emotional expression."

The black cat suddenly realized.

"Emotional progress is rapid, but it's a narrow, winding path. Have you thought it through?"

it asked.

"Your path is indeed a broad and smooth road, but you haven't had a narrator for over two hundred years."

The novelist retorted.

"Narrator, narrator. Sigh~"

Black Cat sighed deeply, and the other platinum authors also looked on with a sense of sympathy.

For an author, the narrator is their ultimate goal.

But since the beginning of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, there have been very few narrators.

The last narrator appeared more than two hundred years ago, and that is the current president of the Writers' Association.

It is because of his existence that the Writers' Association, a loosely organized group, was able to stand on equal footing with other top forces.

However, the president has rarely appeared in public in recent years, so we don't know how he is doing.

Thinking of the ominous consequences for the narrators in the association's library in their later years, the black cat subconsciously turned into an airplane-shaped ear.

We can't wait any longer; we must bring the situation under control immediately.

The black cat took out a monocle and put it on, a chilling smile appearing on its lips.

"Interesting, this scent really smells like the Mother Goddess."

It looked at Liu Zheng and spoke, its tone completely changing to that of a different person.

"Five minutes? That's not enough. I need to be out here for at least an hour."

The black cat muttered to itself.

"You said it yourself, half an hour, and I can do whatever I want."

"Don't worry, I won't go to places I shouldn't go. If you die, how can I get out?"

The black cat smiled.

The conversation, which was kept secret from outsiders, ended, and it turned its gaze to the novelist.

"Miss, would you like to get down yourself, or should I kick you out?"

"Out of a gentleman's courtesy, I advise you to go down yourself. That way, you can retain some dignity, and I can save some time."

"Black Cat" said slowly and deliberately.

The novelist did not answer, but his vigilance was already at its highest.

For platinum-level authors, their strongest abilities are often related to their works.

Black Cat's best work is "Amon and His Monocle".

One of its abilities is to become the personality of "Amon," the protagonist of this novel.

Under this personality, the black cat possesses immense and unpredictable power.

A group of cultists once tried to kidnap it to write their sect's scriptures, but the black cat turned it into the "Amon" personality and wiped them all out.

Those sects were quite powerful, only slightly inferior to the Yuan Shen sect that Liu Zheng had seen.

The black cat is using this trick against her; it seems he really doesn't intend to hold back.

Then we won't keep it.

The novelist's gaze grew increasingly resolute.

Only by reaching the pinnacle of emotion can one reach the pinnacle of literary skill.

Writers who write in a stream of emotions never ask themselves what they should write, but only what they want to write.

And now, she wants to write a story about fighting against the whole world for him.

Once the thought process was clear, countless luminous words surged from the novelist's mind.

That was her burst of inspiration, and also the culmination of her many years of accumulation.

The glowing words behind her converged into a giant glowing human figure.

The humanoid figure has the features of a novelist, but is dressed in a shrine maiden's outfit.

The novelist closed his sword arm, and the giant phantom of the witch also clasped his hands together.

A nearly three-meter-long single-edged straight sword appeared in her hand, crackling with dazzling lightning.

"The Sword of Futsu no Mitama".

Amon frowned.

As the other personality of the black cat, he naturally shared its memories.

The weapon in "Futsu-no-Mitama no Tsurugi" is a short story written by a novelist when he was still Izanami.

The protagonist, Emperor Jimmu, and Takemikazuchi fall in love in a way that is both earth-shattering and unacceptable to both gods and humans.

The mother goddess Izanami could not bear to see her child suffer, so she wanted to kill Emperor Jimmu.

To protect his beloved, Takemikazuchi bravely swung his sword at his mother goddess and severed Izanami's hand with the Futsu-no-Mitama sword.

When Emperor Jimmu saw that Takemikazuchi had committed a great disaster, in order to prevent him from being killed by the angry father god Izanagi, he took advantage of Takemikazuchi's inattention, seized Futsu-mitsurugi, took all the blame, and then committed suicide.

When Takemikazuchi saw that his lover had committed suicide and he did not want to live alone, he also killed himself with the Futsu-no-Mitama sword.

This short story is the novelist's breakthrough work. It topped the short story popularity chart across all platforms that year and remained on the charts for a full six months.

She also became a gold-level author because of this short story.

However, this alone was not enough to make Amon take it seriously.

His short stories only dominated the charts for half a year, but he was the protagonist of a novel that remained at the top of the bestseller list for long novels even two years after it was completed.

The problem is that the sword of Futsu-no-Mitama is also extremely compatible with the novelist's own abilities. With the exponential increase in power from the combination of the two, the terrifying aura of destruction is something that even Amon cannot ignore.

"By forcibly driving your abandoned short-skill abilities with inspiration and your own bloodline, you can only unleash one strike at most. After that, you might even be killed by the backlash. Is there any point in doing that?"

Amon asked.

Whether it has any meaning or not is up to me to decide.

The novelist said in a detached tone.

Her pupils had now turned into purplish-pink tomoe.

"Interesting. Let's see, we're in charge."

Amon adjusted his monocle, his eyes flickering slightly beneath the lens.

During the conversation just now, he had already reached into the novelist's mind.

Now, with just a gentle pluck, he can steal her thoughts.

As for what ideas were stolen.

A sly smile crept across Amon's lips; he had a brilliant idea.

Just as he was about to make his move, a chilling aura suddenly wafted over.

Amon's heart skipped a beat, and he abruptly turned his head to look in the direction from which the aura was coming.

Within the layers of black mist, streaks of red light pierced through.

That red light was not the light of blood, but it was more dazzling than the light of blood, sharper than the light of a sword, and more radiant than the sunlight.

If the blood mist blessed by the gospel troubled Amon, then the sudden flash of blood terrified him.

Because he sensed that the very foundation of his existence was being shaken.