Upon hearing the Chief’s words, Derrick froze for a moment before instinctively spreading his arms.
During this process, his vision blurred and he let out an extremely repressed voice from the depths of his throat.
A blob of light covered in holy flames descended out of thin air, devouring the figures of Dark Angel Sasrir and Colin Iliad.
Before the blast of light exploded, Derrick pulled back his arm, forming a bright white and pure “Unshadowed Spear” in his palm.
Amidst the crackling sounds, the long spear of light tore through the holy flames and accurately hit the evil spirit’s head.
Dazzling light burst out, completely covering the entire area. Even the crazed Klein couldn’t avoid it, as he was too close to it. He couldn’t help but close his eyes, his face contorted into a grimace. He felt as though his Worms of Spirit were evaporating one after another. The connection between the Blasphemy Slate and the True Creator’s power of corruption had been greatly purified before they could fully be established.
The sun seemed to rise in the sky. Dark Angel Sasrir’s indistinct figure appeared, twisting and distorting amidst the blinding white light and holy flames, melting away.
Then, the shadow that covered the walls, stone pillars, and tiles began to disintegrate, revealing inches of orange-red light.
The palace hidden in the residence of the Giant King finally failed to sustain its existence in the real world. It no longer blocked out the influence of the outside world.
This also meant that the special evil spirit that had lost contact with Chaos Sea had truly been cleansed.
Just as the shadow palace began to collapse without completely disintegrating, an invisible force finally pierced through the barrier, causing a minute amount of it to descend. This caused the corrupting nature gathered inside Klein’s body to increase in intensity!
They protruded out from his chest, turning into a black ball of flesh.
The flesh immediately broke free from Klein’s body, severing all invisible connections with him. It quickly squirmed and grew, turning into a gigantic shadow hand. It followed the illusory “light” between itself and the first Blasphemy Slate, and it grabbed the item.
At the same time, in the ruins of the battlefield of the gods’ dream world, in front of the projection of the Giant King’s residence.
Dressed in a pointed hat and a classic black robe, Amon sat on the tall, grayish-white railing, with “His” back facing the orange-red path that separated the clouds. “He” leisurely looked at the grayish-blue door covered with golden nails; it was a mystery as to how long “He” had been waiting there for.
Suddenly, “He” adjusted the monocle on “His” right eye and easily jumped down the railing, arriving at the door of the Giant King’s residence’s projection.
“The power of Chaos Sea is beginning to fade. I can use the ‘bug’ in all of this to directly enter…” As “He” smiled, “He” reached out “His” right hand and pressed it on the door’s shadow.
“His” figure immediately softened and lost its corporeal feeling before “He” entered the door like a stream of light.
Backlund, somewhere on the battlefield.
With short blond hair and dark green eyes, Crestet Cesimir genuflected on the ground, stabbing a pure white bone sword, that wasn’t more than one meter long in length, in front of him to support himself.
His body was covered with charred holes and cracks that went straight through his body. His teeth were protruding and sharp, like that of a beast.
This high-ranking deacon, whose consciousness was beginning to blur, struggled to shift his gaze from the weak enemy who wasn’t far away towards the sky.
The orange sunset had partially invaded the dark night.
Crestet Cesimir tried his best to pull out his bone sword and stand up to fight. He wanted to be a Nightwatcher to the very end, but his arm trembled violently as his breathing weakened.
In the astral world, in an endless and silent darkness filled with moon flowers and night vanilla.
Suddenly, orange beams of light shone into the kingdom, causing a portion of the area to return to dusk. One by one, the plants withered.
In the desolate dusk, a gigantic mountain-like figure walked out. “His” limbs were abnormally long, and “He” wore tattered silver armor. “His” face was covered by a helmet’s visor, only revealing a blob of orange light.
“He” held an exaggerated sword in “His” hand, causing the tip to naturally hang down, touching the dark “ground.”
As the terrifying giant walked forward, step by step, the sword continued to be dragged across the darkness, causing the ground to split apart as dusk froze.
Deep in the darkness, an equally large figure pulled out a long sickle.
“She” was wearing a black dress that was layered but not complicated. It was adorned with countless resplendent lights, as though they were stars that dotted the night sky.
Near “Her” ribs and waist, two pairs of arms grew out. Their surfaces were covered in short deep-black hair.
In “Her” six arms, two carried the huge black sickle that appeared heavy. Another two hands held a crimson “moon.” Out of the hands “She” had left, one was empty, while the other held an ancient accessory forged from gold.
The accessory looked like a slender bird with pale-white flames surrounding it. Within its bronze eyes, there were layers of light, forming numerous illusory doors.
The giant wasn’t surprised by such a scene. The speed of “His” stride sped up, gradually approaching that of a charge.
“He” dragged “His” sword against his surroundings which were a mixture of darkness and dusk, producing glimmers of the pure light of dawn.
At this moment, the moon flowers and night vanilla to the side suddenly grew in size, growing wildly. Soon, they resembled trees that had lived in a primitive forest for more than a thousand years. They were densely packed, blocking out the “sky.”
Amongst these trees, a figure twined by deep green vines and adorned with various herbs and flowers appeared.
“She” was also as huge as a mountain and had a voluptuous figure. “Her” dress fluttered as “She” carried an illusory baby.
The moment the figure descended, “She” followed the sunset giant and flitted towards the humanoid demonic wolf that was dragging a huge black sickle.
In the palace where shadows were falling apart, although some of the corruption had left Klein’s body, making him no longer need to worry about any latent danger in this aspect, this was equivalent to culling many of his Worms of Spirit. He couldn’t help but let out a low gasp as transparent and twisted maggots crawled out of his writhing face. They had mysterious patterns on them, and his mind was like a lake that had a boulder thrown into it. He was momentarily unable to calm down.
At that moment, a familiar figure appeared in his eyes which became bloodshot due to the pain.
It was the Angel of Time, Amon, who wore a monocle and a pointed hat.
Amon smiled at him, scaring him into having the thought of returning to Sefirah Castle immediately.
Although this would suck for The Sun, Klein felt that he would have the ability to save him due to the angel powers from being in Sefirah Castle. After all, the influences from the outside world could now enter this area.
But in a blink of an eye, the Angel of Time cast “His” gaze towards the grayish-white Blasphemy Slate. “He” cast it towards the shadow hand that was saturating and growing stronger with the collapse of the “land of slumber.”
Amon immediately raised “His” right hand and adjusted “His” right eye’s monocle.
The crystal monocle turned dark, as though it was mixed with countless colors in an indescribable manner.
An illusory, terrifying, tumultuous “sea” appeared in front of Amon.
This Blasphemer had released some unknown power “He” had stolen from somewhere at some point in time! Or perhaps, it was some power of convergence!
The Blasphemy Slate suddenly vibrated and emitted a buzzing sound as though it was alive.
It broke free from the remaining “light” that wasn’t stable enough between the shadow hand, and it threw itself at Amon!
Klein, who had just recovered from the pain from his fear and horror, couldn’t believe his eyes as they dilated.
The first Blasphemy Slate actually didn’t choose the True Creator of the Hanged Man pathway, and instead sought refuge with the Marauder pathway’s Angel of Time!
After a momentary daze, he vaguely understood the whole story.
Amon’s true body has wandered the Forsaken Land of the Gods for more than a thousand years before entering Chernobyl, doing so in search of the history from the Second all the way to before the First Epoch. “He” must’ve hovered at the edge of Chaos Sea, and had done some dangerous research. “He” had “stolen” some traits, and now, “He” is only using the release of this stolen trait to attract the Blasphemy Slate.
Simply put, this King of Angels had prepared for this for a very long time. As for the True Creator, “He” is unable to completely descend. “He” has to wait for the Dark Angel’s “land of slumber” to completely collapse.
But the problem is, why would Amon steal the first Blasphemy slate? It’s useless for “Him”… “He” has no way of transferring to the Spectator, Reader, Tyrant, Sun, and Hanged Man pathways! Could it be just because it’s fun? When the deities and “His” brother are plotting for this Blasphemy Slate, “He” suddenly intervenes and runs away? But isn’t it more important for “Him” to capture me? As Klein remained puzzled with Amon’s goals, he slowly retreated, opening his eyes wider, trying his best to pry into the secrets on the surface of the Blasphemy Slate. He wanted to memorize the potion formula he needed.
“Sequence 1: Attendant of Mysteries…” As soon as the corresponding words entered his eyes, Amon reached out with “His” left hand and grabbed the Blasphemy Slate. Then, “He” suddenly turned around and pressed “His” right hand on the grayish-blue door that was still covered with a small amount of shadows.
The figure wearing a pointed hat and a classic black robe immediately turned illusory as “He” tore through the door and vanished.
The shadow hand which was partially formed by Klein’s corruption rapidly expanded amidst the collapse of the “land of slumber.” Finally, it turned into a black shadow and chased after Amon, rushing out of the closed door.
In the next second, all the shadows disappeared. The orange-red light illuminated the palace that the Giant King once lived in.
In front of the iron-black throne, on the platform that was illuminated by the light of dusk, Colin Iliad’s figure appeared.
He was wearing a tattered silver armor, revealing several old scars on his face. He sat there quietly, like a warrior who had just finished his last battle.
His two swords had already crumbled, and he had stopped breathing. However, Klein could sense that there were still remnants of his will and psyche. The former couldn’t bear to just dissipate without delivering his last words.
At the bottom of the stairs, Derrick saw this scene. With his eyes red, he ran closer and stumbled, acting nothing like a demigod.
He quickly knelt beside Colin Iliad and shouted, his voice going soft, “Chief…”