143 COI

What has been, will be again; what has been done, will be done again.

Trier, Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman.

Leon—scholarly in appearance—stood at the front of the living room. His expression was solemn as he preached to the members of the congregation.

He had moved out of Auberge du Coq Doré because the congregation had grown significantly.

Although the local authorities in Le Marché du Quartier du Gentleman seemed indifferent to his clandestine spreading of an unorthodox faith, Leon believed caution was paramount—better to avoid any undue attention.

If devout and fanatical believers of the Eternal Blazing Sun or the God of Steam and Machinery within the quartier discovered his heretical teachings, they would report and protest relentlessly at the cathedral. Even if the two major Churches were initially reluctant to act, they'd eventually be forced to intervene!

Moreover, with an increasing number of followers, Leon genuinely needed a temporary location to serve as an underground chapel.

Having finished his sermon, Leon raised his hands, palms outward, his voice suddenly becoming fervent, 'Praise be to you, Beholden to the King of Yellow and Black, Priest of the Apocalypse and War, the Multi-Faced Conqueror of All, the true Malady God!

'Praise be to you, the Ancient One who transcends time, One who remains forever young, Envoy of Disease and Plague, Lady who spreads pain and despair, Protector of humanity's adventurous spirit, companion to the great Malady God!'

The gathered believers in the living room mimicked his gestures and completed the ritual with a final hymn of praise.

As Leon listened to the echoing voices of the congregation, he felt a moment of daze.

He didn't quite understand why the titles of these two deities kept changing, especially the great God of Plague, whose honorific name had been revised multiple times, leaving little resemblance to the original descriptions. Furthermore, the title Malady God had been reinstated, while God of Disease was now regarded as His companion and queen.

Leon had once inquired about this matter with Her Holiness, the Pope. The reply was: 'This reflects the rise in the rank and authority of the God of Plague.'

After the hymns, Leon gestured for the assisting padres to distribute holy communion.

The communion consisted of a drink and a choice of food: one could choose from absinthe, red wine, or cooled boiled water, paired with either mashed potatoes or meat patties.

Seeing his followers savor the communion with genuine satisfaction, Leon felt his year-long efforts had been worthwhile. A profound sense of accomplishment welled within him.

In the afternoon, he left his residence and headed to Église Saint-Robert on Avenue du Marché.

This wasn't because he secretly maintained his faith in the Eternal Blazing Sun but rather because he believed the rapid growth of the Sick Church necessitated greater organization. He and the other bishops needed to prepare for eventualities by advising Her Holiness on perfecting aspects of daily worship, large-scale masses, and the Church's scriptures.

On such matters, the orthodox Churches of the true gods served as excellent references.

Avenue du Marché was as lively as ever. Waves of newcomers streamed in from the nearby steam train station, flowing like rivers into the sea that was Trier. Some opted for carriages, others carried suitcases and walked, while the less cautious had their wallets stolen, leaving them shouting and chasing in distress. The patrolling police offered help with little enthusiasm.

Leon entered Église Saint-Robert and noticed a relatively unfamiliar bishop standing before the altar.

Approaching, he asked curiously, 'Is Bishop Christopher not here today?'

The unfamiliar young bishop gave a complex smile and replied, 'Bishop Christopher has been reassigned. I will be taking over his duties.

'You may call me Yveline.'

Another new bishop… Leon couldn't help frowning slightly.

In his hometown, aside from rapidly promoted padres and bishops, most would remain in one place for years—some even decades—overseeing a single village cathedral. Yet Église Saint-Robert had seen five bishops in just the past year.

Now, this was the sixth!

It wasn't like this last year…

When I first arrived in Trier, the bishop back then stayed for more than half a year…

Leon's thoughts shifted to the numerous changes within the Eternal Blazing Sun Church over the past year.

The Eternal Blazing Sun, whose titles had never changed before, had begun issuing revelations, drastically altering its titles—similar to the God of Plague. Even the status of the Sun Sacred Emblem had shifted, no longer placed atop altars, downgraded to just one among many sacred symbols!

Leon cast his gaze toward the altar and saw a massive cross standing there.

After exchanging a few pleasantries with Bishop Yveline, he seated himself in the front row, pretending to pray.

Before long, his heightened spiritual sensitivity as a Warlock stirred within him. Suddenly opening his eyes, he turned to the side.

He saw Lugano, his direct superior, once again.

This archbishop of Trier's Sick Church—a Sequence 5 Druid—had unexpectedly appeared in Église Saint-Robert of the Eternal Blazing Sun Church!

With his thick brows and sharp eyes, Lugano showed no fear or surprise upon noticing Leon. Removing his half-tall silk hat, he sat beside his subordinate, gazing at the massive cross on the altar. In a low voice, he asked, 'What are you doing at the Eternal Blazing Sun Church?'

'Your Grace, I wanted to learn how to deliver better sermons,' Leon humbly explained.

He refrained from asking why Lugano was at Église Saint-Robert.

Lugano smiled and replied, 'Me too.'

Then, with a sigh, he added, 'And to feel the sunlight.'

'Feel the sunlight?' Leon asked, puzzled.

Lugano stared at the massive cross on the altar and said, 'I always feel like the sunlight outside isn't bright enough, isn't warm enough. It can't dispel the cold and fear inside me. Only the sunlight here reaches my soul and lets me forget my unease.'

'Unease?' Leon also felt a sense of unease.

What unsettled him most was that the archbishop's words bordered on blasphemy—they lacked piety.

What cold and fear could the great Malady God and the great Malady God Queen not resolve or eradicate? Why not pray to them or seek guidance from Her Holiness instead of coming to the Eternal Blazing Sun Church to feel the sunlight?

Will I be silenced for hearing such blasphemous words? As Leon's anxiety grew, Lugano shifted his gaze from the altar to observe Bishop Yveline, who had moved to a long table at the side of the church. Speaking in a suppressed tone, he said, 'I've been having nightmares for a long time. Haven't you?'

'No,' Leon replied firmly.

'Do you often feel uneasy?' Lugano pressed further.

Leon shook his head at first but then hesitantly added, 'As a Warlock, my spirituality is strong. I only feel unease as a premonition of trouble, which usually helps me avoid or resolve it. Any unease disappears afterward.'

Lugano sighed again and said, 'I've had nightmares for so long—every single night, waking up in terror.'

'Have you asked Her Holiness about the root of the problem?' Leon probed cautiously.

Lugano smiled faintly and said, 'I have. I've also prayed to the great Malady God and the great Malady God Queen. The response I received was: 'Pay no mind to it, but do not get too close.''

Pay no mind, that I understand. But what does do not get too close mean? Does delving into the nightmare lead to self-destruction, being dragged into the abyss? Leon instinctively analyzed the meaning of these words.

Suddenly, he recalled another matter: a mystical circle he had joined recently encountered problems, seemingly caused by a Beyonder from the Planter pathway.

In another related mystical circle, the host and many members warned everyone to beware of Beyonders from the Planter and Apothecary pathways.

His Grace is a Sequence 5 Druid of the Planter pathway… Could his recurring nightmares be related to abnormalities in these two pathways? Leon dared not voice his thoughts.

Lugano continued, 'Her Holiness also told me that, at my lowest, I could sit in a cathedral of the Eternal Blazing Sun.'

'I see…' Leon expressed his understanding.

Deep inside, however, he resolved to report this matter to Her Holiness through the mirror. He couldn't simply take the Archbishop's words at face value.

Lugano remained at Église Saint-Robert until evening before leaving to tend to the various affairs of Trier's Sick Church.

Late at night, he finally returned to his rented apartment. After drinking a glass of milk, stretching his body, and completing his nightly prayers, Lugano prepared for bed.

After washing up, he lay on his bed and turned off the gas wall lamp.

He stared at the ceiling, immersed in darkness, and at the crimson moonlight seeping through the curtains. He observed the twisted patterns formed by the interplay of light and shadow, unwilling to close his eyes for a long time.

He was afraid to sleep, afraid to dream.

He had once tried altering his routine—working at night and resting during the day—but the nightmare still came.

He didn't know how much time passed before he finally fell asleep.

In a daze, Lugano suddenly jolted awake, as if becoming lucid.

He saw the familiar gray-white fog and the water-stained stone slab.

It's here again… Lugano was not surprised.

The nightmare had come as anticipated.

He staggered to the edge of the gray-white fog but dared not step beyond it. He lingered there, gazing outward into the depths of the dream.

In the distance, he faintly saw a familiar street.

It was where he currently lived.

But in the dream, the street and all the buildings had completely collapsed—none were spared. The same destruction extended into the distance, with no end in sight.

Under the crimson moonlight, the ruins appeared chaotic, desolate, cold, and deathly still. Yet, they exuded a peculiar, eerie beauty—abandoned for ages yet imbued with a unique spiritual essence.

Green plants had overtaken the destroyed buildings. Some grew so densely they seemed to shroud the dead structures in burial cloth. Others bore abundant, fresh fruit.

Gazing upon this scene, Lugano was gripped by visceral fear, his entire body cold. It was as if he had glimpsed the future of Trier, the fate awaiting himself and others.

This was the nightmare he experienced every night:

A lifeless Trier where all humanity had been buried and every building had crumbled.

A Trier bathed perpetually in crimson moonlight.

-x-X-x-

Lugano stood at the edge of the gray-white mist, not daring to take a single step further into the lifeless Trier, that ruined world.

He had always strictly adhered to the instructions of Her Holiness, the Pope.

This was also his heartfelt choice.

As usual, he remained hidden within the gray-white fog, observing the changes in the nightmare with a mix of fear and curiosity.

He didn't know how much time had passed before a figure emerged from behind a collapsed building.

It was a deer, walking lightly on its hooves, happily nibbling at the fresh fruits borne by the green plants.

This seemed quite normal, much like how nature quickly reclaimed towns abandoned by humans.

Yet Lugano saw that as the deer ate, pieces of bloody flesh-not flesh, but raw, blood-covered fawns-fell from its abdomen, freshly born.

The fawns quickly stood up, clustered around their mother, and suckled her milk.

In just a minute or two, a sizable herd of deer was born.

They moved behind a few collapsed buildings and disappeared from Lugano's sight.

Lugano was not unfamiliar with such scenes. Over the past year, he had witnessed too many similar acts of birth and new life in his nightmares, evolving from shock, bewilderment, fear, and disgust to complete numbness. Even with so many frequent instances of reproduction and birth, Trier in the nightmare remained deathly silent, with only occasional faint sounds breaking the silence.

Those newborn animals seemed to disappear almost as quickly as they appeared.

Lugano tried to force himself to look away, to retreat deeper into the dense mist, lest he witness even more terrifying scenes.

This was his learned wisdom: every nightmare contained something new and horrifying, gradually amplifying his inner unease. Without such escalating horrors, the mere silent, crimson Trier and the wild animals repeatedly birthing offspring in grotesque ways would not have been enough to break him, to sustain his daily fear-after all, if the same scene or event repeated day after day without directly harming the observer, it would likely result in desensitization rather than continued unease.

But Lugano couldn't bring himself to leave the edge of the gray fog. Deep down, he yearned to stay and continue observing Trier in his nightmare, hoping to find the root cause of his recurring dreams.

Sometimes, he even felt that watching such scenes was the only time he truly felt alive.

As he watched, Lugano's gaze suddenly froze.

At the end of the collapsed street, five figures appeared.

Human figures!

The five figures seemed partially merged with the darkness, untouched by the crimson moonlight, making them shadowy and indistinct.

Leading them was a man in a brown lightweight trench coat pinned with a golden brooch. He had golden hair, golden eyebrows, and a golden beard, holding a sword seemingly condensed from pure sunlight.

Behind him, two men in white robes embroidered with golden threads carried a human corpse.

The other two figures flanked them on the left and right, walking slightly ahead and behind, remaining on alert.

Lugano widened his eyes, straining to make out the features of these figures and, most importantly, the appearance of the corpse they were carrying.

For some reason, his attention was drawn to the face of the corpse.

As the five figures drew closer to the gray fog, the face of the corpse became clear to Lugano's eyes.

The corpse had regular features, thick eyebrows, and sharp eyes-it was unmistakably Lugano himself!

Lugano's pupils dilated instantly. Instinctively, he staggered back, collapsing to the ground with a loud thud.

How is that possible?

How can it be my corpse?

I'm perfectly alive!

Propping his hands against the water-stained stone slabs, Lugano sprang to his feet like a coil.

He rushed back to the edge of the gray fog, determined to confirm whether the corpse truly looked exactly like him.

Unfortunately, the five figures had already changed direction, heading toward the other end of the gray fog, leaving only shadowy silhouettes that seemed to blend into the darkness. Р

…

One of the clergy members from the Eternal Blazing Sun Church, carrying the "corpse," addressed Angoulême de François, who was walking ahead, "Deacon, this guy's body has unconsciously left the protected zone over a hundred times now. Each time, we've had to retrieve it to prevent it from coming into contact with anomalies. Why not just purify him? He's a Sequence 5 Druid of the Planter pathway!"

"Exactly, he's a high-risk Beyonder," echoed the other clergy member carrying the "corpse."

Angoulême glanced at his subordinates. "He's the archbishop of the Sick Church."

"So what? Can't the Sick Church get a new archbishop? High-risk Beyonders like him are better off reduced to Beyonder characteristics and sealed away," grumbled Orulan, the first to speak. He was clearly dissatisfied with the dangerous task of venturing into the ruins to retrieve rogue bodies.

It was very dangerous.

Why is those high-risk Beyonders' life considered precious, and ours isn't?

Angoulême calmly explained, "The higher-ups said he's still useful."

At this, Orulan stopped arguing.

He couldn't help but lift his gaze toward the sky.

The crimson moonlight was eerie and bright, overshadowing the stars, though the crimson moon itself was nowhere to be seen.

"Why did it suddenly turn out like this..." Orulan murmured in confusion and pain.

This question was asked daily by those who had to enter the ruins and learn the truth about the protected zone. It was the most common question on the lips of Beyonders.

Angoulême also looked up at the sky.

The scene from back then flashed vividly in his mind: the crimson full moon descended lower and lower, impossibly so, finally landing upon the earth.

The entire Fourth Epoch Trier collapsed as a result.

The formless, colorless flames in the sky and the white fog permeating the ancient city disintegrated instantly.

With the aid of the two Grade 0 Sealed Artifacts - The Fourth Sun and The Divine Kingdom Without People - and the fact that they weren't among the primary targets, Angoulême, Jack Walton, and a few others barely survived the initial impact.

Even so, they each lost a colleague, helplessly watching them mutate into grotesque monstrosities, as if granted new, malevolent life.

Later, thanks to the unique properties of The Fourth Sun, they were fortunate enough to be pulled into the protected zone before the second wave of destruction hit.

Why did it suddenly turn out like this? Angoulême wanted to ask the same question.

At the time, things had seemed to be heading in a good direction - the Montsouris ghosts had been almost completely dissolved by The Fourth Sun, and Louis Gustav had been purified. Only Madame Pualis's whereabouts remained unaccounted for.

Then, out of nowhere, the crimson moon descended, and the world collapsed.

Orulan and the others' spirits sank, their moods heavy, until sunlight illuminated the darkness, dispelling their inner fear and confusion.

However, the sunlight did not penetrate the darkness created by the Sealed Artifacts.

This control was intentional-otherwise, it would have posed a significant risk.

As Orulan and the others calmed, a rumbling explosion echoed from afar, shaking the ground violently, as if it might collapse entirely.

Orulan instinctively turned toward the sound.

Thick white fog spread in the distance, and within it prowled a gigantic monster with three heads.

Violet flames ignited within the fog, and silver-white lightning illuminated the interior. Cracks in the ground extended all the way to Angoulême's group, where crimson magma flowed slowly.

Even from a great distance, Orulan and the others could feel the aura of destruction.

This was unlike the quiet gestation of life and death in Trier's ruins-this was brazen, ostentatious, and wanton destruction.

Fear gripped Orulan as he prepared to avert his gaze, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a female figure sitting quietly atop the collapsed spire of a clock tower, her feet dangling.

Behind her, the three-headed monster prowled, bringing volcanic eruptions, thunderstorms, blizzards, earthquakes, and soaring violet flames-but none of it touched her.

Wh- Orulan suddenly recalled terrifying stories he'd heard as a child.

A witch and the monster she commanded.

"Deacon, should we intervene and clean this up? I'm worried that if this continues, the entire Trier ruins will collapse," Orulan asked Angoulême.

Angoulême withdrew his gaze from the distance and looked at Orulan and the others.

"No need.

"Remember, in the ruins, never do anything beyond your assigned task. It's not only dangerous to us but could also threaten the maintenance of the protected zone.

"Sometimes, what you think is a good deed might worsen the situation."

"Yes, Deacon." Amid the rumbling noise, Orulan and the others' expressions turned solemn.

They had all heard stories of colleagues mysteriously disappearing or mutating into monsters within the ruins. Some had even witnessed it firsthand.

Countless task teams had vanished forever in the ruins.

"All right, we've reached the safe passage."

Angoulême said, pointing to a specific spot at the edge of the gray fog.

From there, they would return to the protected zone.

Instinctively, Orulan and the others cast one last glance toward the distant dense fog.

The woman sitting silently atop the collapsed spire exuded a unique allure.

…

Franca sat atop the collapsed clock tower, letting her thoughts scatter and drift.

Time passed quickly, minute by minute, until the explosions, thunder, and howling winds behind her subsided. Only then did she pull her focus back to her body.

"All done?" She asked as she turned to Lumian, who stood nearby, now restored to human size.

Still sporting three heads, Lumian nodded.

"It's that time again, where I occasionally regain clarity, though this time it might last longer.

"And I've finally grasped the powers of Conqueror and Demoness of Apocalypse."

"Didn't you already digest those two Beyonder characteristics through Cheek's avatar and Alista Tudor's integration?" Franca asked, puzzled.

"Digesting the characteristics and truly making the power your own are two different things," Lumian replied calmly with a faint smile. "After all, I didn't digest the potion myself."

Franca glanced at him, then at the faces of Aurore and Jenna, eyes closed, stained with blood, resting on his right shoulder. She tentatively asked, "You're looking pretty good?"

Lumian responded with a smile, "To do what comes next, I have to be.

"And besides, whatever happens, it's time for things to reach a conclusion. That's better than endless torment."

As he spoke, his tone grew somber.

"This time, I won't be a pawn, I'll do what I want to do."

-x-X-x-

Franca had been carefully avoiding certain phrases, but since Lumian himself brought it up, there was no need to tread so cautiously anymore.

With a self-deprecating tone, she whispered, "Can you really stop being a pawn?"

Ever since she was pulled into the protected zone and learned from Anthony and Ludwig what had happened, she felt as though she had developed "pawn arrangement PTSD." Whenever she heard similar terms, her heart clenched, and her mood darkened.

This symptom showed no signs of improvement over time.

Lumian was silent for two seconds before raising his right hand and flicking the dark gold, peculiar mask at the center of the head on his left shoulder.

With a metallic "clang," the faces of Cheek and Tudor reflexively furrowed their brows.

After nearly a year of adaptation and mastery, Lumian could now exert tangible control over the two faces when in his lucid state, although some nuances were still beyond his grasp.

After flicking the mask, Lumian spoke in a low voice, "After my merging with Him, unless the one worshipped by the Aurora Order achieves complete victory or is entirely defeated-allowing a true God Almighty to be born-no one can manipulate me anymore.

"Look at us. We've entered the ruins, made such a commotion, and stayed for so long, yet the Great Mother hasn't even glanced our way despite us simply relying on the cover of the Fog of War. Can you believe that?"

"He's akin to a scaled-down original Creator-the Oldest One-or a yet-to-be-fully-revived Primordial God Almighty, which grants you a high status?" Franca nodded in sudden understanding.

"What I'm about to do next will remain highly concealed unless directly scrutinized," Lumian confirmed Franca's speculation, sitting down beside her atop the collapsed clock tower and gazing out at the ruins of Trier beyond the Fog of War.

Franca was silent for a few seconds before tilting her head and asking, "So, what exactly do you want to do next?"

The next moment, she saw Lumian smile.

It was a spirited smile, tinged with mischief-an expression Franca had never seen on Lumian's face before.

"I'm going to save the world."

For a moment, Franca felt as though she was listening to some prankster boast on the spot.

She didn't question him. Instead, she asked, "Do you have any hope of succeeding?"

Lumian, gazing at the endless ruins ahead, chuckled and replied, "If I don't act, and the Great Mother completely overpowers the half of Her will and achieves fusion, or if the barrier in the sky fails entirely, then there will be no hope whatsoever. But if I act, at least hope isn't zero. There'll be just a sliver.

"Besides, I'm not the only one preparing to save the world; there are others trying as well."

At this, Lumian turned to look at Franca, his tone drifting as though recalling something.

"When I was irrational, driven purely by divine instinct, that instinct allowed me to glimpse certain truths-or perhaps root causes.

"Everything in this world originates from the Original Creator. All living beings, all Beyonder characteristics, the way events unfold, and the miraculous turns of fate-all of it.

"What does this mean? It means separation leads to convergence. Something good will inevitably carry bad aspects, and vice versa.

"This is the essence of the world, the fundamental symbol that governs all things. Even existences as powerful as the Great Mother can't completely avoid it.

They can only mitigate its influence."

Franca, somewhat bewildered, said, "I understand dialectics, but what does this have to do with what you want to do?"

Lumian shifted his gaze back to the ruins.

"The Great Mother's prior arrangements undoubtedly demonstrated Her level of power and wonder. She achieved multiple objectives in one stroke, almost turning our resistance into a joke. But with every good aspect comes a bad one. Her arrangements have left things that we can exploit-things which might prove critical later." 𝘳�

"Like what?" Franca now understood the gist of Lumian's point.

Lumian shook his head. "There are things you can't know yet. You're not an Angel."

He paused before adding, "Put simply, the Great Mother set up many things to ensure Omebella's true birth. Some succeeded, some failed in the past, and some were kept as backups. They all left certain marks, even physical remnants.

"For instance, the bird egg deep in the Underworld. For instance, Lugano."

"Lugano?" Franca was first surprised, then seemed to understand. "So you think he's still useful?"

Lumian chuckled in response. "I've finally figured it out - he was drawn to me by the fragment of Zedus's soul within me. It's because of his presence that I got deeply involved in the Father Montserrat matter and obtained Omebella's umbilical remains.

"After that, he was essentially useless to the Great Mother. It's only due to the corruption stemming from his characteristics that he now possesses certain peculiarities in his dreams.

"I won't plan anything for him. As long as he's alive and still submits to me, he'll play the role I need at some critical juncture."

Franca didn't delve further, as she wasn't an Angel.

She stared blankly at the head in the center of Lumian's shoulders and said with a bitter smile.

"But what can you, a dual Sequence 1 King of Angels, do in the current situation?"

Lumian turned his head, meeting Franca's lake-blue eyes, and replied with a smile, "You know what I was like. You also know what I've been through. I'm nobody, even if I've stood at the center of the stage and been applauded-all because strings were pulling me from behind. Don't comfort me. I haven't given up on myself.

"I learned something in the dream city: even the most foolish person, after thinking a thousand, ten thousand times, will eventually get it right once. Now, as someone who's failed countless times, I'm going to challenge the future again. Maybe this time, I'll succeed."

As he spoke, Lumian's smile brightened, revealing his unabashed hope and expectation.

He immediately chuckled at himself. "Anyway, it can't get worse for me than it already is."

Franca gazed at his smile and said nothing for a long time.

"I also want to see what Aurore and Jenna's eventual resurrection will look like, and what sort of distortions it will entail," Lumian said, his gaze once again darkening as he looked out at the greenery-covered ruins beyond the Fog of War. "By then, there will surely be a calamity sweeping the entire world. For the Great Mother's Blessed and followers, it will indeed be a disaster.

"You'll participate in the early stages, complete your ritual, take the potion, and become a Demoness of Catastrophe. Then, Madam Magician will help transfer you to the edge of the cosmos or some unnoticed star system, where a human-suitable environment can be created."

Franca was silent for two seconds before saying. "Okay."

"I thought you'd refuse." Lumian said, glancing at Franca.

Franca stared ahead, her gaze crystalline and profound, and said, "I was planning to refuse. But then I thought-even if I become a Sequence 2 Demoness, it probably won't make much of a difference."

When the crimson moon descended, the Demoness Sect did not receive enough "protection," losing two Demonesses of Catastrophe-the Demoness of Blue and the Demoness of Purple. The latter's Beyonder characteristics and body ingredients were obtained by Angel of Fate Ouroboros, passed through two trades, and eventually ended up in Lumian's hands. He gave them to Franca, who was now waiting for the opportunity to perform the ritual.

Franca paused and revealed a self-mocking smile.

"Anyway, my answer just now was half perfunctory to stop you from persuading me further or feeling burdened, which might affect your performance. In the end, whether I go or stay depends on the situation."

Lumian nodded with the head in the center and chuckled, "If you can't leave or don't want to, then we'll stay together forever, Live together, or die together."

"That's a good thing." Franca responded half-sincerely, half-mockingly.

Lumian said nothing more, gazing out at the ruins, his thoughts wandering to unknown places.

After a while, Franca, who was also staring ahead, moved her eyes slightly and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "What's on your mind?"

Lumian raised the head in the center slightly, gazing through the Fog of War at the crimson moonlight and dim stars in the sky.

"I'm thinking that if Cordu hadn't been struck by disaster-if all the arrangements, pain, and torment hadn't happened-and if there had been a good teacher to guide me and Aurore together, teaching me the principles of life and morality, then facing the current situation, this crisis affecting all humanity, I probably would have willingly stood up without a trace of self-destructive tendencies. I would have chosen to be a true guardian..."

Before Franca could respond, he laughed at himself. "But alas, there are no 'ifs'."

He stood up, brushed the dust off his body, and said to Franca, who also rose, "Let's go back. Time to start the first step of the plan."

…

In Trier, inside that luxurious villa.

Lumian and Franca entered the living room to find Madam Justice sitting on a single sofa, chatting with Anthony. By her side, the golden-furred, gold-rimmed- glasses-wearing Susie crouched gracefully, exuding a gentle aura.

Madam Justice turned her gaze to Lumian. "You summoned my messenger to call me here. What is it you need?"

After obtaining Edefana's Beyonder characteristics and body ingredients, and having digested the Dreamweaver potion long ago, Madam Justice had completed her ritual months earlier and become a Sequence 2 Discerner, now a true Angel.

Lumian, with the head in the center smiling, spoke sincerely, "Madam, there's something I need your help with."

-x-X-x-

After leaving the luxurious villa that used to be her own but now housed Lumian and his companions, Madam Justice paused for two seconds and said to Susie, who was beside her, 'Let's go home.'

'Home?' Susie's tone suddenly became a little dreamy.

'Yes, back to Backlund.' Madam Justice smiled. Her green eyes sparkled brightly, filled with anticipation and hope, as if she had returned to her girlhood.

Susie fully understood Audrey's meaning, and a nostalgic expression appeared on her canine face. 'Okay.'

Over the years, she and Audrey had returned to Backlund on occasion. After the crimson moon's descent, they even stayed there for long periods, secretly protecting the Hall family. But this time, Audrey wanted to truly return home—to be with her parents and other loved ones.

Justice Audrey's figure quickly became ethereal, carrying Susie, who was now a Manipulator, as they traversed the sea of collective subconsciousness.

Her voice, tinged with obvious emotion, lingered at the spot before gradually fading into the wind, 'The prelude to the final battle is about to begin. If I don't go home now, there won't be another chance. I don't want to face the true apocalypse with regrets…'

Loen Kingdom, Backlund.

Justice Audrey and Susie emerged from the sea of collective subconsciousness onto a street close to Empress Borough.

They didn't rush home but instead strolled along the street, savoring the mundane pleasures of daily life.

No one noticed them, nor did anyone realize that the daughter of Earl Hall was wandering through the crowd without a maid or bodyguard, looking around curiously.

At this time, well-dressed gentlemen in silk top hats and ladies with parasols were moving in and out of department stores, upscale cafés, and opera houses. Two- or four-seater carriages hurried by, while a small circus performed by the fountain, surrounded by children. In the distance, a steam-powered four-wheeled vehicle chugged away, its vibrations gradually fading into the road.

Justice Audrey observed the scene with focused attention, making no effort to hide her nostalgia.

Suddenly, she sensed something unusual and turned her gaze toward a man and a woman about to board a four-seater carriage.

The man was dressed in a black suit, and the woman wore a yellow, flowing gown of sheer fabric with a fresh touch of makeup.

The moment Justice Audrey looked their way, the pair froze abruptly.

Plants—some brownish, others greenish—burst wildly from their tear ducts, nostrils, mouths, ear canals, and even pores. There were branches and vines.

Their bloodshot eyes, now tainted with a crimson hue, radiated intense malice as they turned to glare at the coachman and the surrounding pedestrians.

However, they seemed to 'decide' to hold back, waiting until they were in a better state before launching an attack.

But their transformations did not go unnoticed. Screams of terror pierced the peaceful and lively street, echoing far and wide.

The pedestrians fled desperately. In just seconds, the area around the man and woman became desolate.

Their madness erupted. With a loud bang, chunks of flesh mixed with green plants and crimson moonlight splattered outward.

Soon, a team of Nighthawks bearing the Dark Sacred Emblem arrived.

They swiftly dealt with the nauseating flesh and remnants.

The fleeing pedestrians suddenly slowed, some returning to their conversations with companions, others stepping into nearby cafés to order coffee with desserts, appearing relaxed and at ease. �

The coachman returned to his carriage, gazing into the distance, waiting for passengers.

None of them paid any attention to the Nighthawks' cleanup or even glanced in their direction.

It was as if they had completely forgotten what had just happened, returning to their daily lives.

Justice Audrey stood watching for a while, sighed, and continued walking toward Empress Borough.

Before long, she and Susie entered the sea of collective subconsciousness again, emerging in a corner of her long-unvisited bedroom.

Inside, another Audrey, dressed in a green-and-white gown, sat at the dressing table, fastening a pair of petite pearl earrings.

She turned her body and looked at Justice Audrey, her expression lighting up with joy. 'You're finally back!'

She then asked in a verifying tone, 'You've become an Angel?'

Justice Audrey smiled and nodded. 'Yes. It took a long time to prepare for the ritual, but I completed it three months ago.'

The advancement ritual for a Sequence 2 Discerner in the Spectator pathway required delving into the subconscious of at least ten thousand humans, uncovering their deepest fears, most primal desires, and the root of all their psychological issues, then leaving a mark of oneself.

This was not only tedious but also dangerous. Every human carried godhood and was subject to the erosion and influence of the sea of collective subconsciousness, inheriting the most profound cognition and impressions of ancient humanity. Chaos, madness, and primal instincts lurked deep within their subconscious. Exploring these depths risked corruption, mental instability, or even derangement.

In this ritual, the quantitative requirement could be reduced by targeting higher-ranked Beyonders, but this entailed greater risks. For example, delving into the subconscious of Madam Magician could mean encountering the mental imprints or past shadows of The Celestial Worthy of Heaven and Earth for Blessings. Choosing Lumian as a target would suffice for the ritual but would involve facing the most primal and frenzied mind, even glimpses of the Original Creator or the Primordial God Almighty.

'Wasn't that dangerous?' Audrey, now wearing her pearl earrings, asked with curiosity.

Though over twenty years old, with mature demeanor and temperament, a trace of girlish innocence lingered in her tone.

Justice Audrey smiled. 'It was indeed dangerous. During the preparation, I witnessed the worst of human nature, the wildest desires, the most chaotic perceptions, and also the noblest virtues, the most beautiful emotions, and the highest ideals. Sometimes, these contradictory elements existed simultaneously in a single person's subconscious.'

'Human nature is complex,' Audrey agreed with a nod.

After observing Justice Audrey for a few seconds, she sighed and asked nostalgically, 'You've been to many places over the years, haven't you?'

Justice Audrey smiled gently. 'I lived in East Borough for a year, then south of Trier's Quartier du Jardin Botanique for another year. I spent a year in the Southern Continent and nearly two years along the coastal cities of Midseashire. Those are lands of steel and steam. Their architecture resembles towering iron trees standing close together, their 'branches' interconnected. Each 'bark' and 'leaf' is a room housing a family of workers. Only a few 'leaves' and 'bark' receive sunlight…'

Audrey listened intently, as if she too had traveled to those places and witnessed those sights.

After a long pause, she asked with anticipation, 'Do you have an answer now?'

'There isn't one answer to all questions.' Justice Audrey gave a self-deprecating smile. 'I only understand one thing now: Humanity must unite and show collective strength to the deities to gain a higher status, just as workers, farmers, herders, and clerks must overcome fear and band together to demand better treatment and greater security from those in power.

'That's why we cannot side with beings born as gods. They don't need anchors; humanity is meaningless to Them. If They achieve ultimate victory, our existence, joys, and sorrows will depend solely on Their whims and chaotic intentions, leaving us utterly powerless.'

Audrey caught the melancholy and worry in Justice's tone and playfully comforted her, 'We may not need those born as gods, but we were born noble.'

'No.' Justice Audrey shook her head and said with a faint smile, 'Nobility isn't about lineage, status, or position; it's about one's heart and character.'

She extended her right hand toward Audrey, who was dressed in the green-and-white gown.

'Welcome home~' Audrey said with a smile, lightly clapping her hand against Justice Audrey's.

With a crisp clap, the two figures suddenly merged into one, inseparable ever again.

Audrey now donned the green-and-white gown, fastened the pearl earrings, and applied simple makeup. Leaving the bedroom, she descended the stairs, passed through the hall, and arrived on the second floor of the ballroom, accompanied by a lady's maid and Susie.

Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, an orchestra played, and men and women in formal attire mingled elegantly, chatting in small groups with drinks in hand or dancing gracefully in pairs on the ballroom floor.

Audrey took a glass of pale-golden champagne from a passing tray and stood by the railing, gazing down with a gentle smile. She watched her father, Earl Hall, her mother, Lady Caitlyn, and the familiar nobles chatting, as well as her elder brothers waltzing with their partners.

She didn't join them, content to watch with a smile.

Late that night, the entire population of Backlund shared the same dream.

In the dream, a voice seemed to say: 'Mr. Medici, Lumian Lee wants to meet you. You may choose the time and place.'

Normally, this voice would only echo in the dreams or minds of Backlund's residents, slowly spreading to other cities and nations through the sea of collective subconsciousness. This time, however, it reached beings outside Backlund almost instantly, with hardly any delay.

…

'Mr. Medici, Lumian Lee wants to meet you. You may choose the time and place.'

Red Angel Medici, with His feet propped up on a table, scratched His ear and sneered.

'Only now did he muster the courage to make this decision?

'I've been waiting nearly a year.'

-x-X-x-

Greater Trier, in an ancient castle.

Red Angel Medici sat on a throne pieced together from iron-black weapons, gazing at the hall splattered with dark red blood-like stains. He lifted His right leg, resting it on His left knee.

Before Him, Lumian's figure, bearing three heads, swiftly materialized.

Dressed in a white shirt, black vest, and dark trousers, Lumian looked at Red Angel Medici and spoke in a mocking tone, "I thought you'd first hide, only showing up once you confirmed I didn't bring reinforcements."

As he spoke, violet flames ignited behind Lumian, quickly solidifying into a massive, bloodstained, iron- black chair.

"Aren't you worried there might be a deadly trap here?" Red Angel Medici shook His right foot, sneering in return.

Lumian sat down, leaned back against the chair, and answered indifferently, "I'd welcome a deadly trap. It might even be a blessing in disguise."

Red Angel Medici, His long blood-red hair flowing down, placed His right palm on the longsword armrest of the iron throne and asked disdainfully, "What do you want from me?"

With unusual sincerity, Lumian replied, "I want to ask you to hand over the two Conqueror Beyonder characteristics within you."

"Haha." Red Angel Medici burst into laughter. "I've lived for thousands of years and never heard such a request. Even Alista Tudor didn't dare say something like that. He knew well that what couldn't be won in war wouldn't be secured in negotiation."

Lumian seemed deaf to Red Angel Medici's taunts, continuing as if He hadn't heard.

"The Northern and Southern continents have already been effectively destroyed. If not for the one worshipped by the Aurora Order forcibly accommodating the Chaos Sea, buffering the initial impact of the Mother Goddess of Depravity's descent, and if not for the cooperation between Him and Mr. Fool in creating protected zones, human society would have long since collapsed. All of us, myself included, would be dead by now-only to be "reborn" into something else…"

At this point, Red Angel Medici Interrupted, "The main reason wasn't Adam or The Fool saving us. They couldn't even protect Themselves back then.

"We're still alive because the Mother Goddess of Depravity targeted the Western Continent, aiming at the Brood Hive."

Lumian didn't deny Red Angel Medici's assertion but calmly added, "If not for Mr. Fool exploiting the Mother Goddess of Depravity's instinctual desire, luring Her to breach the Celestial Worthy's barrier sealing the Western Continent, then reinforcing the seal using Her connection to it... If not for the Western Continent's Celestial Master and others burning their life forces and utilizing the powers of the sefirot to sustain the barrier... Even the naturally dissipating power of the Mother Goddess of Depravity and the symbolic instincts She represents wouldn't have allowed the protected zones to last this long.

"But even those measures are nearing their limit. Two months ago, the Mother Goddess of Depravity captured the Brood Hive within the gray-white fog sealing the Western Continent. The Brood Hive yearns to see its eldest daughter, Omebella, truly reborn, but it resists re-merging with the Mother Goddess of Depravity. It has developed self-awareness and enjoyed Its completed form for seven or eight millennia, maybe longer-It certainly doesn't wish to perish now.

"At present, the Mother Goddess of Depravity and the Brood Hive are locked in a tug-of-war. Both the World of Ruins and the Western Continent have attained a fleeting peace, with only the naturally dissipating forces and maternal symbolism still exerting their effects.

"This may be our last peaceful respite. No one knows how long it will take for the Mother Goddess of Depravity to utterly crush the will of the Brood Hive and fully accommodate this sefirot. Perhaps a year, or maybe only two or three months remain.

"We don't have much time, which is why I've come to you."

Red Angel Medici sneered, "How noble, how sanctimonious. But why should I hand over two Conqueror Beyonder characteristics to you?

"Why not give yours to me, voluntarily withdrawing from the competition for the Red Priest position?

"Sacrifice is something you say to yourself, not to others."

Lumian laughed, a laugh that gave Red Angel Medici the sudden feeling that He'd stepped into a trap.

With a relaxed smile playing across his features, Lumian replied, "Sure! I'll agree to that!

"I'll hand over my Conqueror Beyonder characteristic to you right now, along with a Demoness of Apocalypse Beyonder characteristic. At that point, my body will lose its balance, and I'll inevitably die. Then you won't have to worry about anyone competing with you for the Red Priest position."

He spoke rapidly, as if unwilling to give Medici the chance to change His mind.

Red Angel Medici focused intently on Lumian, as though evaluating the sincerity and truthfulness of his words.

Relaxing his posture further, Lumian continued, "My only condition is that you must inherit my fate, my identity, this half of my body, and this head."

As he spoke, he raised his right hand, lightly tapping the dark-gold peculiar mask at the center of his left- side head.

Red Angel Medici's gaze lingered on the mask, Alista Tudor's handsome face, and Cheek's maternal visage, moving back and forth several times before He sneered, "Do you think I'd accept that?

"Inheriting this mess? I'd rather perish when the apocalypse comes."

"And where's your courage?" Lumian provoked.

"Courage and wisdom aren't mutually exclusive, nor do they prevent me from discerning good from bad," Red Angel Medici retorted, changing His posture and crossing His left leg over His right, His foot shaking rhythmically.

Lumian taunted Him with a look of disappointment, "Then why bother vying for the Red Priest position?

"Without relying on the unique nature of this head and this half of the body, can you become the Red Priest without performing the ritual? Can you meet the requirements for the apotheosis ritual in such a short time?

"Without the unique qualities of this head and body, can you locate and defeat Primordial Demoness Cheek in time?

"Without these unique traits, can you subdue the malevolent dragon and fully accommodate the City of Calamity before the Mother Goddess of Depravity accommodates the Brood Hive?

"Even if you somehow became the Origins of Disaster, the Calamity of Destruction, before the apocalypse, your utility would pale in comparison to the existence of this head and body's unique advantages. You'd still perish.

"We're in a dire position. To save ourselves, others, and the world, every unique advantage must be exploited to the fullest. Only then is there even a sliver of hope.

"Medici, you're a coward. I despise you!"

Red Angel Medici chuckled. "There's no need to provoke me. I've never made decisions based on that."

After a few seconds of silence, He continued, "You're right. To become the Origins of Disaster before the Great Mother accommodates the Brood Hive, unique traits are essential. But how long would such an unstable existence last after the advancement?"

"I don't know," Lumian admitted candidly. "Maybe minutes, maybe years or decades. Perhaps, with some help and special methods, it could last millennia-or even longer."

Red Angel Medici stared at Lumian and the head for a long while before shaking His head, "If it were just sharing one body with multiple consciousnessed, I'd accept it-I've had ample experience. But the thought of being stuck with Alista Tudor forever, especially in a form beyond just Beyonder characteristics, is unacceptable."

Lumian's left-side head turned slightly, Alista Tudor's handsome, masculine face glaring at Medici.

With a slight shake of His head, He looked contemptuous.

"Coward. Where's your courage? Is your sharp tongue the only thing that's left undefeated?" Lumian voiced Tudor's sentiments on His behalf.

Red Angel Medici sneered, "Giving the order to retreat and giving up also requires courage."

Lumian sighed and asked, "So, do you agree?"

This referred to Medici extracting the two Conqueror Beyonder characteristics and handing them over to Lumian.

With a curving of the corner of His lips, Red Angel Medici replied, "Not yet. We're missing one thing.

"I'm considering whether we should duel for it - the loser takes this path - or..."

He paused before flashing a brilliant smile, "Why don't you beg me?"

Lumian froze for a second, then stood and spoke seriously. "Oh great God of War, the symbol of iron and blood, the ruler of chaos and strife, I beseech you. I beg you to save this world. I plead for the two Conqueror Beyonder characteristics..."

At the phrase "save this world," Red Angel Medici's expression subtly shifted, as though caught between sneering and being stunned, as if a memory had been jolted awake.

When Lumian finished, the King of Angels mocked, "What happened to your dignity?"

Before Lumian could respond, He tilted His chin slightly, "Fine. I agree, but under three conditions."

"Please, state them." Lumian's attitude remained excellent.

Red Angel Medici mulled over it and said, "First, if you truly become the Origins of Disaster when the apocalypse comes, spare the Einhorn and Sauron families if you can. Also, protect my descendants like Albus."

"No problem," Lumian agreed without hesitation.

Red Angel Medici smiled again. "Second, after becoming the Origins of Disaster, you'll need only one Conqueror characteristic to stabilize yourself. At that point, remember to extract the other two and return them to me."

To reach an Above the Sequences or Great Old Dominator, one needed the corresponding sefirah, the Uniquenesses of the corresponding pathways, and a singular Sequence 1 Beyonder characteristic of each pathway.

"That's fine," Lumian said without concern.

Red Angel Medici lowered His left leg and slowly stood.

"Third, give Adam a punch for me and tell Him, "Don't get mad. This is a necessary sacrifice."

"That's it?" Lumian raised an eyebrow.

Medici chuckled. "What else? Kill Him and doom us all?

"If He'd been honest with me back then, I might have joined His experiments or even sacrificed myself first. Do all Spectators eventually become this dark, perpetually distrusting others?"

After finishing, Red Angel Medici added mischievously. "I can't separate the highest Sequence Beyonder characteristics in myself. You'll need your godfather's help. But I won't speak His name."

Lumian nodded and solemnly recited in Hermes, "The shadow wandering through fate, the past God of Deceit, the destined messiah..."

-x-X-x-

After Lumian recited Amon's current honorific name, a light full of redemptive power emerged from the void, from the River of Fate, condensing into the form of Amon, wearing a pointed soft hat and a monocle.

Amon glanced left and right before smiling and saying, 'So, have you concluded your negotiations? Or would this be settled with a duel?

'You Hunters really have patience. This matter, which should've been discussed last September, dragged on until now.'

As He spoke, Amon lightly clapped His hands in mock applause for the patience of the two Hunters.

Red Angel Medici sneered, 'You've changed pathways, yet you're still cawing like a raven.

'Let's begin; don't waste any more time.'

Stealing the highest Sequence Beyonder characteristics from another wasn't a simple task. Even if the target stopped resisting and actively cooperated, the process would still take significant time and carry a notable risk of failure. Moreover, it required an exceptionally high level of authority.

After urging Amon, Red Angel Medici sat back down on His iron throne, leaned against the backrest, and crossed His right leg, assuming His usual arrogant posture.

His expression showed neither fear nor despondency—only a hint of emptiness in His gaze, as if reminiscing.

'What's on your mind?' Amon asked with a smile.

Red Angel Medici chuckled. 'About things that happened before you were born.'

Amon shook His head and adjusted the monocle clasped to His eye socket with His right hand.

His left hand produced a red apple, which He brought to His lips, taking a crisp bite.

'I've waited a long time for this day,' Amon said with a smile, as the monocle on His face suddenly gleamed.

He extended His right hand toward Red Angel Medici, His wrist rotating slowly and heavily.

Red Angel Medici was abruptly set ablaze, engulfed entirely in bright violet flames.

Despite the excruciating pain, He maintained a mocking smile.

Burning in the flames. Eternal in the flames.

…

After extracting the two Conqueror Beyonder characteristics from Red Angel Medici and handing them over to Lumian, Amon departed from the protected zone.

He stood above the valley of the still-rushing Srenzo River, gazing out at the distant world.

Enormous oak trees, so large they seemed to reach the sky, stood tall upon the land. Verdant green blanketed the remnants of human civilization, and intermittent cries of 'waaah, waaah, waaah' echoed, accompanied by the sound of flocking movements.

Suddenly, a figure staggered out from the faint grayish-white fog.

The figure had a handsome appearance and wore formal attire, with scarlet eyes—a Sanguine of a not-insignificant Sequence.

Yet, once outside the protected zone, the Sanguine's body rapidly mutated.

He collapsed into a mass of flesh and blood, sprouting numerous reproductive organs, some male, some female, and some belonging to peculiar creatures.

These interacted with one another and with the surrounding stones, wood, and vines, giving birth to strange new life forms.

Amon watched this with interest for a moment, then raised His right hand and flicked forth a nearly invisible and formless flame.

The flame fell upon the writhing, ever-procreating mass of flesh, instantly setting it ablaze, reducing it—and the nascent life within it—to ashes.

Amon's gaze then turned toward the edge of the gray-white fog, where three Sanguine were watching Him. Leading them was Mr. Moon Emlyn, wearing a silk top hat.

Amon smiled faintly before turning His attention back to the towering oaks.

Tonight, He was on watch duty.

Emlyn, who had come to clean up the mutants, observed Amon for a moment before stepping out of the gray-white fog. Enduring the pain of the crimson moonlight, he retrieved the severely corrupted Beyonder characteristic.

Exchanging silent glances with the two other Sanguine, he returned to the protected zone.

After sealing the Beyonder characteristic, Emlyn returned to his residence in Backlund, sitting by the floor-to-ceiling window and gazing at the crimson moon high in the sky.

Only within the protected zone could he experience the peace, spiritual growth, and unique beauty brought by the crimson moon.

Under the crimson moonlight of the World of Ruins, however, Sanguine like him felt nothing but pain, as though the light sought to ignite them and burn them into pure spirituality.

Reflecting on his recent experiences, the once-confident Emlyn couldn't help but feel weighed down.

In the past, he often proclaimed his ambition to be the messiah of the Sanguine, full of drive and determination. But that was when the prophecy of the Sanguine's end of days was distant, and their Ancestor still existed. Now, the end of days had truly arrived—and was unfolding before his eyes.

Compared to other pathways' Beyonders, Sanguine and Planters had suffered far deeper and more severe impacts since the descent of the crimson moon. Over the past year, Emlyn had witnessed countless Sanguine mutate into monsters or transform into their most ferocious enemies—and he had personally dealt with many of them.

Familiar faces disappeared daily. Sorrowful events occurred without end.

This was the apocalypse.

Now, the Sanguine's population had been halved compared to the time before the crimson moon's descent.

What can I do to save them… The Moon Emlyn pondered deeply, no longer indulging in fanciful ideas or overconfident thoughts.

Influenced by the crimson moon's descent, Sanguine dukes dared not act freely, fearing they would lose control and mutate. Thus, Emlyn and other marquises represented the strongest forces the Sanguine could muster.

With a vague understanding of why the crimson moon—the Great Mother—brought such catastrophic influence, Emlyn spent an entire night pondering but still failed to find a way to save his race.

When the sun rose and daylight arrived, he drew the curtains, lay on his bed, and drifted into slumber, hoping his active spirituality might offer some insight through dreams.

Amid his grogginess, a familiar female voice suddenly reached him: 'Emlyn… Emlyn…'

Emlyn looked in the direction of the voice, dazed, and vaguely saw a voluptuous, graceful figure.

Instinctively, he called out, 'Ancestor!'

The voice spoke with a slightly ethereal tone, 'There is something I need to entrust to you.'

In the past, such words would have filled Emlyn with joy, pride, and self-satisfaction, as it signified him becoming the messiah of the Sanguine. But now, he felt only a heavy weight on his shoulders, as though his body could no longer bear the burden.

After a few moments of silence, he answered in a low voice, 'Yes, Ancestor.'

The voluptuous and graceful figure, radiating maternal warmth, said gently,

'I will give you a Beauty Goddess Beyonder characteristic, containing my spiritual imprint and residual self-awareness.

'Safeguard it. Someday, I may be able to be reborn through it.

'It also contains an extra Life-Giver Beyonder characteristic, which I will pre-separate for you. Afterward, retrieve supplementary ingredients from the treasury and strive to complete your advancement in a short time. When the apocalypse arrives, protect the remaining Sanguine as best as you can.'

Emlyn felt no joy but instead asked in confusion and concern, 'What about you, Ancestor?'

Why make preparations for rebirth and resurrection?

The voluptuous and graceful figure said with a smile, 'Some things must be done. Some hopes must be fought for.'

Emlyn froze, hearing the resoluteness hidden in Ancestor Lilith's tone.

Without further explanation, the voluptuous figure spoke in a motherly tone, 'My child, as long as all of you survive, as long as my bloodline remains unbroken, and as long as someone remembers my name, I will live forever…'

Her voice gradually faded, disappearing into the dream.

…

The voluptuous and graceful figure emerged from the starlight-woven dreamlike gate, arriving at a majestic and ancient palace enveloped in gray-white fog.

Seated at the head of the bronze table was The Fool, wearing a half-silk top hat and a black trench coat.

It was an avatar—a mere projection of His true self.

'So this is Sefirah Castle?' the beautiful woman radiating maternal brilliance asked as She sat in the chair at the far end of the mottled table.

She was Earth Mother Lilith.

'The external manifestation and extension of Sefirah Castle,' Mr. Fool replied in a calm tone. 'You reached out to me through your dream while asleep. What is it you need?'

Lilith cradled an imaginary infant, her smile soft yet firm. 'I wish to ask you to kill me.'

'What is the purpose?' Mr. Fool asked, neither hurried nor slow.

Earth Mother Lilith's smile remained gentle but resolute.

'The Mother Goddess of Depravity has leveraged my act of stealing Omebella's identity and destiny, using symbolic manipulation to trap me in this undead state. However, we can turn this against Her.

'Since I am symbolically equivalent to Omebella, killing me will also kill the true Omebella. As She is the link between the Mother Goddess of Depravity and the Brood Hive, severing this connection would significantly delay the Mother Goddess of Depravity's progress in accommodating the Brood Hive, buying us more time.

'The Mother Goddess of Depravity can use symbols, and I believe you, Mr. Fool, are fully capable of doing the same. As the master of Fooling, you are undoubtedly a master in this domain.'

'The equivalence of your symbolic identity to Omebella does hold,' Mr. Fool acknowledged with a slight nod. 'But killing Omebella now would turn the Brood Hive against us, prompting it to rejoin the Mother Goddess of Depravity.

'To the Brood Hive, Omebella is the first child It bore after attaining self-awareness, Its mystically significant eldest daughter, just as the Mother Goddess of Depravity is the Firstborn of the Original Creator. The Brood Hive values Omebella deeply.'

Before Earth Mother Lilith could respond, Mr. Fool tapped the edge of the bronze table with his fingers.

'This can be exploited, but the timing is not yet right.'

Earth Mother Lilith's smile appeared once more.

'Good. At least I can still serve some purpose with my death.

'I will await the correct moment.'

With that, Mother Earth stood, leaving the area above the gray fog in measured steps.

-x-X-x-

At the bronze table, in the seat belonging to The Chariot.

Light surged and solidified into Lumian's figure, bearing three heads.

He looked toward the head of the mottled bronze table and said, "Mr. Fool, I've obtained the remaining Conqueror Beyonder characteristics from Red Angel Medici. I'd like to go to Morora as soon as possible."

Mr. Fool gently nodded and replied, "You may go anytime. I will provide the necessary assistance."

Lumian understood that the help Mr. Fool referred to wasn't about entering Morora but rather offering necessary aid in handling 0-01.

Considering Mr. Fool was already maintaining the outer barrier in the astral world, reinforcing the Celestial Worthy's seal, and hiding the protected zones to sustain human society-tasks nearly impossible without the three Mysteries pathways' ability to divide attention - Lumian carefully added.

"I'll do my best to handle it myself, but for that, I'll need to visit the Forsaken Land of the Gods first.

"When the time comes, unexpected events may occur, so I'll need you to keep an eye on things in advance."

"No problem," Veiled in gray fog, Mr. Fool calmly assured him.

…

On the peaks of the Forsaken Land of the Gods's endless mountains.

Lumian's figure swiftly materialized, facing a man with silver hair cascading down His shoulders, clad in a linen robe, His features soft and graceful.

"Angel of Fate Ouroboros?" the central head of Lumian spoke.

The man, his expression gentle and tone indifferent, replied, "What do you want?"

He did not deny being Ouroboros, the Angel of Fate, the King of Angels from ancient times.

"I want to meet Grisha Adam, or Adam Grisha." Lumian said with a smile.

The Angel of Fate Ouroboros stepped aside, revealing a massive cross behind Him. However, it was empty, devoid of any divine presence.

"The Lord was, is, and ever shall be," Ouroboros declared devoutly. "If you cannot see Him, that is your own problem."

Unaffected by the Angel of Fate's response, Lumian stared at the enormous cross and burst into laughter.

"I bring a hope for saving the world. Will you meet with me or not?

"As the most skilled Telepathist, you should know I'm not lying."

From beneath the massive cross surged an ocean that seemed to encompass every color, engulfing the entire mountain range except for where Lumian and Ouroboros stood.

On this chaotic "sea," a humanoid figure walked on the black void-like surface, seemingly connecting heaven and earth.

The figure retained a human visage, His lower face covered with a fine golden beard. His golden eyes were as pure as those of a newborn, but His body was no longer tangible, entirely composed of light and shadow. Ꞧ𝐀

Trailing behind Him was a long black shadow, distinct from Him, bearing five heads. Behind His head rose a radiant golden sun.

"I see Him," Lumian turned his head and smiled at Ouroboros.

Then, he expanded his form into a towering steel giant wreathed in violet flames, smiling radiantly at Grisha Adam.

"Before I share that hope, I'd like to punch you."

Grisha Adam's baby-clear golden eyes remained unmoved. His majestic voice answered, "Okay."

Lumian's expression turned cold.

He teleported directly in front of Grisha Adam, clenched his left fist, and with violet flames blazing, struck the deity's right cheek with full force.

With a resounding explosion, Grisha Adam's head tilted to the side, His cheek caved in, His mouth split, and His flesh torn.

Lumian's right fist followed, its burning violet flames engulfing Grisha Adam's left cheek.

Boom!

Golden blood splattered, skull fragments shattered. and scorched marks spread everywhere.

When Lumian had teleported in front of the deity, the Angel of Fate Ouroboros bowed His head, devoutly and humbly praying repeatedly.

Retracting his fists, Lumian floated midair and arrogantly declared, "That punch was from Medici."

He then gazed into Grisha Adam's eyes and mockingly added, "Don't get mad. This is a necessary sacrifice."

Grisha Adam's golden eyes remained pure-without anger, resentment, mockery, or rebuke. They were so clear they reflected Lumian's image.

The flames on His face continued to burn, His wounds unhealed.

Lumian's smile gradually faded.

After a few seconds of eye contact, he smirked and said, "That hope is..."

He raised his right hand, pressing it against the peculiar dark-gold mask in the center of his left-side head, "I will remove this."

Grisha Adam gazed at him warmly, neither questioning nor rushing him.

Lumian continued, as if talking to himself, "This face should have originally belonged to the Creator, but after losing the balance and regaining balance via the addition of Mother's powers, it became the resurrection cornerstone for that Primordial God Almighty.

"If I remove the Celestial Worthy's mask, something very interesting will happen."

With a lighthearted tone, Lumian said to Grisha Adam, "The Primordial God Almighty's consciousness is competing with you for control of the Chaos Sea and this body. At this moment, if another resurrection opportunity suddenly appears, what will He choose?

"If He diverts His focus to influence this head and face, symbolically, it would mean abandoning the contest with you. Your disadvantage would instantly reverse, giving you the upper hand. Perhaps then, we'll gain a new pillar-a pillar standing with us to face the apocalypse, greatly increasing our chances of survival.

"If the Primordial God Almighty refuses to retreat or give up, the revival of this head and face will stagnate. Yet, their unique qualities will remain intact, and I can accomplish much with them. Hope for saving this world will arise from that-heh heh, well, maybe. Just maybe."

Looking into Grisha Adam's golden eyes again, Lumian grinned, "I look forward to the Primordial God Almighty's decision."

Without hesitation or delay, he pressed against the mask and pulled it off.

From the mask's depths emerged a door of light tinged with faint bluish-black hues. It quickly detached and disappeared into the grayish-white fog that had unknowingly spread across the sky.

In the next moment, Lumian removed the peculiar dark-gold mask.

Beneath it was a vortex-like face-no eyes, nose, or mouth, no bones-composed entirely of a chaotic liquid embodying every color.

Lumian eagerly observed the face, waiting for further changes.

However, the chaotic vortex remained motionless, showing no sign of forming a normal face.

The faces of Tudor and Cheek on either side of this head contorted slightly, as if experiencing some form of pain.

Lumian clicked his tongue and said, "What a pity..."

He made no effort to conceal his disappointment, turned around, and returned to the Angel of Fate's side.

Behind him, the giant radiant figure sank slowly, its shadow with five heads and the golden sun disappearing into the Chaos Sea.

Above him, the grayish-white fog in the sky gradually dissipated into nothingness.

Lumian tossed the dark-gold mask into the air and caught it repeatedly, sighing as he looked at Ouroboros. "Why don't you pursue the President of the Life School of Thought?"

Lumian's own face and the vortex-face simultaneously turned to Ouroboros.

With a gentle expression and indifferent tone, Angel of Fate Ouroboros replied, "The opportunity has passed.

"What remains now is waiting and choosing."

Lumian chuckled twice and asked no further.

Cheek's beautiful eyes, lovelier than sapphires, reflected a layered, ethereal, shadowy world.

Lumian's figure vanished, flamboyantly traversing through the special mirrored world to the City of Exiles, Morora.

Here, the seals indeed opened a gap for him.

Lumian's feet landed on Morora's disaster-scarred streets. Among the potholes and ruins, he walked step by step toward the entrance of the underground mausoleum.

His gaze swept casually, noticing how the grotesque residents of Morora tried to avoid him in terror upon seeing his three heads.

However, they could not act on their thoughts. They were mesmerized by the maternal radiance emanating from Demoness of Apocalypse Cheek's stunningly beautiful face. Others, under the gaze of Blood Emperor Alista Tudor, lowered their heads and knelt, completely submissive. Some stared fixedly at the vortex face.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Some burst into flames, others turned into mirrors. some grew dense fish scales, while others' skin cracked open, sprouting countless cold, emotionless eyes.

They had gone mad, lost control, merely from gazing upon the vortex face.

Don't look directly at God!

Amid the outburst of violent, frenzied, and destructive emotions, Lumian walked step by step into the underground mausoleum.

He arrived at a dark wasteland and stood before a mountain of corpses.

He raised his head, looking at the flagpole, iron-black with scorched marks and numerous dangerous blood- red spots.

0-01, Salinger's Blood Banner!

Lumian smiled and "humbly" said, "Boss, I've come to see you."

As soon as he finished speaking, bright red blood seeped from his brow, forming a blood-colored banner.

He had completed his prayer, beseeching power from the Origins of Disaster, the Calamity of Destruction.

He had become the priest of war and apocalypse, the embodiment of destruction and chaos.

-x-X-x-

Sensing the change in Lumian's aura, the scorched banner-like 0–01 reacted immediately, its bloodstained surface rippling violently.

Deep within Lumian's heart, a surge of emotions such as terror, awe, and worship erupted. It felt as if the air above him transformed into a crushing mountain, an iron-forged hand pressing down on his head, forcing him to bow, break his spine, and bend his knees.

Instinctively, he wanted to submit. Yet this submission wasn't merely spiritual but encompassed his mind, body, and soul. If he yielded, he would immediately become a puppet of 0–01, stripped of his own will.

Lumian's body ignited in flames, his iron-black bones creaking and groaning under the strain.

The blood-red mark on his brow glowed even brighter, instilling him with renewed courage. It kept his head upright, resisting the pressure.

How could a Blessed of the City of Calamity submit to the Uniqueness of the Red Priest?

Drawing on the essential power he had prayed for in advance, Lumian staggered yet resolutely ascended the mountain of corpses.

Suddenly, Abscessed Hand Zedus—akin to a beautiful work of art—along with numerous steel puppets and undead soldiers, appeared before him. They formed a blockade, attempting to halt Lumian's advance.

At the same time, the numerous darkened bloodstains on the scorched banner regained their vibrancy.

This caused Lumian's three heads to feel an invisible force tearing at them, as if they were about to be ripped from his body along with their bloody spines.

The head on Lumian's left shoulder turned abruptly, and Alista Tudor's face, now softer and more beautiful, gazed at Zedus.

The puppet-like, blank-faced Abscessed Hand Zedus froze in place, motionless.

He felt as if He were facing Himself.

How could I be a traitor?

How could I fight against myself?

His confusion caused the steel puppets and undead soldiers following Him to stop as well.

Just as 0–01 was about to issue new orders, Alista Tudor's face tilted upward and looked at the scorched banner.

A resonance and recognition rippled through the void. The still-dormant 0–01, which was only acting reactively, suddenly calmed down.

Lumian's figure vanished and reappeared in front of Deity's Fallen Banner—0–01's other name.

He extended his right hand toward the iron-black flagpole.

Instantly, his body began to rot. The violet flames and the intricate metallic bones entwined with runes deteriorated, dripping with vile yellow-green pus.

His soul also began to die, his thoughts teetering on the brink of eternal slumber.

The head on Lumian's left shoulder straightened, the chaotic vortex face turning toward 0–01.

Decay, ruin, death, and eternal slumber—all of it paused momentarily, as though cowed by some force.

Some of this power converged toward the vortex face, becoming a fraction of the infinite possibilities it embodied.

Seizing the moment, Lumian grasped the ice-cold, sharp-edged flagpole.

Before 0–01 could fully awaken, still partially sealed, Lumian transformed into a towering steel giant wreathed in violet flames and forcibly pulled the bloodstained, scorched banner from the mountain of corpses.

Rumble!

The entire City of Exiles shook violently, as though struck by the most catastrophic earthquake in human history. Buildings collapsed, and fissures swallowed countless prisoners who couldn't escape in time.

Rumble!

The wasteland surrounding the mountain of corpses, along with the entire underground mausoleum, crumbled toward the Salinger's Blood Banner in Lumian's hand. Entire sections slid into the void, a chaotic blackness where time and space twisted as if condensing into a singularity.

The underground mausoleum was being destroyed, Morora was being annihilated—this was the mutated power caused by the Red Priest Uniqueness being corrupted by a tributary of the River of Eternal Darkness.

This destruction was about to engulf Lumian and the 0–01 in his grasp.

Caught in the chaotic space-time, Lumian couldn't escape. He stood atop the mountain of corpses, smiling as he raised the scorched, bloodstained banner like a soldier who had claimed the enemy's flag in battle.

The next second, he pressed 0–01 against the vortex face of the head on his left shoulder, embedding it in the brow of that faceless, chaotic visage.

0–01 trembled violently.

Without fully awakening from its seal, Lumian had inserted it into the face with no eyes, nose, or mouth—a chaos vortex—right into the middle of the brows.

Alista Tudor's face bellowed angrily, but He was powerless to snatch 0-01 from him.

Lumian didn't allow 0-01—the charred, blood-stained banner—to fully merge with the face of chaos. It was only embedded—half inside, half outside.

The liquid embodying all colors from the vortex seeped onto it. The collapse and destruction of the mausoleum and Morora slowed, and the vast wasteland haltingly stabilized, its descent into the void ceasing.

Lumian placed the strange dark-gold mask back over the vortex face, shielding the unseeable god and covering 0–01.

Above, grayish-white fog reappeared, with faint constellations shimmering in and out of view.

Starlight descended, merging with the strange mask and completing the basic sealing process.

Only 0–01 needed sealing, and only temporarily. There was no need to invoke the full power of Sefirah Castle as before.

The vortex face had ceased changing—blocking Its unique properties and concealing Its form sufficed.

When the mask was securely in place, the destruction of the mausoleum and Morora came to a complete stop. Parts of the city, already consumed by nothingness, began to repair. Collapsed buildings and rubble-strewn streets remained.

Once time and space stabilized, Lumian teleported away from the mountain of corpses.

Zedus and the other soldiers of 0–01 were sealed there, awaiting the day Lumian became the Red Priest to return to their ranks.

Lumian appeared on a relatively intact street in the City of Exiles, Morora. Surveying his surroundings, he broke into a smile.

High above, meteors streaked across the sky, blazing as they rained down upon the city.

Rumble!

Morora faced utter devastation. Its condemned prisoners finally met their apocalypse.

Amid the thick dust and smoke raised by the falling meteors, Lumian's figure vanished.

…

Trier, inside the luxurious villa.

Lumian's figure materialized in the center of the living room.

'Did you get 0–01?' Franca, who had been waiting, asked with both concern and curiosity.

Lumian chuckled. 'An item that was already sealed? Wouldn't it be easy?'

'I doubt it was that simple. The Church of Knowledge couldn't effectively use it; they could only seal it. You must have prepared extensively to succeed,' Franca said skeptically.

Lumian sank into a single-seater sofa, looking at Franca, Anthony, and Ludwig.

'A bit. First, I went to the Forsaken Land of the Gods and 'visited' the one worshiped by the Aurora Order.'

'And then?' Franca pressed.

Lumian chuckled. 'Then I gave Him two punches.'

'How is that preparation?' Franca exclaimed, caught between shock and amusement.

He really went and punched Him twice?

One punch was even on behalf of Red Angel Medici.

Lumian responded with a smile, 'Don't ask about the rest.

'Let's just say that with the apex power of the two Calamity pathways, Zedus's portion within me, Alista Tudor's face, and the unique properties of this head, I passed 0–01's trials and claimed this Grade 0 Sealed Artifact.'

As he spoke, Lumian flicked the strange dark-gold mask.

'What about 0–01?' Franca finally remembered to ask. 'You didn't accommodate it already, did you?'

'Of course not,' Lumian replied with amusement. 'While many things no longer affect me, there's one rule I must follow—or rather, something I must respect before completing what I set out to do.

'I can't disrupt the delicate balance of this body. If I were to accommodate 0–01 and Medici's Conqueror characteristics now, the balance of yin and yang would shatter instantly, and I'll be beyond saving. At that point, both the true gods and evil gods would have to face the monster They wouldn't like to see.'

Franca was enlightened. 'You'll need to find Primordial Demoness Cheek first and acquire Her Uniqueness and Sequence 1 Beyonder characteristics.'

'But the Primordial Demoness is still a true god, one that's free to act. The other true gods likely can't focus on dealing with Her,' Anthony voiced his concern.

'Don't worry,' Lumian said with a smile. 'A destined messiah will lend a hand. For every sin committed, there's an equal redemption to be made.'

'A temporary dual-path true god, combined with you as a King of Angels and the Tarot Club's Angels, does give us a shot,' Franca said, sitting up straighter, a fiery determination lighting her lake-blue eyes. 'Now the question is, how do we find Cheek?'

Lumian's expression turned adrift, as though recalling something he deliberately avoided thinking about.

He smiled again. 'Part of Cheek is within me. We share the strongest mystical connection. With it, we can ask Mr. Fool, the God of Knowledge and Wisdom, Queen Mystic, or Ma'am Hermit for effective prophecies or revelations.

'And besides…'

He pulled out the Post-Apocalyptic Scripture from his Traveler's Bag, laughing lightly.

'Let's see what kind of prophecy this damn book will offer.'

The ancient parchment book fluttered open in his hands.

When Lumian stopped flipping, silvery mercury-like words rapidly appeared on the exposed page: 'Lumian Lee will encounter Primordial Demoness Cheek in the World of Ruin.'