Chapter 398: Fusion

Looking at the strange and sinister-looking young man, the man in green suddenly shouted, "Hey! Who are you?"

The young man sat calmly inside the serpent's mouth, curiously examining his own palm. He ignored the man in green's question entirely.

Sensing danger, the man in green extended his hand once more. His other hand morphed into a massive, hook-like claw covered in suction cups, which slashed toward the young man inside the serpent's mouth with lightning speed.

Slash!!

With a crisp sound, the massive serpent's mouth was completely pierced by the hook.

Yet, the young man had silently vanished from within. He now hovered above the serpent's open jaws, floating in midair without any visible support—no wings, no external force—just effortlessly suspended.

The man in green stared blankly at the floating young man, swallowing hard.

The next moment, the young man disappeared again. When he reappeared, he was high above the deep blue Mediterranean Sea. Below, several gleaming white yachts rocked on the waves. On the decks, a group of stunning young models clustered around a wealthy tycoon, their laughter and chatter filling the air.

Suddenly, the tycoon froze and removed his sunglasses. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief as he gazed at the floating figure in the sky.

"Holy shit," he muttered.

The models lifted their heads, momentarily stunned into silence.

The young man looked down at the ocean beneath him and casually waved his hand.

In an instant, an enormous wave surged skyward, forming a colossal tsunami nearly a hundred meters tall. As the monstrous wave loomed over them, the yachts pitched wildly at a terrifying sixty-degree angle.

"AHHHHH!!!!"

Horrified screams erupted from the people aboard, their panic echoing across the sea.

Yet, from high above, their cries sounded no louder than the buzzing of insects—far too insignificant to catch the young man's attention.

He waved his hand again. In an instant, the towering wave froze solid, transforming into a hundred-meter-tall glacier.

On the yacht beneath the frozen behemoth, the tycoon fell to his knees before the miraculous sight. He clutched his own shoulders, loudly praying, shouting over and over:

"Khalifa! Khalifa! Khalifa! Khalifa!"

As he cried out, he repeatedly bowed his head to the ground, banging it against the deck.

Around him, the models collapsed in disarray, kneeling alongside him in frantic worship. They kowtowed with desperate fervor, resembling members of some frenzied cult ritual.

But Hoffa knew nothing of this. Or rather, the fused entity of Miller/Hoffa's consciousness, floating midair, raised his arm for the third time.

At once, the glacier before him changed—from transparent ice into a perfectly smooth, mirror-like surface a hundred meters tall, flawless and gleaming.

Suspended before the mirror, the fusion entity stared at his own unfamiliar yet oddly familiar reflection. The body was strikingly well-proportioned, covered in intricate violet markings. His pale golden eyes were as sharp as an eagle's, yet his face retained a delicate, almost androgynous beauty—bearing a resemblance to Miranda. This stirred a sense of admiration within him.

"I think I've become even more handsome than before," he murmured.

A thought crossed his mind, and he touched his own face with satisfaction. "Aiya will definitely like me like this. My sister will love it too."

As he spoke, his expression darkened. His voice dropped to a whisper.

"But... my sister wouldn't allow me to keep playing like this. My time is running out. Aiya... will I see you again? Will you forgive me?"

Far in the distance, in the city of Genoa, a monstrous serpent suddenly sprouted countless tentacle-like wings. With a deafening roar, it took flight from the city, hurtling toward the sea. As the storm howled in its wake, the enormous creature charged straight toward the colossal mirror.

The fusion entity stood before the mirror, raising his hand without turning around.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to disturb someone when they're looking in the mirror?"

From his fingertips, an overwhelming surge of magical energy condensed, stripping all the surrounding air away, plunging the sky into an eerie silence.

Within that vacuum, the airborne serpent lunged at the fusion entity, its gaping maw wide enough to swallow him whole, though he was barely a fraction of its size.

Then, in an instant, a silent explosion erupted. The fusion entity pressed his palm against the serpent's snout.

Boom!

A shockwave detonated through the air.

The ocean split apart under the sheer force of the blast. The serpent, over a hundred meters long, was flung backward like a ragdoll, crashing into Genoa with a deafening impact. The impact crushed every structure within the ancient city—its once-stunning architecture reduced to utter ruin in mere seconds.

"HISSSSS!!!"

The colossal serpent let out an earth-shaking shriek, its wings beating frantically as it took to the skies once more.

But now, it had undergone a complete metamorphosis. Its serpentine body was no longer just scales and flesh—grotesque, writhing tentacles and countless mismatched limbs had fused into its form. Its single head had multiplied into three.

As it flapped its grotesque wings, the ruined city below miraculously restored itself. Then, coiling through the sky, the serpent encircled the fusion entity and the massive mirror, trapping them within its spiraling form.

The sight resembled something out of mythology—a battle between gods.

On the yachts below, the sheer terror of the scene shattered the minds of the humans watching. Unable to withstand the overwhelming pressure, they turned to stone where they stood—silent, frozen statues.

This time, however, the serpent did not immediately attack. Instead, it fixed its merciless, glowing yellow eyes on the fusion entity, emanating a crushing aura of annihilation.

At last, the fusion entity stopped admiring himself in the mirror. He didn't dodge. He didn't flinch.

Instead, he stared right back.

One gaze.

An unimaginable clash of spiritual force erupted in silence.

The serpent's scales shattered all at once. Two of its three heads exploded on the spot. It howled in agony, its blood and flesh raining down into the sea, causing tidal waves in every direction.

The fusion entity smirked. Raising his hand once more, he pointed a single finger toward the heavens.

A rain of massive meteors began to fall.

One after another, enormous meteors crashed into the city, obliterating it again and again. Yet, each time the city was destroyed, it regenerated almost instantly.

Still, the meteors showed no sign of stopping. As they continued their relentless bombardment, molten lava flowed freely, thick smoke and poisonous miasma filled the air—a scene of pure apocalypse.

Meanwhile, the fusion entity, still admiring his own reflection in the mirror, cast a sideways glance at the endlessly regenerating city.

"How many times can you recover?" he mused. "I could keep playing like this for months."

The serpent, blood gushing from its last remaining head, let out a defiant roar toward the heavens.

"Who are you?"

The fusion entity chuckled softly, his golden eyes gleaming.

"Who am I?"

The fusion in front of the mirror froze for a moment, as if just now realizing the issue.

"I am... Hoffa Gorshak?"

Muttering to himself, the fusion shook his head. How boring.

Being called Miller Bach didn't seem any better.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up. Floating in midair, he burst into laughter. "Hey, Great Serpent, names aren't that important to a supreme being like me. But for the sake of entertainment, you can call me—Mihawk."

"Mihawk?"

"Yeah."

"Look into my eyes—don't they resemble an eagle's?" The fusion pulled down his lower eyelid.

Instinctively, the Great Serpent glanced at those strange golden eyes. In that instant, an overwhelming spiritual force struck it again, and its last remaining head exploded completely in midair.

At that moment, it lost all semblance of a serpent, transforming into a larger, uglier, and even more twisted version of a nightmare god. It twisted and wailed in the sky, emitting an inhuman sound.

The fusion's expression remained cold. He extended his hand, and in a surge of simple yet terrifying magical energy, an enormous magic sword—formed entirely of pure magical power—materialized in his palm.

"Goodbye."

He swung the colossal magic sword lightly.

With an unparalleled wave of spiritual and magical energy, the entire city of Genoa was struck by the sword's arc, reduced to nothing but ashes.

As the smoke and dust settled, Hoffa slowly opened his eyes. He found himself sitting cross-legged outside the ruins of ancient Genoa. A lonely, howling wind swept past him, carrying dust across his face. The sky above was a dull, murky yellow. There was no longer any trace of a clear blue sky—everything was shrouded in gray.

A soft sensation in his hands made him instinctively lower his head.

He was kneeling on the ground, holding someone in his arms, his head buried in their shoulder. The other person was also holding him, their head resting on his shoulder.

They remained in this strange, intertwined posture, kneeling together.

After a few seconds of stunned silence, Hoffa finally realized what had just happened. He abruptly leaped to his feet—only for the person kneeling with him to do the same. Their movements were so synchronized, they resembled the most skilled ballet partners.

The moment they stood up, Hoffa and Miller instinctively pushed each other away and stood apart.

They glanced at the ruined, desolate city in front of them before locking eyes once more.

And with just one look, they simultaneously took a step backward.

Everything that had just happened was still fresh in their minds, but now that they had separated from the fusion, neither of them wanted to recall it—that feeling of sharing the exact same memories, the complete merging of emotions, the utter lack of privacy, all laid bare to the other.

"Just now—"

"Just now—"

They spoke at the same time, only to realize they had said the exact same thing.

"You better not tell anyone!"

"You better not tell anyone!"

(Still in sync.)

"Forget it ever happened!"

"Forget it ever happened!"

"Ahh!"

"Ahh!"

Both of them clutched their heads and screamed in agony.

"Damn it, stop copying me!"

"Damn it, stop copying me!"

"Ahh!"

"Ahh!"

Outside the desolate, abandoned ancient city, their identical cries echoed in unison.

It was unclear how long it took, but eventually, Hoffa and Miller managed to break free from their terrifying state of synchronized resonance.

As they walked through the ruined city, they deliberately mismatched their steps—making sure they never walked in sync again.

At this moment, where was the beauty of Genoa as it appeared in the illusion? The streets were covered in thick dust and debris. The shop windows and glass panels groaned wearily under the force of the howling wind. Abandoned cars littered the streets, their years of neglect unknown—just like a Western town a hundred years after the gold rush, empty and desolate.

The two walked through the city in silence, yet their minds were filled with their own secret thoughts. Hoffa couldn't help but repeatedly savor the memories and emotions he had observed. The more he recalled, the itchier his heart felt. Those intricate and deeply intertwined emotions were impossible to put into words.

As they walked, he stole a glance at Miller. Miller followed behind him in a daze, seemingly lost in thought. But the moment Hoffa looked at him, he erupted in fury, leaping up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "What are you looking at? Don't stare, don't overthink! Just focus on your damn task!" he bellowed.

Hoffa silently withdrew his gaze, convinced that Miller was absolutely overthinking something. But what had Miller seen?

Had he glimpsed fifty years into the future? Had he witnessed those six thousand cycles? Hoffa wasn't sure. If all six thousand cycles were stacked together, it would probably be enough to make a person's head explode.

A pile of stacked corpses brought the two to a halt.

They had arrived in front of a grand cathedral. The main doors were tightly sealed, while near the side entrance, an enormous heap of shriveled black corpses lay discarded. These mummified remains had been disemboweled, their innards removed like ancient Egyptian mummies. They were piled carelessly together, bodies twisted in all directions, numbering in the thousands—filling the entire street.

Gazing at the densely packed corpses, Hoffa gradually regained his composure from his trance-like state, his mood growing heavy.

If he and Miller had unknowingly stepped into an illusion, then the others who had come here likely had as well. But for them, the fate awaiting them was the cruel theft of their hearts and livers.

"Burn them," Hoffa ordered expressionlessly.

Without a word, Miller spread his arms in the ruined city. Raging flames burst from his palms, sweeping across the street, reducing the nameless corpses to ashes.

As thick smoke billowed into the sky, Hoffa murmured, "Sylby, is this what you wanted? Hah, but why would you even care? You didn't do this with your own hands—what does it have to do with you? You must have had some grand ideal, some lofty concept in mind. And these insignificant ants… how could they ever matter to you?"

Half an hour later, the fire had burned the bodies to nothing, revealing a small doorway on the now pale, scorched street.

This had originally been the cathedral's side entrance, but it had been blocked by the discarded corpses.

"I think we've found them," Miller said. "There are traces of magical protection here."

"Ah. Let's go," Hoffa replied indifferently.

He grabbed Miller's hand, and the two of them ghost-walked out of the physical world.

Silently passing through layers of magical traps and physical defenses, they arrived at a grand hall.

In the center of the hall stood a colossal statue of the Nightmare God. Beneath it, countless iron beds floated in midair, densely packed like the hanging platforms in an underground parking lot. They stretched from the dim ceiling down to the pitch-black floor, numbering in the hundreds or thousands.

Hoffa moved soundlessly past the iron beds. The frail figures lying on them resembled the patients he had seen in the New York hospital—emaciated, withered, their bodies connected to the Blood of the World and its diluting agents, lost in the depths of their dreams.

Not far away, several figures clad in black robes moved among the beds, carrying boxes and methodically inspecting the old men lying there. Without a doubt, those boxes contained the replacement organs.

As they worked, the black-robed figures whispered among themselves.

"We need to find a way to get the Order of the Phoenix involved in this."

"That won't be easy. Would a wizard like Dumbledore really fall for this?"

"How will we know if we don't try? The Dark Lord is enjoying it quite a bit."

"Shh! Are you insane? Watch what you say!"

"What's there to fear? I checked—everyone's sound asleep. Trust me, once the Order of the Phoenix gets hooked, we'll be closer than ever to reaching the top of this world."

Hoffa leaned against the wall, listening for a moment. Then, without disturbing the Death Eaters engaged in their grim organ trade, he walked straight toward the Nightmare God's statue.

Beneath the towering statue, a man in green robes clutched a bottle of pale purple World's Blood. Slumped in a chair, his head tilted to the side, he was fast asleep.

Hoffa and Miller approached the man.

Miller studied his face and remarked, "It really is Riddle. Haven't seen him in ages… what happened to his face? Was it burned?"

Hoffa crouched down and patted Tom's scarred, almost charred face. Then, leaning close to his ear, he called out:

"Hey, old classmate… it's morning."

(End of Chapter)

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