Chapter 478: Purgatory on Earth! (10k Words Chapter!)

Chapter 478: Purgatory on Earth! (A Ten-Thousand-Word Super Chapter!)

The old captain sat up in the crow's nest, puffing away at a pipe held in his left hand, while his right hand held a piece of salted, dried bacon, using it to chase the tobacco smoke.

Below him, the newly recruited crew members were being berated by the veteran sailors; they hadn't actually done anything wrong, but precisely because no fault could be found, the scolding was all the harsher.

At this moment, his small pirate ship had already left the dock, reaching the outer waters where the Island of Fire was still visible, exactly as Mr. Alfred had instructed.

Although it was hardly the right time to go "hunting" again, since the new crew still needed time to mesh, the old captain had decided to be obedient.

He had achieved nothing in his life, and after all his hard, bitter work, he had only managed to scrape together this small pirate ship; the lone magic crystal cannon on board was a mere prop that could not even fire, kept purely to maintain appearances.

In his entire life, he had never plundered a large vessel, nor had he ever found any treasure; after all, even a moderately sized merchant ship nowadays possessed stronger firepower than his, and in a boarding action, his ship had so few men that they could never gain an advantage in close-quarters combat.

In any case, he knew his old bones and arms could no longer wield a blade, and the water armor he could barely condense might not even stop a single enchanted bullet, and it would leave him so freezing cold that he would catch a severe cold upon waking the next day.

Thus, his ship's way of making a living was usually to collect protection fees from those native islands, or to charge small merchant fleets a fee for information, telling them about the recent movements of the great pirates as well as changes in ocean currents and weather.

At other times, he would buy local specialties high and sell them low to make a tiny profit on the price difference.

It could be said that he himself, just like this small pirate ship, was nothing but a drifter in these waters.

Therefore, he did not find it strange at all when his eldest son chose to rebel against him; young and strong men certainly did not like this kind of life, for they still harbored the surging passion belonging to pirates in their hearts.

Of course, when the rebellion failed and his eldest son died, he wasn't particularly heartbroken; not only did he have many sons, but he also had no idea which ones were biologically his.

When he was young and financially strapped, going out for a treat wasn't a matter of choosing a flavor for oneself; rather, everyone pooled their money together to share a single flavor of pastry for the night.

Then someone or other would get pregnant, dump the child on the ship, and say it belonged to you... to all of you.

As to exactly whose child it was among their group, no one knew; they weren't even sure if it belonged to their group at all.

Anyway, they just raised them regardless.

Among pirates, half were orphans who didn't know who their parents were.

Of the remaining half who weren't orphans, another half had too many fathers to tell who was who.

It was all a muddled accounts book, arriving in a muddle, and continuing on in a muddle.

The old captain had adopted a total of eleven sons; the reason he hadn't adopted any daughters wasn't because he favored boys over girls, but because daughters born to prostitutes could receive a small stipend from the Church of Mills, and there was an organization similar to an aid society that could help raise them.

As for boys, they became a losing proposition here; there wasn't much land out on the ocean that required farming, nor were there enough pastures for herding, and the one thing this place never lacked was desperate men coming to turn pirate.

Of the eleven sons, three died of illness, and none of them passed away in infancy; they all caught their illnesses right when they learned to speak and call him "Daddy."

Originally, the old captain could have saved up enough money to upgrade the outfitting of his small pirate ship, but the medical fees at the island's specialized hospital were very expensive, and the illnesses they caught were bizarre, draining more than half of the savings he had accumulated during his most profitable middle-aged years, yet the boys still couldn't be saved, and once a man starts walking down the hill from middle age, the old captain simply stopped caring.

He suddenly felt that a prop magic crystal cannon was quite nice; if he really got a real one, he would have to fret and ache over those terribly expensive magic stones.

There were three other sons who were no longer around; one got into an argument with someone in a brothel and was stabbed to death.

The old captain asked around and found out the killer belonged to one of the seven pirate factions; well, he wouldn't seek revenge then, he would just consider the boy to have died in vain.

Another was snatched away by a shark while swimming in the sea.

The last one had pretty good luck; while unloading cargo on a native island, he caught the eye of the chief's daughter, who dragged him straight into her tent to consummate the marriage, back then the boy had wept and cried, begging the captain to take him back, while his dark, sturdy daughter-in-law with eight nose rings just stood by smiling.

The old captain felt that this should be a rather good resting place; his daughter-in-law looked like a very steadfast person.

Just a while ago, the eldest of those remaining had died.

The old captain sighed, not for his deceased eldest son, but for his own muddled and chaotic life; when he was young, he still liked to lie in bed, holding a prostitute while speaking of his dreams.

As he gradually grew older, the prostitutes were no longer willing to give him a discount just to listen to his dreams.

The old captain pulled a brand-new notebook from his breast pocket; this was a gift from that Mr. Alfred, and before leaving, he had also given him a sum of extra points vouchers, instructing him that every once in a while, he could use the communication array to send a message according to the coordinates below.

He had asked that gentleman if he should leave a message only when encountering something like a "legend of treasure" or "rumors of a secret realm."

That gentleman had replied: No, even if you are in a good mood today and drink an extra cup of rum, you can still leave a message.

He didn't quite understand.

That gentleman said he believed that any coincidence occurring around his young master would possess a sense of inevitability.

The old captain scratched his head and briefly told that gentleman about his life as a drifting pirate, the implicit meaning being that on someone like him, you shouldn't waste your efforts... well, mostly shouldn't waste these points vouchers, as the usage fee for a communication array was very expensive.

Yet that gentleman had smiled and said: Once you encounter my young master, destiny will no longer follow its original trajectory.

"Sigh..."

The old captain sighed again; he truly couldn't comprehend the way these people thought, always speaking in riddles, and he simply couldn't relate to it.

Perhaps it was precisely because he couldn't understand that he had always remained merely a servant of the gods.

But this wasn't to blame on his lack of effort or piety; rather, not long after that small maritime church had taken him in, it was destroyed in a sectarian conflict.

Below, the veteran sailor had bullied the new recruit until the boy started crying.

The old captain listened with great interest, preparing to add another pinch of tobacco to the pipe in his hand.

Right at that moment,

A earth-shattering roar erupted from the Island of Fire ahead, and the clouds above the island were dyed a fiery red, followed by the appearance of a hideously monstrous and terrifying three-headed giant hound; even from his position so far away, the form of that ferocious beast could be clearly seen.

With a clatter,

The old captain's pipe fell, yet he gripped the notebook with a deathly tight clutch.

He suddenly began to believe what that gentleman had said.

Could it be,

That his destiny truly had undergone a change?

...

"It really is the Three-Headed Hound of Vice; to think that after being sealed for such a long period of time, it can still possess such a terrifying majesty."

"This is only natural; after all, at its peak, it was an existence that dared to offend our Lord."

"Brah, Dudley, help guard me."

"Laura, what do you mean by this?"

"Laura, what do you plan to do?"

Standing on the roof, Laura looked at the giant three-headed hound ahead,

And spoke:

"Although its aura is surging fiercely right now, I do not perceive much rage or brutality within its body; the endless ages of sealing have already scoured away the impurities within its soul.

I want to guide it, giving it the chance to return to its homeland, to return to the Abyss.

The Abyss is its true home, and our church can also gain a guardian beast because of this."

"Laura, have you forgotten the elders' instructions when we set out? We were strictly required to have only the right to witness, and no qualification to take action; the policy our church currently pursues is contraction and restraint."

"Do not be impulsive, Laura; we only need to confirm that this Three-Headed Hound of Vice no longer retains its hatred for our church, I do not believe there is any need to take risks to subdue it, as this might make matters worse."

"Brah, Dudley, do not forget that I am the leader of this three-man team."

"But we will not allow you to take matters into your own hands and violate the will of the elders."

"Yes, please do not be impulsive."

"In this era, the gods do not manifest, and the various powerful divine beasts and ferocious beasts tightly bound to the stories of the gods have also become rare; against this background, acquiring a newly awakened ferocious beast holds immense value for our church."

If it were ancient, if it were on the brink of collapse, if this were merely its final roar, then I would only stand here in silence, leave after witnessing what I desired to see.

But within its body, I sense youth and ignorance; this is the three-headed hound of sin, yet not the one of yesteryear, but its descendant of some unknown generation.

As of now, its bloodline memories have not yet awakened, its potential is immense, it is the true new beginning, and if we could possess it, in the future, it might very well evolve into a being of mythical beast status.”

“But according to the prophecy, are the gods not upon the verge of return?”

“Indeed, the events unfolding across all lands now and the various present omens all signify that a series of awakenings and revivals is commencing, the gods returning one after another, perhaps in the not-so-distant future!”

Facing her two companions who continued to dissuade her, Laura’s gaze narrowed slightly as she said in a deep voice:

“The gods return, and should our cult first possess a juvenile calamity beast, it means that within this new tide, we occupy the vanguard position; this is a new atmosphere, marking the rise of the Abyss.”

“You are mad, Laura.”

“Yes, Laura, you are mad.”

“I am different from you two, I can sense things you cannot perceive, and I can see matters deeper and further than you, trust me, this is a turning point, one I wish to seize, and even if the Elder were here, he would agree.”

“No, we do not agree.”

“Yes, we do not agree.”

“Then you may watch me be slain by accident while casting my spell, heh.”

Upon the rooftop, Laura began to relax her body, no longer deliberately controlling that natural, upward guidance, and her entire being subsequently floated into the air.

“Laura, you!”

“You will be punished!”

Laura ignored her companions’ words, and floating in midair, she beheld the crowd below frantically fleeing the streets, hearing the weeping of children and the shrieks of women.

Rest assured, I shall grant you peace.

Laura raised her left arm, a sacred radiance emanating from her person, and immediately after, a small tear seemed to open in the canopy of heaven, a beam of pure white splendor pouring down to form a halo that fell precisely upon her.

“In the name of my oath, break my seal, welcome the splendor of heaven, and bear witness to my angelic form!”

A halo slowly expanded from beneath Laura’s feet, and once it spread to a certain extent, the figure of an angel manifested from within the ring of light, her arms cradling her own body, the pure white wings behind her back slowly unfurling;

All around, the distinct sound of hymns began to echo, as though countless devout child believers were singing her praises.

Laura likewise crossed her arms over her own chest, her form and the angel behind her beginning to fuse into one.

Below, Bura and Deli witnessed this scene and exchanged a glance; once Laura began her move, they actually had no room left for choice, for as Forever Fallen, their mission was to protect the angel.

Bura walked toward the left, Deli toward the right, and flames of ash and white rose from both their bodies.

“Unseal!”

“Unseal!”

The physical seals broke, and the very houses beneath their feet exploded, unable to bear their weight; dust billowed upward and gradually settled, revealing two colossal black figures standing in their place.

A great swath of the original residents and the people fleeing on the streets were crushed to death instantly, yet the two figures still towered high, incomparably majestic.

A faint smile appeared at the corner of Laura’s mouth, and having completed her fusion with the angel, she reached out her hand, pointing toward the distant three-headed hound of sin:

“Giragon, deep within your soul, do you still hold the memories of your homeland?”

A ripple of light struck Giragon, and Giragon, who had been intently stacking building blocks of houses, shuddered, lifting his head in some confusion to look ahead, where he beheld a beam of white light flanked by black deep seas on either side.

In the next instant,

The imagery began to shift, and scenes that seemed long forgotten yet still flowed within his bloodline began to surface—those were the memories of his homeland.

Hell was once his home, now also known as the Abyss.

It could not be called particularly beautiful, nor was it very habitable, but a homeland is intrinsically an imprint steeped into the soul and bloodline by habit.

Until one day, a terrifying man appeared in his homeland.

His arrival utterly shattered the tranquility of this place, destroyed the balance here, intending for his will to transform into the laws of this domain.

Countless powerful existences launched attacks against him, only to have their bodies and souls shattered one by one.

It chose to lie low.

When that existence seemed to have departed, leaving behind only a puppet, it chose to strike, but because the other calamity beasts did not respond to its call, believing that man was still present, it ultimately failed.

The consequence of failure was that upon that man’s return, he would annihilate it.

It escaped.

It wished to return, had always wished to, this yearning for home forever engraved into its very bones, inheriting itself from generation to generation as a special sentiment.

“I now permit your return, to go and look upon the place where you once lived, to remain there, and restart this life of yours; the Abyss is your eternal destination.”

The angel wings behind Laura began to flap gently, streams of sacred radiance drifting toward Giragon, and gradually, on Giragon’s left dog head, which symbolized "Curse," a look of confusion and recollection emerged upon its face.

That was its homeland, and that was also its land of curse, but now, the curse could end, and it could return.

The dog head on the left let out a call, beginning to respond to Laura’s guidance.

Laura smiled, hooking her finger, and said:

“Come, follow us, return together with us, everything of the past has already ended, and when the great God of the Abyss returns anew, my Lord shall grant you the status of an abyssal mythical beast.

This is your opportunity, the turning point of your ascension.

Come,

I shall lead you,

Home!”

Giragon’s paces began to stride forward, advancing in Laura’s direction, though as he moved, each descent of his canine legs was very light, trying his best to minimize the tremors caused by his immense bulk.

Laura’s arms opened wide, assuming a posture of embrace, and the angel behind her struck the exact same pose, the angel’s gaze full of maternal love, like a mother summoning you home.

Giragon continued to advance toward Laura, the face of the left dog head now entirely consumed by recollection and obsession.

“Roar…”

This distant cry was a call for home.

……

When the three-headed fiend hound appeared, Old Wembott had already been protected and seated inside the carriage.

“Master… it is out, it is out!”

Old Wembott smiled faintly and asked, “Have the clansmen and property been transferred?”

“Replying to the Master, the clansmen of the three families and the property that could be moved have all been transferred.”

“Good.” Old Wembott closed his eyes, placing his palms on his knees, his fingertips tapping gently, while everyone inside the carriage awaited the patriarch’s decision.

Yet what Old Wembott was pondering now was not what the people around him imagined; what surfaced in his mind was that previous young man placing a hand on his shoulder and saying to him: You are old.

As a truly excellent old pirate, he trusted his intuition far more than he trusted his own children, and upon seeing that young man, Old Wembott clearly felt a peculiar sensation in his heart.

However, these "details" could be disregarded for now, after all, the existence sleeping beneath the volcano had already awakened.

Old Wembott opened his eyes, his gaze, which had been rendered somewhat mellow by old age, turning sharp once more at this moment.

“Let it begin.”

Old Winbote closed his eyes again after speaking, thinking to himself:

I hope our ancestors didn't make up stories to glorify themselves in the family annals just for the sake of appearances.

...

"By order of the Patriarch, begin!"

"Begin!"

Milice leaned on his cane, standing atop a high platform and gazing down. He sighed with emotion:

"I hope the annals of the Deland family aren't a fabrication, or else everything will be for nothing."

Beside him, a noblewoman stroked the head of her son—the current patriarch of the Watson family—as she spoke: "I believe it cannot be false. After all, the records exist not only in the Deland family, but in your Castle family and my Watson family histories as well."

Milice shook his head and said, "Our families were originally split off from the Deland family. This kind of corroboration doesn't count."

"Mother, what are they going to do?"

The young Watson patriarch pointed down at the hundreds of children kneeling on the ground and asked.

Celine immediately replied to her son in a gentle voice: "Son, they are proving their lineage to the ancestors. They are doing a very great thing."

"Is that so? Then can I go too?"

"No, you are the patriarch."

"The patriarch? Shouldn't the patriarch be the first to go for something like this? I remember that line from the words you made me memorize for the family inner council banquet. I remember saying it myself."

Celine kissed her son's forehead gently and exhorted:

"Yes, as the patriarch, you only need to use your mouth to say it. The deeds are left for the people below to do. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Mother."

"Good boy. My son is so smart."

Milice, the patriarch of the Castle family standing nearby, didn't even look over, but in his heart, he had already marked the Watson family's future development with a "downward trend" label.

A woman who thought herself clever, educating her son in such a self-indulgently clever way; for the next few decades, the Watson family would likely remain just like this.

But this woman was lucky to have run into this opportune moment. If the Deland family could control this massive three-headed hound, their strength would inevitably receive a massive boost.

Although the original three families on Fire Island would completely become a single dominant power because of this, even if they lost part of their autonomy, both families would obtain a better development environment than they had now. It was still very much worth it.

At this moment, accompanied by the repeated commands of "begin" being passed along, the altar below was fully activated.

In the center of the altar was a red pool. The bottom of the pool was paved with fire-attributed crystals. Along with the activation of the altar, a red vine grew upward, as if it had just rapidly completed a whole series of processes from rooting to sprouting.

Immediately afterward, a bright little red flower bloomed at the very top of the vine, and a truly scorching aura began to permeate the air.

"Thud..."

"Thud..."

Hundreds of children bearing the surname Deland were forced to kneel all around the pool. Some of them were oblivious and were even laughing, because this was merely a game—in fact, that was exactly what the adults had told them.

"The number seems a bit too large," Celine said.

Milice nodded and replied, "Because they are all from collateral branches and bastards, the Deland family bloodline in their bodies is naturally quite thin and impure. Old Winbote is loath to sacrifice core descendants, so he can only win by quantity."

"Should collateral branches and bastards be treated like this?"

Milice smiled. He knew this woman came from a humble background, but she really was amusing. She had just educated her son, yet now she herself was starting to become emotional:

"Your son will be the direct main line from now on."

Celine was at a loss for words. She silently lowered her head and continued to watch the development of events.

The vines below the red flower split into slender branches at this moment. Upon touching these children, they immediately pierced into their skin, and for a time, agonized screams rang out continuously.

Their blood was drawn out, and after being purified, it was infused into that little red flower.

Upon seeing this scene, the young Watson patriarch immediately covered his eyes and cried out, "No, don't do this. Mother, don't do this."

Celine immediately held her son tightly and comforted him: "This is their glory, son. This is their glory. Because of their sacrifice, this world will become a better place."

Milice coughed and said, "You should learn to be strong, little Watson."

Celine glared at Milice. She didn't want anyone else teaching her son.

Heh.

Milice sneered in his heart, not recognizing good intentions. This child's grandfather had also been an old fox who stood on equal footing with him, and the two of them had intrigued against each other for most of their lives.

You never expected this, did you? Your grandson is such a useless piece of trash.

Suddenly, Milice noticed that the little red flower was growing larger and becoming more vibrant.

He shouted excitedly:

"Success! It's a success! There really are traces of the Fire God's bloodline within the Deland family! But it must have degraded and declined long ago, otherwise it wouldn't have degenerated into a family belief system."

Below, accompanied by the painful cries of a multitude of children, a burst of excited cheering erupted.

It could be said that the sacrificial ritual had already succeeded by reaching this point, because it verified the nobility of the Deland family bloodline.

A middle-aged man walked out carrying a box. He was old Winbote's son and the next successor to the patriarch's position—Roban Deland.

Behind Roban, dozens of family elders dressed in dark red robes stepped forward. They raised their hands, chanting family poems while radiating the power of family belief.

Rings of red light condensed above them, then gradually converged in front of Roban.

Roban opened the box and took out a long-rusted nail from within.

The nail seemed to be attracted by the continuously growing red flower, floating up on its own and falling into the center of the blossom.

In an instant,

The red flower bloomed completely, directly painting this entire hillside.

Roban closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he found that his vision had suddenly become towering.

A massive figure of an ancestor appeared above the hillside, and it was not the Fire God.

However, the flames rising from this ancestor's body gave him a mysterious texture, becoming incomparably majestic, especially under the blessing of forces such as the bloodline and the nail.

Roban spoke, and the phantom of the ancestor spoke as well:

"Giragon, do you still remember me?"

Giragon, who was carefully avoiding buildings and crowds to make his way toward Laura, heard the voice, and the hound head in the middle looked toward the figure on that hillside.

It froze, and in a daze, a terrifying figure from its memory began to overlap with the existence before its eyes.

Once, Giragon, who had fled from the abyss, was discovered by the Fire God. The Fire God wanted to subdue it, but how could Giragon, who dared to resist and offend even the God of the Abyss, be willing to submit at the feet of a deity who wasn't even a main god?

So Giragon had shown disdain and contempt for the Fire God at that time. This was even easier to enrage a god than an offense, because gods were often the proudest existences in the world.

The Fire God took action personally and defeated Giragon. To appease his wrath, the Fire God sealed Giragon on Fire Island, intending to use the power of time to melt it down, waiting to absorb it himself.

Clearly, the Fire God did not manage to wait until the "result," and furthermore, he had not disappeared after the end of the last era, but had gone missing during the second half of the last era.

And unlike the speculation regarding the Light God's fall, there were many signs indicating that the Fire God had perished.

But as for how exactly he perished, there was currently no definitive explanation, and it was even harder to demonstrate.

However, there were two mainstream guesses within the circle of many divine historians.

One hypothesis suggests that the God of Order struck, causing the fall of the God of Flame.

After all, at the end of the last era, the God of Order slaughtered deities in a state of madness; one more blame laid at his door mattered little, and in all likelihood, it was probably true.

The second hypothesis contends that, following a battle with the God of Order, the heavily wounded and dying God of Flame was forced to step into the Divine Burial Ground on his own accord—a theory that echoed another conjecture, which claimed the God of Order suppressed the Divine Burial Ground.

In short, if the fall of a god at the end of the last era was not linked to the God of Order, it seemed that god simply lacked sufficient prestige.

As for the traditional Church of Flame, it had long since splintered, and many of the churches currently worshipping flame merely inherited fragments of the ancient Church of Flame's legacy.

Robin spoke up:

"Gylagon, I now grant you absolution for your sins, offering you true salvation and freedom. However, you must submit to me and enter into a master-servant contract with my clan; otherwise, what awaits you is yet another endless imprisonment!

The next sealing will cause your body and soul to dissolve completely!"

Fear flickered in the eyes of Gylagon’s middle hound-head; when it had once cast disdain and contempt upon the God of Flame, it had not feared him, nor had it feared him upon being defeated by his hand.

Yet, the imprisonment of endless eons had bred terror within it—the torment of being sealed generation after generation in that tiny space beneath the volcano, unable to move, forced to rely on its own flesh and soul as nourishment to breed subsequent generations, was an atrocity of true horror.

It did not wish to be sealed again; it began to shift its stride, walking toward that hillside, toward that figure so closely resembling the God of Flame.

Beside Robin, expressions of joy bloomed on the faces of the Delan family members; once the master-servant contract was signed, using that legendary spike left behind when the God of Flame sealed Gylagon as the token of the covenant, this terrifying beast would belong entirely to the Delan family.

Naturally, the Delan family and the Lomaford Alliance were not so naive as to believe that possessing a single fierce beast would suffice to challenge the Church of Order, but it would be enough to make the Church of Order discern precisely which house was truly worthy of support and sponsorship!

All the pirates' efforts were merely to become better hounds for Order.

Even though the Delan family had proven they possessed an exceptionally thin trace of the God of Flame’s lineage, and even though the accepted consensus tied the fall of the God of Flame inextricably to the God of Order, the Delan family had never once considered seeking vengeance against the Church of Order for the sake of the God of Flame—they would have to be mad!

Gylagon walked toward the hillside with somewhat uncoordinated movements, occasionally causing the buildings beneath its feet to collapse with a careless step; the flames upon its body also scattered slightly as it walked, raining down upon the earth and eliciting screams from the refugees on the island.

At this, a look of apology and regret surfaced in Gylagon’s eyes; it could only do its best to maintain its faltering pace, while simultaneously drawing in its fur, which was thick with elemental fire, to prevent it from drifting away.

…

The Array Hall.

The hunchbacked youth continuously absorbed power from within Taafman, and a strange, flushed hue began to manifest across his otherwise pale countenance.

Confronted by such an Elder of Light, the believers brought along by Taafman dared not approach, sensing that this Elder's identity completely subverted their very understanding of Light.

The hunchbacked youth paid them no mind; he disdained to bother with these small fry now, and keeping them around would serve a purpose later—after all, once a renegade was disposed of, someone still needed to carry out his bidding.

To the side, Karen had already gestured, signaling all his subordinates not to act rashly, and under no circumstances to deploy the power of Order.

Watching Taafman, whose life was being continuously drained, Karen wished to save him, but the strength of the hunchbacked youth filled him with trepidation; even if he were to strike, he had to wait for an opportunity, as rushing forward in a fit of hotheadedness would merely throw away lives in vain.

The adversary likely remained unaware of their identities, for he was too proud to spare even a single word for those below; if so, perhaps there was still a chance for a sneak attack?

Dammit,

If this fellow hadn't teleported here ahead of schedule, he would have already led everyone away through the teleportation array by now.

At this moment, the earth began to tremble continuously, and the scorching aura permeating the air drifted into the hall.

Pu'er kept her mouth shut, uttering not a word, her feline face pressed tightly against Karen’s arm, but in her heart, she knew that the useless dog had awakened.

Crouching nearby, Kevin had initially scrutinized the hunchbacked youth with curious canine eyes; from him, it sniffed out a fair number of familiar scents, considering it had personally exiled the Divine Burial Ground back then.

Kevin was now inclined to believe that this fellow might truly have entered the Divine Burial Ground… though likely not by finding it on his own; it possessed great confidence in its own craftsmanship, and barring itself, who had deliberately left behind coordinates, no one should have been able to locate the precise position of the Divine Burial Ground.

But what if a certain deceased yet "resurrected" entity, or entities, within the Divine Burial Ground had actively drawn someone in?

Why draw someone of Light?

Because while the power of Light could be converted into other elemental attributes, it also meant the inclusivity of Light could accommodate many… attachments.

In Kevin’s eyes, this hunchbacked youth was a "monstrosity" pieced and patched together; he absorbed life force not to recover, but to sustain himself, because the aura of "death" upon his body was too pervasive, and to prolong his own countdown, he could only resort to this crude and bloody method.

Just then, Karen noticed a slight twitching of Taafman's fingertips.

This was undoubtedly a "hand signal" directed at him, for within this hall, Taafman could only be conversing with him.

Was he telling him to prepare for cooperation?

Did Taafman, who seemingly had been entirely subdued and turned into an "offering," still possess the chance to launch one final, violent outburst?

Karen steadied his breathing, adjusting his state; if that were the case, he had to coordinate his actions with Taafman, for once they were trapped here for too long, their identities would inevitably be exposed.

The Church of Order spared no effort in crushing the Church of Light; likewise, if people of Order fell into the hands of Light, their end would certainly be grim.

"Hehehe, hahahahaha…"

The hunchbacked youth suddenly burst into laughter; he thrust his hand upward, causing a section of the ceiling above the hall to melt away instantly, and his entire form soared into the air, while below, Taafman remained fixed in place to serve as a nourishment flask, for the hunchbacked youth was entirely confident that no one could oppose him at this juncture.

This was not an intentional lapse born of carelessness, but rather a reflection of his mind, which was no longer sane; when a person was patched together with all manner of inconceivable things, maintaining calm and objectivity became nigh impossible.

"The thing I released with my own hands—what, do you all intend to snatch it? Hahaha, do you even deserve it?"

The hunchbacked youth looked toward the distant, slowly advancing Sinful Three-Headed Hound of the Abyss, raising his left hand to claw at his own chest.

"Pfft!"

His chest caved inward, and from within, he dragged out a cluster of pure, soft light, though this power of Light seemed entirely discordant with his current self.

Then, he halted his movements, for originally he could have borrowed the purifying power of the Tower of Light to draw that three-headed hound toward him, yet now, the hound’s attention was clearly divided.

Consequently, he forcibly stuffed the power of Light, which he had gone to great lengths to unearth from within himself, back where it came from.

His neck gave a bizarre twitch as he let out a low growl; a deep gray flame erupted from beneath his feet, burning furiously and expanding instantly to coalesce into a monstrous phantom face.

Below, Alfred placed his hand upon Karen’s shoulder, transmitting via a spiritual channel: "Young master, it is the aura of a Bewitching Aberrant Demon, and one of an exceptionally high tier. I can no longer find words to describe its rank; it has already surpassed the ultimate limits of an Aberrant Demon."

"Woof, woof."

Having received a reminder from Kevin, Alfred immediately transmitted to Karen spiritually: "It is a slumbering entity from the Divine Burial Ground, one of the progenitors of the Bewitching Aberrant Demons—Blaizte."

The massive phantom face first unleashed a series of chuckles, a sound that instantly arrested Gylagon's attention.

The phantom face spoke: "I am your friend, I am the one most worthy of your trust; we are both wretched souls abandoned and forgotten by this world.

Therefore,

Where has the wrath amassed from endless eons of imprisonment gone? The grievance and resentment of having your homeland usurped, the humiliation of defeat—have you forgotten all of these!

It was I who granted you true freedom, and the purpose for which I gave you freedom was so that you might fully unleash your true nature.

Go,

Vent your emotions upon this world; let them all understand the agony you once endured!

Go destroy,

Go burn,

Go trample,

Go annihilate everything here!"

As Blaizte’s bewitching power spilled forth, the eyes of Gylagon’s right hound-head, which represented "Annihilation," instantly turned into swirling vortexes of gray.

The hunchbacked youth asked with a smile, "Did it succeed?"

The phantom face replied hideously, "I merely pushed the final building block."

"Roar!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Three hound-heads, three different consciousnesses pulling, threatening, and bewitching; at this very moment, Gylagon’s consciousness fell into absolute chaos.

It knew not where it was, it knew not what it was to do, it knew not even why it should exist.

It was but a mere child.

This chaotic tempest of emotion and thought finally collapsed all remaining reason at this very moment, transforming into a terrifying, suffocating vexation capable of melting a soul.

It began to roar, it began to howl, it had gone mad.

The left hound-head spewed horrific lava toward the town ahead, where houses, flora, and the very earth itself began to burn wherever the magma flowed;

The right hound-head summoned a dense cascade of meteors from the heavens,

Charred craters opened one after another as the town was bombarded, all life near the hollows vaporized in an instant;

The middle hound-head, in a frenzy, opened its maw to suck violently at the ground, its long tongue sweeping out as crowd after crowd ahead was drawn into its mouth to be chewed, emitting a relentless, crisp snapping sound.

Despair, weeping, and wailing became the theme song of this moment, while the Fire Island was degenerating into a veritable living hell.

No one could notice that as this three-headed hound wreaked continuous destruction and slaughter, from the corners of its three pairs of eyes, crystal tears were glistening.

It was, originally, gentle.