Chapter 701: Outbreak of Divine Pollution

Chapter 701: The Outbreak of Divine Pollution

"Where are last night's leftovers?"

Mavallo asked as he stepped out of the kitchen, addressing Ghasper, who sat working in the living room.

Without looking up, Ghasper replied, "I got hungry while working late last night, so I ate them."

"All of it?"

"Yes."

"Come on, you couldn't have saved a little for me?"

"Sorry, I didn't think about it." Ghasper raised her head to look at Mavallo. "I'm still not used to having a roommate."

She answered sincerely, meaning she hadn't intentionally ignored his existence, but rather hadn't learned how not to ignore him yet.

Mavallo walked to the coffee table, beneath which sat two trash cans filled with pig's trotters and chicken feet—Xili had prepared braised dishes for them the night before.

Seeing this, Mavallo bent down and began to tidy up the trash cans.

Ghasper's expression turned a bit unnatural as she said, "Sorry..."

"It's fine, I know you aren't used to cleaning up yourself."

"No, I know how to do this, I just wanted to finish my work first."

"But work requires a proper environment. Do you like working in a pile of garbage?"

"Of course not."

The Son of God finished handling the trash cans. The reason he hadn't wanted servants when he lived here before was that, having traveled to take care of his grandfather, he possessed basic self-care skills; at the very least, he wouldn't let himself live in a pigsty.

But clearly, his fiancée was different.

Ghasper felt somewhat uncomfortable with the situation. She was a workaholic who resented yet had to accept this marriage, which was all true, but she wasn't severely autistic like Philomena after all. She possessed social skills, so she knew this situation was wrong.

The Son of God said, "How about this: I'll handle cleaning the house once every day from now on. As for chores... they shouldn't be too much, so I'll take care of them all."

"Then what about me? What do I need to do?"

"Just take a little care of the place. You don't need to do the rest. Oh, and if there's anything delicious, remember to leave some for me when you eat."

Mavallo made this decision without any romantic sentiment; it was purely because the Son of God himself was a bit of a clean freak.

"I understand. So, we're not looking for a servant anymore?"

"I still don't plan to. After tasting the food made by Karen's maid, I don't think I can stomach anyone else's cooking. You might not know, but in Wien, judging the quality of a person's culinary skills depends on how much they use bean paste to ruin the food."

"The dishes she makes are indeed delicious," Ghasper admitted. "But she is Karen's maid. Although we will live very close after moving, it seems a bit inappropriate to always use someone else's maid."

"It's fine, you just need a thick skin." Mavallo pinched his own cheek. "Between friends, there's no need to be too polite."

"Alright."

"Oh, right, I'm going to the headquarters building in a while to do the basic preparations before the research."

"Go ahead."

Mavallo stood still.

Ghasper looked up again, watching him with a hint of confusion.

"I've seen it in movies and novels—if it's a husband and wife relationship, when the husband goes out, the wife should at least see him off."

Ghasper said, "This is at home."

"Alright, I know this is at home, but aren't you going to rehearse a bit? Otherwise, how can we guarantee our acting skills outside?"

Ghasper stood up, walked to the door, opened it, and then looked at Mavallo.

Mavallo smiled and nodded, opening his mouth to speak. "My dear, I'm going..."

"Dry heave!!"

Originally, Mavallo had intended to play a joke. He had noticed when changing the trash cans earlier that this seemingly cold, workaholic fiancée of his actually possessed a tiny bit of sensitivity deep down in her heart.

Like a female falcon that looked very fierce, but was actually highly intelligent.

Fine, since you made me take the syringe, I'll use it as a water gun to squirt water on your face.

But only halfway through his mischief, he bent straight over and dry-heaved violently. No matter how one looked at it, this went far beyond the level of a joke; it looked more like he was so disgusted by calling her "my dear" that he wanted to throw up.

Except Ghasper was not an ordinary woman after all. She immediately noticed a golden mark flickering between Mavallo's brows.

"What's wrong?"

At this moment, she naturally supported her fiancé. After all, a loyal believer of Order would certainly protect the church's "precious asset."

"Dry heave..."

Mavallo was still dry-heaving, then he abruptly lifted his head to look in one direction, panting as he spoke:

"Filthy... filthy... filthy divine pollution..."

...

"Woof, woof, woof!!"

Kevin jumped up and down on the spot, barking fiercer and fiercer.

If personified, it looked like a person constantly stamping their feet, repeatedly shouting, "This is bad! This is bad! This is bad!"

Xili, who had taken the leash and was preparing to bring the children and pets home, was pulled by Kevin and fell to the ground.

Little Kanna stepped forward, grabbing the leash with one hand, remaining completely still.

Meanwhile, the large golden retriever circled around Little Kanna while barking, like the hand of a clock.

Purr lay on Little Kanna's head, watching the frenzied Kevin, and asked, "Kanna, did you sense anything?"

Little Kanna shook her head.

"Then it seems there is still a lot of room to dig into your rebellious Dragon God inheritance, meow."

...

Ankara Hotel, guest room.

In front of the French window, Salaina pressed both hands against the sofa, her expression twisted in agony. Within her eyes, the shadow of another woman emerged.

"What is going on?"

The Goddess of the Moon's Child asked.

She could not understand why, out of nowhere, the piece of "Ankara" sealed inside her body would suddenly revive.

Immediately afterward, it was still Salaina herself who opened her mouth to answer in a different tone:

"Pollution... divine pollution..."

"Is it the effect of a divine artifact?"

"No, it is far more severe than that."

"What exactly is going on?"

"I am not entirely sure; I only sensed the contamination of divinity. It is brewing, it is about to be born, and it is highly likely to spiral out of control."

"What is the price of it losing control?"

"A natural disaster."

Salayina gnashed her teeth and cursed, "No matter. Those dogs from the Church of Order should be the ones to handle it!"

…

In a mundane motel on the outskirts of York City, Miliven lay sprawled in a guest room cluttered with wine bottles.

Though previously thoroughly intoxicated, she suddenly curled up and began to retch, retching up piles of filth that instantly filled the room with a thick, sour stench.

"Ah..."

Miliven crawled to her feet, stumbling into the bathroom, where she turned on the faucet and began forcefully splashing water onto her face.

During the encirclement operation, Neo had shown mercy, allowing her to leave. Yet, she had not chosen to return directly to the Abyss Sea, choosing instead to linger here, severing all contact between herself and the Church.

Were it not for her status as the revered Child of God, the Church of the Abyss might well have deemed her a defector by now.

Though, what she had done previously was scarcely different from defection.

She was deeply lost, possessing no knowledge of where she ought to go, using a specific method to suppress her own will so that alcohol could successfully numb her.

But now, a violent wave of nausea was tormenting her frantically.

She raised her head, looking at her own reflection in the mirror, her hair drenched, as a trickle of blood began to seep from her nostril.

"What on earth is it... that is so sickening..."

…

Around the perimeter of the cavern, the arrival of the garrison knights brought the area completely under control. Coupled with the fully revealed identities of the Whiplash of Order and the regional administrative staff, the priests of Order responsible for securing the cavern entrance chose to contract their lines in a cooperative posture.

They did not abandon their defense to let outsiders in, but they certainly would not launch an active attack either.

In fact, the personnel on the outside had not the slightest intention of forcing their way through.

Bishop Delon, leading his subordinates, had already laid down an array after array in continuous succession. At first, these were fundamental defensive formations, though from the perspective of those deploying them, the direction was reversed.

Subsequently, as Bishop Delon used a guiding array to activate the series of formations previously laid out, the arrays rapidly formed a resonance with one another. From the outside, it appeared as though ripples of iridescent, rainbow-colored bubbles had manifested, completely enveloping the cave entrance.

This was far from the end. With the rapid operation of the Rubik's Key and the combined efforts of all the formation masters beside him, Bishop Delon let out a long, resonant chant:

"Forbidden. Throne of Order!"

In the next instant, a phantom of the Throne of Order manifested in the sky above, bringing with it a terrifyingly immense pressure. Although it was merely hovering for now, it truly felt as if it could descend at any moment.

During the continuous deployment of the arrays, nearly every formation master had consumed mental potions twice, and Bishop Delon himself was no exception. Thus, once everything was completed, save for a small portion of formation masters who remained responsible for maintaining the arrays' operation, the majority sat down to rest through meditation.

Though the old man looked somewhat drained, he still deliberately turned his head to glance at his grandson.

His grandson stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the Chief, quite conspicuously.

Karen returned the smile at the appropriate moment, adding a nod of his head to express his admiration and praise for the old man's lingering vigor.

Only after the old man turned his head back, fully satisfied, to continue maintaining the array did Karen respond to what Burne had just said to him:

"You knew all along as well, didn't you?"

"Not only did I know early on, but during the preliminary experiments, I even lent a hand as an assistant." Burne made no attempt to conceal his dark history, precisely because he had been "dark" to begin with.

"So, our operation was also pre-arranged?"

"Yes. They feared that notifying us in advance might cause us to ruin things, delay the experimental progress, or place psychological pressure on the researchers. That is why they only urgently notified us to come and enforce the containment at the final, critical moment."

"Then what about the people inside the laboratory? Are they not afraid of placing psychological pressure on them now?"

"The final experiment is just one step away. Never mind that it is merely our own internal personnel dispatched for containment; even if a foreign church faction were attacking right now, they would still harden their resolve and rush to complete the experiment.

The people from the Church of Principles and those within our own Church involved in this experiment possess a certain scientific purity and fanaticism—the kind where they would willingly die just to catch a final glimpse of the experimental results. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Mm." Burne lightly cracked his neck. "However, I truly despise these special independent departments. When the lines of authority are unclear, it makes it very difficult for our local regions to know how to cooperate, and we are left entirely in the dark about how to clean up the messes they make."

"This is unavoidable."

"It is much better now than it used to be. I believe the High Priest will improve this issue before long."

Although Burne had never stated it explicitly, Karen knew that he was a supporter of the High Priest, because the two of them were very similar in their styles of conduct.

Karen could not help but think of Mr. Luther again. He had previously told Neo that he could indeed attempt to do something, but he was deeply afraid that his intervention might cause things to turn thoroughly ruinous.

Now, he no longer needed to ponder such matters, for he already stood on the very front line of preventing things from turning ruinous.

However,

Even Karen himself did not know now whether he hoped this mad experiment would succeed or fail.

……

"Our efforts today will absolutely not be in vain, and our cries today will absolutely not fade away! We must secure a truly equal and equitable society for ourselves, and for our children and grandchildren!

My dear comrades-in-arms, now is the time for us to march forward! We must demonstrate our true spirit to Wien, and to the Imperial Government! We must let everyone understand that a difference in hair color is truly nothing more than a difference in hair color!

We are human beings; we live under the same blue sky, we live in the same city, we..."

"Bang!"

A gunshot rang out.

Steel pellets fired from a shotgun struck Mr. Luther, who was in the midst of his passionate speech upon the platform.

At first, nothing seemed unusual about Mr. Luther. He remained standing there, as though he had not yet realized what had occurred, until he lowered his head to look at his own chest.

Promptly, his body began to stagger, then he sank down, and finally, he collapsed into a prone position on the ground.

"Mr. Luther!"

"Mr. Luther!"

Initially, everyone was frozen in shock by the gunshot. It was only after Mr. Luther collapsed that the surrounding supporters realized what had actually happened. Had the leader they followed truly fallen just like that?

"He is an assassin!"

"Don't let him get away!"

Two purple-haired men seized the assassin, calling upon the surrounding crowd to attack him together. The crowd swarmed forward with fists and kicks, while the two purple-haired men who had first shouted drew their daggers and stabbed them repeatedly into the assassin's body.

By the time other furious supporters stepped in to take their places, they began to shift toward the periphery. Due to the previous squeezing and jostling, much of the purple dye on their hair had been rubbed away.

Having completed their mission, they tossed the daggers into a trash can and vanished into an alleyway.

The surrounding journalists began to frantically capture the madness of the scene. They also wanted to photograph the condition of the shot Mr. Luther, but they could not squeeze their way in at all.

The supporters had already descended into madness; they were shouting, they were weeping. Mr. Luther was their hope.

The other people upon the platform prepared to support Mr. Luther and rush him to the hospital. Through the gaps in the crowd, one could see Mr. Luther being lifted up, his hand dangling limply at his side.

"Where is the ambulance! Has anyone called? Where is the ambulance!"

"The ambulance dispatcher said that because our march has blocked the roads, they have no way to get in."

"Damn it, our march would not completely obstruct traffic—that was Mr. Luther's explicit instruction! How could it be impossible for an ambulance to get in!"

"Where are the police? Has anyone called them?"

"The station said it is not appropriate for them to step forward right now."

"Mr. Luther has no heartbeat! No heartbeat!"

The news of the assassination of Mr. Luther, the purple-haired civil rights leader, began to ripple outward from York City to the rest of Wien through wires and telegrams. The protest marches across every city in Wien, which had been ready to erupt in solidarity, were instantly drowned out by a chorus of weeping.

When hope is lost, people turn to wrath. Soon, sporadic acts of vandalism, looting, and rioting broke out as outlets for that rage. Everyone knew that once the kindling of fury was ignited, it would be nigh impossible to extinguish. Next, the entirety of Wien would usher in its most violent chapter of racial friction.

...

"It has begun!"

The cavern altar began to churn at ten times its previous speed. An opening split through its center, from which a rising platform was hoisted, bearing a bubble that gestured to the gestation of an infant within.

Here, "infant" referred to a state of being, a process of emerging from nothingness into existence.

The infant's hair was purple, and his neck was stained red.

His features were hideous, yet at this moment, they began to shift gradually. Had anyone familiar with Mr. Luther stood there, they would have noticed the infant's face morphing into that of the leader.

"Wow!!"

"Hahaha!"

"Praise the God of Order!"

"Praise the God of Principles!"

Everyone inside the laboratory burst into cheers.

From all indications, the experiment had secured a successful beginning, for they had already received that mysterious, unfathomable power.

At the command console.

"A success, then?"

"Yes. Care for a drink?"

"Alright."

"I brought a bottle of... wait, what is happening?"

A coarse hide began to manifest across the infant's skin, accompanied by black wrinkles resembling the hide of a dark boar.

And at that very moment, the infant's eyes slowly fluttered open.

The power of the altar and the artifacts began to process and suppress the infant's mutation.

Yet suddenly, the infant's lips twitched slightly as if speaking. It was faint at first, and isolated by the altar, no one could hear it.

But soon, as the frequency of the infant's trembling lips quickened, a persistent rustling sound began to emanate.

The sound swelled from weak to loud. Initially confined to the altar, it suddenly materialised beside the ears of every staff member in the laboratory, sounding as if an infant were leaning on their shoulders, whispering directly into their ears.

In the vast laboratory, all other noises seemed to vanish entirely, leaving nothing but the infant's voice.

Everyone froze, including the two commanders at the console.

An indeterminate amount of time passed.

Finally,

the first person broke down, collapsing to their knees as their fingernails clawed at their own face, ripping the flesh away.

Next, someone began to tear at their own tongue, wrenching it out by force.

Others used their bare hands to gouge out their own eyeballs.

In a state of eerie serenity, as though completely devoid of pain, they began a collective act of self-mutilation.

They were originally noble clergymen. Those permitted into this laboratory to partake in this project were the elites of the two Churches, yet now, a truly bizarre and bloody spectacle was unfolding.

Evidently, flawless precautions had been made in advance, with three divine artifacts deployed and other arrangements lavish to an absurd degree, yet all of it seemed entirely useless.

The deputy commander of the Church of Principles was actively pulling his intestines out of his stomach. Having lost most of his capacity for thought, a single line he had read from his master's master's journal surfaced in his mind:

"Because this is an era where the gods do not appear, the lambs also attempt to take a seat at the vacant dining table."

The deputy commander continued to pull at his entrails while gazing at the horrific scene below, his mouth hanging wide, yet unable to make a sound:

The lambs forgot what a change in identity it signified when they were placed upon the dining table.

...

"Hiss..."

Karen took a sharp, deep breath, instinctively pressing a hand to his forehead as a flicker of pain crossed his face.

Seeing this, Chief Byrne beside him asked, "Uncomfortable?"

Karen shook his head and said, "It is nothing. Just an old injury flaring up. I will be fine after some more rest."

"Get checked more often. You are still young, do not let it become a permanent ailment, or it will hinder your future prospects."

"Thank you, I know."

Karen did not know that at this very moment, every Child of God within the confines of York City sensed a profound, heartfelt nausea.

He was not nauseous.

He was hungry.

Inexplicably, the addiction of hunger began to stir at this moment, the intense craving causing Karen to lose his composure slightly.

Seeing this, Alfred immediately produced a Thunder cigarette, offering one to Byrne first. Byrne accepted it, and after Alfred lit it for the Chief, he passed one to his young master.

Taking a puff, Karen's symptoms eased slightly.

Amidst the smoke, he raised his eyes, looking toward the sinkhole.

Suddenly, among the Clergymen of Order stationed for defense at the entrance of the sinkhole, someone collapsed to their knees. There were no shouts, no screams; they simply and calmly began to sever their own ears or saw at their palms and soles with their own weapons.

This sudden turn of events left their nearby companions stunned.

Some stepped forward to investigate, while others, more quick-witted, instinctively began to flee toward the perimeter.

"Pah!" Byrne spat the cigarette from his mouth and shouted, "Delon, activate the seal!"

Delon immediately raised the Rubik's cube. The array masters who had been resting all leaped to their feet, simultaneously engaging all formation modes to their absolute maximum. The Throne of Order above pressed down directly, forming a despairing cage of black confinement.

The Clergymen of Order inside tried to escape, only to find themselves completely barred. Unable to get out, they could only drop to their knees one by one, commencing self-mutilation in every imaginable way.

The survivors began to utter desperate pleas and cries, already sensing that an invisible demon behind them was calling out names one by one.

But the seal had been activated; the sinkhole and the outside world were now completely severed.

It was impossible to open it again just to rescue them, for if even a fraction leaked out, it would be a terrifying natural disaster capable of annihilating all of York City.

On the perimeter, all the late-arriving Clergymen of Order stared aghast at the horrific scene inside. Even the eyes of the well-trained garrison knights betrayed shock and dread.

They would not fear formidable enemies in reality; even knowing it meant death, they would launch a suicidal charge without hesitation.

Yet the scene before them transcended their cognition. This was not a battle; this was mockery.

Byrne let out a sigh: "You are responsible for containing the news. I will report to the higher-ups that the experiment failed, and the reason is..."

Karen drew another breath of smoke, suppressing the hunger that gnawed within, and spoke in a solemn tone:

"An outbreak of divine corruption."