Published at 15th of December 2024 4:36 am

Chapter 1117: Ruins

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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 Francois, 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.”

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