msmithbooks Chapter 825 - 449: The Fourth Mysterious Godly Miasma (Part 2)
Chapter 825 - 449: The Fourth Mysterious Godly Miasma (Part 2)
The blood-red mist first wrapped around them.
It wasn’t a gentle adherence, but rather, it clamped onto the blade like high-voltage electricity, forcibly stabilizing the mundane iron to prevent it from shattering the moment the power surged through.
Immediately, a purple ethereal light extended silently from the blade, elongating into an invisible light blade nearly two meters long.
The air was cut.
The silver decorative sword emitted a faint, piercing wail, with a slight tremor in the blade, as if it would melt under the high pressure at any moment.
The monsters advanced.
Twelve berserker warriors stepped forward simultaneously, moving so swiftly that they left afterimages on the retina.
Giant axes swung up, axe blades tearing through the air, stirring heavy wind pressure.
The priest in mid-air raised his staff at the same time, his mental scream like an invisible tsunami, crashing down.
This was a tightly packed ambush, sealing off all possibilities with no room for evasion.
In this moment, Louis looked up, the pure golden vertical pupils in the depths of his eyes fully brightened: "Kneel."
The pressure wasn’t targeted at any singular entity, but rather covered the entire space like an invisible curtain.
In the next instant, time seemed to be forcibly paused.
Dozens of figures charging at high speed froze simultaneously in midair.
Axe blades halted, spells fractured, and even the flow of air experienced an exceedingly brief delay.
In this blank frame, Louis’s figure vanished.
A stream of interwoven red and purple light wandered silently among the swarm of monsters.
Two seconds later.
Louis reappeared tens of meters away, his back to the center of the shallows.
The silver decorative sword in his hand emitted a light, crisp sound.
"Snap."
The blade shattered into countless tiny metallic particles, sprinkling down from his fingers.
It had finally completed its mission.
Behind him, the sixteen deep-sea monsters, capable of ruling a domain, remained in their attack stances.
In the next moment, thin, straight blood lines simultaneously appeared on their bodies.
"Swoosh——!"
The heads, arms, and torsos of the tyrant warriors slid off neatly, the cuts smooth as mirrors.
The priest in midair failed to even leave a corpse, instead exploding into clouds of purple mist, swiftly consumed until vanishing.
The blood didn’t even have time to spray out but disappeared into the air.
Louis released the remaining sword hilt, letting it fall to the ground, and stepped over the scattered dismembered limbs, continuing towards the depths of the cave.
......
Crossing over the steaming ground of scattered corpses, Louis pressed on.
Underfoot was no longer hard stone, but a vast altar constructed entirely from bones.
Human skulls, fishman spines, and ribcages from some species long indiscernible were forcibly fused and compacted by some power, interlocking to form a bizarre yet sturdy structure.
It was as if all emotions and life had long been drained, leaving only a husk after extraction.
And at the center of the altar, that thing was growing.
A gigantic, translucent pink crystal coral.
It was not still; an internal ebb and flow seemed to pulse through the coral, its glow dimming and brightening like the lung’s expansion and contraction.
Each breath expelled pink mist into the surroundings.
The mist was not glaring but rather gentle and warm, carrying a sweet aroma that instinctively relaxed the body.
Louis halted his steps, his gaze resting upon the coral.
In the next instant, ripples appeared on the coral’s surface.
Countless faces surfaced, of unparalleled beauties reaching out their arms, their skin flowing in the light;
No wars, no responsibilities, no cold loneliness, only prolonged peace and satisfaction.
The aroma suddenly thickened.
It no longer lingered in the air but sought to infiltrate deep into Louis’s consciousness through the gaps of breath, skin, and emotions.
Whispers arose in his mind.
Not a single voice, but countless whispers overlapping.
"So tired..."
"Let go..."
"Melt... become a part of us..."
"Here, there is no pain, only ecstasy..."
The voice was gentle to the point of compassion.
In the sea of consciousness, pink tides came surging overwhelmingly.
They were not impatient, not fierce, just slowly and steadily rising, trying to completely drown the island named "Sanity."
Just as the crest was about to touch the edge of consciousness, platinum light ignited.
The Primordial Heart in the center of the sea of consciousness suddenly accelerated its rotation.
The next moment, a grand platinum starlight descended from above, stretching across the pink tides like a celestial chasm.
And three forces responded simultaneously.
Crimson power turned into blood-colored vines, growing from the depths of consciousness, tearing apart those illusions composed of desire.
Dark purple power surged forth like an insect swarm, greedy and cold, gnawing, devouring the pink energy, decomposing it into the most primitive mental residue.
And that trace of pale gold, suspended above everything else, like the shadow cast by a throne.
The pink mist was forcibly pulled, recoiled, turning into a pure energy torrent, surging into Louis’s body, yet it was purified and crushed under the brilliance of the Primordial Heart.
Louis’s consciousness was drawn by a more ancient remnant force, plunging into time itself.
The first scene emerged with extreme clarity.
In a dim hall, Balk was kneeling on the ground.
He had his eyes closed, his expression tranquil, like he was waiting for a long-overdue forgiveness.
A translucent brain jellyfish slowly descended from the shadows, its soft tentacles gently touching the back of his head, its movements gentle to the point of reverence.
The tentacles pierced, scalp and bones seemed to melt away in some warm solution, silently making way.
Balk’s body completely relaxed, the corners of his mouth uncontrollably lifted, revealing a childlike innocent smile.
The light in his eyes went out in that instant, a tear halted at the corner of his eye, not falling, already losing its meaning.
The scene shattered immediately.
The second memory was like a condensed elegy.
On a storm-covered sea, a massive ark was slowly sinking.
Its bulk far exceeded the Fernando, with complex and elegant lines on the hull, covered with intricate demon pattern arrays and unknown material armor.
This was not a creation of this era.
The enemies besieging it were not irrational monsters.
It was an army of fishmen, but completely different from the crazed fishmen of the present.
Their formations were orderly, knowing how to cover, feign attacks, and divide the battlefield, using complex tools and tactics in coordination.
On the bridge of the ark, a captain in ancient uniform stood on the broken deck.
His face full of fatigue, yet not hysterical.
"I’m sorry..." he spoke softly into the void, his voice torn apart by the wind and rain, "Teacher."
The next moment, he drew a short dagger, without hesitation, piercing his own heart.
Pink mist seeped from the wound, mingling with the sea breeze.
The third memory came most indistinctly, as if through countless layers of water surfaces and years.
A black-haired young man, sitting on a throne formed by giant tree roots.
He held a swaddled infant in his arms.
Though in the highest position, his face bore no glory, only unfathomable sorrow.
It was an expression of foresight into the future, yet powerless to prevent it.
The scene became thoroughly blurred here, as if forcibly broken off by some will, all illusions simultaneously disintegrated.
Louis abruptly opened his eyes.
The cave remained silent, the white bone altar unmoving, as if nothing had happened.
The pink mist, now purified, was no longer restless.
It flowed meekly into Louis’s sea of consciousness, forming a fourth aura, rotating slowly around the Primordial Heart together with crimson, dark purple, and pale gold.
Louis only wavered briefly, then regained his footing.
He did not faint, meaning his body and soul could already bear these remnants and memories from the past.
The abilities brought by the pink power naturally surfaced in his cognition.
Ordinarily, his words would carry an almost imperceptible mental suggestion, making people unconsciously lower their guard, creating trust and closeness toward him.
In battle, with just a thought, he could detonate the opponent’s sensory nerves, causing them to fall into a brief yet fatal ecstatic paralysis, or create a lethal cognitive distortion.
After all this, Louis stood in the dead center of the cave, not leaving immediately.
He finally vaguely pieced together a silhouette.
These powers were not independently existent; they were remnants left from a great existence’s death.
And the Primordial Heart within him...
Perhaps it is the only key to reassembling this corpse or inheriting its legacy.
"Even my crossing might be related to these," Louis muttered softly, his tone calm, yet no longer relaxed.
"Three and a half left." He raised his head, his gaze penetrating the darkness of the cave, "When I gather them all... perhaps the answer will reveal itself."