Chapter 184: The Unstoppable Approach

Chapter 184: The Unstoppable Approach

When Azik saw the Feathered Serpent coiled deep within the black fog—when he saw the face at the top of its mountainous body—he first froze. Then his temple twitched, as though a wedge had been hammered viciously into it, splitting his head in two.

Amid the intense pain, one disjointed image after another abruptly sprang into his mind:

A Feathered Serpent face identical to his own, with even the finest details exactly the same.

A silent land covered in countless pale corpses.

A cloud floating in midair, piled together from the skulls of different races.

Pitch-black segmented tentacles drilling out from the ground, each with dead-fish-like eyes at their tips.

His transparent spirit body being forcibly dragged from his flesh.

After those flashing images, a pair of eyes whose pale flames were on the verge of extinguishing looked over. A white feather stained with pale-yellow grease drifted down, cutting Azik’s transparent spirit body into two parts.

One part suddenly flew up and entered the “cloud of skulls.” The remaining part fused with a golden ornament that had leapt out of nowhere. Amid the scorching of pale flames, it returned to his body of flesh and blood.

The scene was like the giant hammer of the God of Thunder, striking again and again within Azik’s mind, making the pain impossible to endure. He raised his hands to clutch his head, his knees gradually weakening, and knelt on the stairs as though collapsing.

At last, he recalled everything. At last, he understood why he kept dying and reviving, why he always lost his memories and then recovered them again and again.

His soul was incomplete!

Likewise, Azik understood why the Feathered Serpent pressing down upon the entire space within the depths of the black fog possessed a face identical to his own.

That was him!

That was another “Azik Eggers”!

And all of this stemmed from a concealed attempt made before Death’s fall.

Where there was “soul stitching,” there was naturally also “spirit splitting.” At that moment, the mad and powerful Death seemed to have foreseen His own ending. Unwilling to simply pass away, He quietly divided the soul of His child, the Balam Empire’s Death Consul, taking one half away and using a certain item as a substitute, stitching it together with Azik’s spirit.

Whether because of Death’s deliberate arrangements or the unintentional influence of the Numinous Episcopate’s artificial Death project, the half of Azik’s soul that had been taken away fused into one with the artificial Death’s target—the Uniqueness of this pathway—allowing the latter to obtain a certain level of instinct and begin actively influencing high-Sequence Beyonders of the Corpse Collector pathway who failed their advancement.

As for the other half, although it had a substitute and was no longer incomplete, because the soul itself was not whole, it could only die and revive again and again, like a Sequence 4 Undying. And under the influence of that “golden ornament” within his body, and under the call of the other half of his soul, Azik, each time he began a new life, would gradually recover his past memories as time passed.

The Azik of the past had tried to understand the reason. But because by the time most of his memories naturally recovered, his next death was already close, he had no time to make any real exploration. Furthermore, the Numinous Episcopate’s artificial Death plan had only been proposed several hundred years ago and had only produced preliminary results not long ago, so he had never been able to find the answer.

Hah, hah, hah!

At some unknown point, Azik’s hands had left his head and pressed against the stairs below. From his throat came a sound unlike any human voice.

Beads of sweat slid down his forehead, falling onto the stone slabs before him and spreading into a layer of pale-yellow grease, from which fine white down sprouted.

At this moment, he felt the call and desire of the other half of his soul. The two “selves,” separated for more than a thousand years, longed to become one again and return to completion.

“No…” Azik whispered in pain, unwilling to lift his head or stretch out his right hand.

He had seen clearly just now: the “self” that had become the Feathered Serpent did not possess the slightest trace of reason. It was filled with coldness and madness to an almost extreme degree. If he became one with it again, he feared he would immediately return to the state of the old Death Consul, or even become a false Death with only divinity and no humanity!

Then he would forget everything, forget all the people he had once cherished.

“No…” Another word burst from Azik’s throat. His neck inevitably lifted bit by bit. Dark, cold scales emerged upon it.

On his forehead, something suddenly bulged on its own, as though possessing life. It split open, revealing a bloody wound.

A golden light then emerged from nothingness, forming within flesh and blood.

This was an ancient ornament that seemed to have been forged from gold. Its shape resembled a slender bird. Around it spread wings formed from pale flames, and within its bronze eyes, light layered upon light, separately forming a mysterious and illusory door.

The moment it appeared, Azik let out a low roar of pain and lifted his head completely. In his weathered eyes, two clumps of pale fire ignited with a whoosh.

Deep within the black fog, the Feathered Serpent, both illusory and real, raised its body and extended its head. Two identical faces of different sizes gazed soundlessly at one another amid a field of silence.

As the four clumps of pale fire flickered, Azik, with both hands planted on the ground, stood bit by bit, his expression twisting as he struggled with all his might. Slowly, he walked toward the Feathered Serpent known as the artificial Death.

As he drew closer, the entire mausoleum began to tremble. The surroundings turned transparent, reflecting a world with countless skeletons and shadows.

Bloody hands, dark-green vines with infant faces, and slippery tentacles tipped with dead-fish eyes or two rows of sharp teeth pierced through the boundary between reality and illusion and entered the mausoleum. Yet they remained pressed firmly against the ground, not daring to move.

…

East Balam, City of Gurain.

Daly Simone, who was on her way to the next target’s location, suddenly stopped and raised a hand to the side of her head.

“What is it?” Sost, captain of the Red Gloves squad, asked in puzzlement.

Daly frowned slightly and answered with a somewhat dreamlike quality, “I heard strange sounds. I felt a call from somewhere unknown… I even wanted to kneel on the ground…”

“Did any of you hear it?” Sost cautiously asked the other members.

Leonard Mitchell was just about to shake his head when the slightly aged voice in his mind said, “Look toward the Berserk Sea.”

Leonard subconsciously turned around and looked toward the port, toward the distant Berserk Sea. There, he saw pure, profound darkness—no wind, no waves, no clouds, no lightning, no rain, and no sunlight.

…

Although Klein had his eyes closed, his outstanding spiritual intuition still allowed him to sense the movements around him, to hear what sounded like Mr. Azik’s painful murmurs and roars, and to feel that almost tangible stillness and aura of death.

What happened? Although the artificial Death in the depths of the mausoleum has not attacked Mr. Azik, did it have a bad influence on him?

Thoughts flashed rapidly through Klein’s mind. He was anxious and panicked.

His spiritual intuition told him that what was about to happen was definitely not something he wanted to see!

Yet he could not think of what he could do. He did not even dare open his eyes and look at Mr. Azik’s current state or circumstances.

This was not a problem that could be solved by courage alone. It was a gap of level and status, an unbridgeable gap.

In an instant, Klein again felt an intense sense of helplessness. But he did not give up. He desperately recalled what objects on him could be used.

“Creeping Hunger? No. That is fundamentally not on the same level. It will not have any effect…

“Death Knell? Even less possible…

“Groselle’s Travels? I did not bring it… The Black Emperor card, the Tyrant card—I did not bring those either…

“The Fate Stealer charm… Right, the Fate Stealer charm!”

Delight surged in Klein’s heart. He already had an idea.

That was to use the Fate Stealer charm to briefly swap his fate with Mr. Azik’s, taking his place in bearing the artificial Death’s influence!

At least I still have the possibility of reviving, while Mr. Azik’s previous deaths did not count as being murdered. Who knows whether he can wake again in this situation?

Klein did not consider whether the Fate Stealer charm could affect Azik and the artificial Death. He only thought that no matter what, he had to try. He abruptly lifted his right hand and reached into his pocket.

Then his movements hesitated.

His arm lifted upward once, then fell back to its original position.

His entire body froze briefly, as though he had become a statue carved from stone.

Klein’s lips moved several times. His expression twisted almost imperceptibly. Then he suddenly swung his right arm and pulled his hand out of his pocket.

In his palm, he tightly gripped a charm like a black crystal card.

At the same time, Azik and the mountain-like illusory Feathered Serpent drew closer and closer. His steps grew faster and faster, as if he were returning to his own throne.

Yet beneath the pale flames, his eyes were filled with pain, and his expression twisted to the extreme.

“No…” Azik whispered again. On the exposed parts of his body, from the gaps between his dark scales, white feathers stained with pale-yellow grease began to grow.

The intense call and desire made him completely unable to control himself. He was on the verge of leaping into the air and pouncing toward the giant Feathered Serpent with his face.

At his forehead, the bird-shaped ornament erupted with pale flames that flowed toward the rest of his body.

Klein’s spiritual intuition screamed frantically in warning. He hurriedly recited a word in ancient Hermes:

“Fate!”

Just as he was about to use the charm, the surroundings suddenly went quiet, without any further sound.

A slender, fair woman’s palm appeared out of thin air and pressed against the bird-shaped golden ornament on Azik’s forehead.

A figure immediately outlined itself between Azik and the mountain-like illusory Feathered Serpent, severing their approach.

With external help, Azik finally resisted the desire to fuse into one and the irresistible call. Within his pale-flame eyes, the figure floating in midair was “reflected.”

It was a beautiful woman wearing a classical robe and a black hood. Her face showed no expression, and her eyes were dark yet lacking in spirituality.