Tri-colored source energy rippled on Aza'zel's body before slowly retreating into his body, subsequently withdrawing into the source crystal on his chest.
His efficiency at drawing source energy from the outside world had increased dramatically, by many folds too.
Not only was it source energy that rushed into his body, but the evil miasma, blood energy, and soul energy in the surroundings and evil blood pearls morphed into streams as well.
Knowing that this amount of energy was sufficient to consolidate genetic codes for the fourth genetic sequence, Aza'zel rushed toward his trench coat and fished out the small booklet.
Quickly, he flipped through the pages and memorized the forms from the second and third volumes in succession, and coalesced a surge of source energy to destroy the booklet thereafter.
Without further ado, in the swirling clouds of miasma and the river of evil blood pearls, Aza'zel began performing the martial technique's volumes in an orderly sequence.
An illusory vortex seemed to take shape with Aza'zel at its core, revolving and absorbing the multitude of energies with source energy as a catalyst to mediate between them.
Wave after wave, the energies sublimated Aza'zep's body from the skin down to the genes, feeling as though something dormant deep within was undergoing a phenomenal awakening.
Aza'zel could feel his body undergoing the fourth transformation, only that this upgrade was of a greater magnitude than the former three.
This time, both his body and spirit underwent the transformation simultaneously, let alone the sudden addition of abyssal energy into his system.
Aza'zel could feel his blood boiling over, his fangs extending in length, and his scope of vision expanding to a few hundred meters in range.
Aza'zel didn't know how much time he'd spent as it could have taken anywhere from half a day to a couple more hours till he wrapped things up. He exhaled softly, picked up his coat, and proceeded to pass through the bloody film.
As expected, the entrance to the fourth level didn't stop him from advancing like it used to. A few steps in, and he was still surrounded by all crimson on all sides.
Confused, Aza'zel kept on walking in the same direction, feeling as though things weren't as simple anymore.
While Aza'zel intruded on the fourth level, a group of middle-aged agents in tactical military uniforms rushed into the earlier levels of the dungeon. The tactical wristbands on their arms flickered continuously as they communicated through the origin network.
"Make sure to evacuate everyone from the dungeons by nightfall, we need to round up these aboriginals in preparation to welcome the vanguard unit."
"We've already cleared the first and second levels, and to my estimate, no one should have reached the third level yet… Hm?! What the… ?!"
The agents were bewildered by the sudden white noise from the broadcasting channel of their teammates, and many of them attempted to reach out to the man in a state of confusion.
However, none of them received any response whatsoever, irking them greatly. Anxiously, they pinpointed the last location of activity from the origin network, and proceeded to converge there.
While they were rushing over, the man in the question stared wide-eyed, his complexion pale, at a woman wreathed in dark miasma who stood not too far away from him.
A severed wrist rested in her dainty hand, the palm attached to it already halfway past her lips as she munched the skin, flesh, and bone with a relishing expression in her eyes.
A black mask covered the upper half of her face, whilst the blood that splattered from the severed hand and onto her skin slowly slithered its way into her body, leaving behind the immaculate pale skin.
Countless phantoms stretched from the woman's back, each with a thousand faces displaying all the negative emotions one could fathom. The woman seemed oblivious to the retreating man, her entire being forced on that one hand.
After chewing for a bit, she slowly lost her sense of taste as the blood ran cold.
She spat the hand, her crazy eyes leveled against the man's frightened gaze as she covered her crimson lips, chuckling. Her chuckle seemed to urge the phantoms behind her, and they rushed like a swarm of evil spirits to entangle the man.
A horrid scream reverberated as the man turned tail and ran. Alas, he seemed to be running in place as cold and dark appendages wrapped his legs and waist, slowly crawling along his chest and neck, smothering his face and smuggling their way into his throat.
Choked, his eyes snapped wide open, even as his blood mysteriously evaporated from within his vessels.
The woman took a deep breath with an intoxicated expression as bloody lines pulsated on her black dress, seemingly mending into her pale skin underneath.
Within seconds, a healthy man turned into a cold, mummified corpse left to rot away in the deep and eerie channels of the dungeon.
The woman curiously inspected the tactical wristband before applying it to her wrist. The tactical wristband flicked with a multitude of colors before its energy wave slowly fell in sync with hers, which she found plenty intriguing.
Looking down at the corpse, she waved her hand and a phantom brought the earpiece into her palm.
She proceeded to plug the earpiece into her delicate ear, and a wave of panicked thoughts transmitted directly to her mind.
"Agent White, what happened?!"
"Agent White! Respond to me this instant!"
"Agent White, stay put and wait for reinforcements!"
"Just… just stall for time! Damn it!"
…
The woman's eyes flickered, a smile creeping up on her lips as she chuckled to herself.
"This is fun!" she chortled, lifting her bare little feet as her dress swayed, her steps landing on tangible clouds of black miasma that carried her deeper into the dungeon.
The agents had no clue that their conversation was being broadcasted to the woman, nor did they realize that whenever they reported their positions and directions, she would patiently intercept and wait for their expected arrival.
…
At the dungeon's entrance in the Nameless Valley, many people flashed out from the dungeon… Well, a few dozen people at the very least.
A group of girls in gray raincoats waited in a spot not too far away from the entrance.
Hailie stood with a frown, her arms akimbo as she observed the dungeon. Val sat crouched by her side, drawing incomprehensible symbols on the ground.
Zof and Ce leaned their backs against each other while they sat in the shade of a boulder, yawning lazily.
Kirin and June stood on the boulder, competing in a close-quarters contest with the boundaries of the rocky surface as the limits to their arena.
They seemed to be keen on tossing the other off the boulder to determine the winner, and their steps, albeit dazzlingly fast, were nonetheless soft like feathers.
Hailie's frown deepened the more she observed the entrance to the dungeon.
"Tu is taking too long… Don't tell me she's fighting the agents?" Hailie was very concerned.
"You're overthinking," Val, who sat nearby, said. "Each of those agents is someone who went through three transformations, not to mention that their source crystals are five-colored. Tu isn't dumb."
Hailie responded a moment later, "I surely hope so…"
Her sentence suddenly paused as the entrance to the dungeon flashed, and a young girl in a gray raincoat appeared by the foot of the volcano.
"See? She's already out."