53
"Knock, knock."
In front of a single-family house in Joewood, Richard Ernst, carrying a suitcase, gently knocked on the door.
There was no response, no sound of footsteps, but Richard wasn't in a hurry. As he waited, he heard footsteps behind him. When he looked back, he saw two women—one tall, one short—standing outside the black railing of the garden, looking at him curiously.
"Hello, we're here to visit Mr. Vaughan," the tall woman said with a polite smile. "Is he back?"
"He's out?" Richard was momentarily stunned. He had come in a hurry and only now noticed the silence in the house—there wasn't even a hint of life. The Angel of Temperance briefly wondered if the Lord was deliberately avoiding him, but after a couple of seconds, he turned around, removed his top hat, and asked the two women in a friendly manner, "I'm his student. May I ask what happened?"
The two women exchanged glances.
"Well... it's just that we happened to encounter Qilangos outside by chance," the shorter woman replied. She appeared quite young, almost like a girl in stature. "Are you aware of the Hurricane Admiral sneaking into the Duke's ball, sir?"
"I know very well," Richard replied.
"Mr. Vaughan and we were confronted by Qilangos and nearly lost our lives," the brown-haired woman continued. Richard inhaled softly as he listened, silently thanking the Lord for leaving him Qilangos' bounty. "Mr. Vaughan left to seek refuge that night, and we temporarily moved, staying in a nearby church until news of Qilangos' death broke."
With that, she pointed to the mailbox by the door, where a letter from three days ago lay untouched.
"I see..." Richard nodded, knowing that the Lord wouldn't have left solely for refuge—there must have been another reason for his departure. Perhaps questioning the Aurora Order could reveal the truth, but Richard was wary of getting too close to his overzealous "companions," fearing it might endanger his comrades in the Foundation and the Sect.
The Angel of Temperance felt a pang of regret. It seemed he wouldn't be able to report to the Lord today and would have to head to the East District immediately to assess the situation. His schedule was always packed, and in just two days, he had to be in Feynaport to coordinate with his collaborators in Intis. The Church of the Merciful Earthmother deeply appreciated his efforts to aid their children, and it was customary to hold charity dinners during his visits—events he couldn't afford to miss.
"If Mr. Vaughan hadn't protected us, we might not be here today," the brown-haired woman sighed softly. "But with the news of Qilangos' death spreading across the country, Mr. Vaughan should return soon after reading the papers."
"Yes," Richard agreed, nodding. "He's a gentleman... But I'm in a bit of a rush. I have to leave Backlund tonight or early tomorrow morning. If he returns, please convey my regards to him."
54
The pale sun had been completely consumed by the red moon hanging in the sky. The peaceful starlight and crimson shadows enveloped the entire city. Chaos fell silent, as flames were swallowed by the darkness, turning the scene into a grand requiem descended from the gods. The souls of the newly dead, along with those lured by demons, were granted a peaceful rest. Negative emotions, once harvested by the evil gods, dissipated. In their place, a dreamless deep sleep, scented with moon flowers, claimed everyone.
"If the Goddess of the Night herself descends, or sends her divine servants, I suppose I'll have no choice but to confront them—and then continue our battle elsewhere."
Edward narrowed his eyes, gazing directly at the crimson full moon. There was no need for concealment anymore. Mr. Nightmare's soulless body, now a puppet without strings, collapsed backward. The city had long since merged with the virtual "Abyss," and as the Goddess of the Night's power spread across this small city, it put everyone into a deep sleep, dragging Edward and the Abyss into a collective dream. Perhaps the Divine Servant Arianna was already on her way, ready to strike at Edward's exposed body in the real world.
Making a quick decision, Edward watched as the black moat beneath his feet cracked open, releasing dark blue flames. Without hesitation, he revealed his true form—a mythical creature. A black exoskeleton, twisted like a blade, erupted from his skin. As the torn flesh healed, it hardened into a substance stronger than steel. Blood turned into thin lines of fire, coiling around his body.
"Do you truly believe that this mere projection of your power will make me retreat, Goddess of the Night? You underestimate the Devil."
The smell of sulfur filled the air, as if a hundred volcanoes were erupting simultaneously. Half of the dream city was instantly reduced to a sea of fire. A demon's head emerged, crowned with curved goat horns, and lava flowed between Edward's fingers. His massive form, towering tens of meters high, burst through the small building he had been standing in. His enormous black bat wings spread wide, obscuring half of the night sky. Flaming eyes swept over the low buildings, and with a single turn, several houses collapsed in succession. A low, guttural roar escaped his throat:
"Death!"
The filthy word fell like a heavy weight, yet the death it commanded was as light as a feather.
The order spread through the city, and an imperceptible cyan aura mixed into the thick black fog, seeping through like a tide. In this grand dream, the ears of the dying, the despairing, and those who had lost all hope echoed with whispers of temptation.
"Your life, filled with suffering, can end now…"
"You may never find happiness, or perhaps your newfound hope has already been stolen away. It doesn't matter—life is a painful journey."
"If the end of this journey promises eternal peace, a reunion with loved ones, delicious food, warm beds, healthy bodies, and long-lost children… then isn't death worth looking forward to?"
"Your life is worthless, a burden to others."
"Life is worse than death. If you seek salvation, you must let go."
"In death, there will be no more cold or heat, no more troubles or sorrows, and no more pain in this world." The devil's whispers echoed in the dreams of every unfortunate soul. Using her authority, she selected those who had already fallen into despair, those who were one step away from "decay," and guided them towards ending their lives.
"Give yourselves to me, for the gods will not save you."
"Die, die," the demons whispered, "you are like dust and ashes, and no one will care even if you do."
A frail girl, suffering from illness, wept in her dreams. Her family's savings had been drained by expensive medical bills, and the sight of her parents growing older each day filled her with guilt. She finally surrendered to the idea of death.
A poor man, who had not found work for three days and could not bring himself to eat the moldy bread in his arms, curled up in a filthy corner and took his last breath. A gray rat, watching from the shadows, seized the bread from his lifeless hand.
A mother, unable to afford to raise her children, succumbed to exhaustion and despair. Her child, too young to understand grief or death, wept and soaked the last warmth from her mother's embrace.
These were just a few of the countless souls, each bearing their own unique sorrows.
"Of course, I will grant you salvation. The world is cruel, life is small. You are better off in my hands—I will make good use of each of you, and not a single one will go to waste."
Tears flowed from one pair of eyes after another, only to close forever. They gave up their lives in their dreams, and as they did, they also perished quietly in reality. It was a peaceful death, free from pain. In their dreams, they saw a red moon, a black sky, and a hand that gently took them, guiding them into the dark sea of oblivion. They slept forever, unaware, and felt no pain.
Their accumulated resentment, their last moments of despair, converged into a gray current. Different but equally sorrowful faces emerged, all heading towards the night watchman's small building in Tingen, within their dreams.
Under the power of tranquility, the mother, Megose, had long since lost her will to fight. In life, she had been a follower of the Church of Steam and Machinery; in death, she was watched over by the night. The god's children still struggled, clinging to the ashes and trying to drive the useless mother out. But she simply stared at the sky, her empty eye sockets lined with dried blood, as if crying in the crimson moonlight.
In the next moment, the demon crushed her.
Edward tore off the roof and held the newly formed offspring in his hands, removing the remains of the mother's body. The dark blue flames in his eyes flickered over the soothsayer, whose eyes were closed and trembling in the small building. The midnight poet, also guided by the Worm of Time, clenched his fists, his eyes tightly shut. They had been given the most direct protection against death, but that was all. The Worm of Time was doing its best to keep the Midnight Poet sane and alive, but it was weak and desperate to keep its host intact. It was a pity—Edward had hoped to tempt the Midnight Poet into suicide, forcing the Worm of Time to reveal its true form so that he could kill it for his ritual...
According to the original plan, Edward was supposed to sacrifice the blood of the entire city to aid his allies' descent and complete the sixth massacre, promoting himself to Sequence 1. His actions would be swift enough to complete the ritual and escape before the Church of the Lord of Storms and the Church of the Evernight reacted. But as always, plans seldom survive contact with reality. The appearance of the Worm of Time had been an unexpected development, and now the gaze of the Goddess of the Night forced him to abandon his promotion plan.
"...Yes, there are still things I must do."
Enough death and resentment had finally transformed the carrier in his hand from an illusion into a physical form. The time had come.
The cyan aura, invisible to the naked eye, gathered again silently, merging with the resentment of the evil god's heir as it was devoured by the child who longed to grow. The impending apocalypse would prevent any real alliances, and the gods on earth would continue to play their games and manipulate one another. The outer god known as the "Monarch of Decay" hoped that the gods of the earth would remain embroiled in their intrigues, never birthing a new true god, and if they were already mad, let them stay mad.
The "True Creator," more cautious than Roselle, had maintained peace and obedience for millennia. Even in the throes of prolonged madness, his intermittent lucidity kept him on guard.
Edward had never found a safe opportunity to corrupt him, but now, with the gods descending, there was a chance—the path of "decay" was unfamiliar to the gods of the earth, and with the Goddess of the Night's power at play, he could disguise his pollution and curses as the effects of "calamity." High-level authorities always overlapped slightly, and "decay" contained elements of death. Who could say for sure where these effects originated?
"The ritual is complete." Edward's voice rumbled, "Are you ready to act?"
The good fortune of the King of Angels arrived, and a silver-white giant serpent suddenly slithered out of the dream world's corner. Its scarlet eyes met the red moon in the sky, and its massive body coiled around the entire city. The serpent's jaws closed on its tail, forming a closed loop of fate—"Reboot!"
For a moment, the twinkle of the stars ceased, and the night that had fallen from the sky slowly returned. The filth receded, tranquility reigned over the silent city, and everything returned to its original state—except for the lives that had been lost.
The demon opened his eyes amidst the ruins, his human form unchanged, though something black was clasped in his hand.
Edward glanced at his pocket watch. From the moment he began until he successfully exited the dream, only a single second had passed. In that brief time, Tingen's fate had been drastically altered within just thirty seconds, all without drawing the nosy attention of the bothersome soothsayer or the Goddess of the Night. According to his original plan, if he had successfully amplified everyone's desires and evil thoughts, inciting them to kill one another, there would be no one left here who could still breathe.
Without hesitation, he quickly sank into the spirit realm.
55
Ince Zangwill finally steadied his trembling hands.
He recognized this aura—he dared not forget it. He had sworn a solemn oath under the emblem of the Goddess, vowing never to betray the Church or the people he sought to protect. With the encouragement of His Highness the Pope, he had been promoted to Sequence 4.
And then... he failed.
Ince Zangwill's fingers dug deep into the wall. He had already failed once; this time, he was determined to succeed. It wasn't what he wanted, but there was no turning back. His talent had never been exceptional, his political achievements were only average, yet through relentless hard work, he had finally accumulated enough merit to earn the chance to become a demigod—a being half-human, half-divine.
But he failed. He nearly lost control during the promotion. A complete failure. There would be no second chance. No! No! This can't be happening! He had worked harder than anyone else! They couldn't dismiss him over one failure! He still had a chance; he still deserved to be nurtured! He was loyal to the Church and the Goddess—Damn it! No one listened to his desperate, hysterical rant. The promotion he had worked so hard for was given to Yin Liya. That woman successfully completed the promotion and earned the glorious title of "Goddess's Eye." That position should have been his; that glory should have been his!
His breath came in ragged gasps, his spirit more inflamed than ever. His unblinking eye was bloodshot, as if it were about to bleed.
0-08 glided happily across his notebook, almost as if it were dancing:
"Upon sensing the presence of the Goddess of the Night, Ince Zangwill was terrified, but he realized the Goddess hadn't noticed him at all. Perhaps, just maybe, the Goddess of the Night couldn't be bothered to kill him."
"Poor Ince Zangwill, he finally realized how insignificant he was, and this filled him with resolve."
"Ince Zangwill entered the ruins of the Black Thorn Security Company. Everyone was still asleep; no one had awakened. It was the perfect opportunity to seize the holy relic. But something strange happened—how could a Night Watcher be awake? But Dunn was dead, and this weak man, merely Sequence 8, couldn't stop an emotional Sequence 5."
"The Nighthawks are dead. Ince Zangwill took the urn. Rejoice! He has finally earned a second chance at promotion!"
56
At the peak of the Godforsaken Land, deep within the eternal darkness, the "Angel of Fate" Ouroboros, who had been kneeling in prayer with closed eyes, suddenly opened them in confusion. Countless chaotic symbols flickered in his gaze, eventually merging into silver-white runes that formed a continuous loop. The accumulated good fortune of this life began to dissipate like snow under the sun, vanishing at an unfathomable speed. His twelve pairs of pale wings unfurled, and the light in Ouroboros's eyes dimmed.
With serene resignation, he closed his eyes, his head gently lowering in peace.
Flawless wings and feathers enveloped his body. The sudden loss of so much fortune was a dire omen, and to prevent it from affecting the Lord and the events to come, Ouroboros decided to initiate the next cycle of fate without delay.
The body of the "Angel of Fate" Ouroboros swiftly lost its vitality, transforming into yet another of the countless beautiful snake molts.
——————————
[Original Author's Notes: * Ouroboros unwittingly protected the True Creator from Edward's contamination (though still tainted), but everyone would think that he trying to hold the goddess back from interfering'
* There is nothing more difficult to write than a battle scene.]