Chapter 267 Illusion
This rare sleep did not last long. Before dawn, in the pitch-black hours, all the sleeping priests, including the professor, were awakened and gathered in the magnificent banquet hall of the Cathedral of the Redemption.
When everyone had gathered, the archbishop, looking grim, finally spoke slowly, "I must sadly inform you that just now, another of our compatriots has tragically passed away."
The priests were suddenly in an uproar, and several of them dragged up a strange corpse with demonic features. The professor took a closer look—if he remembered correctly, the hideous and twisted face belonged to the monk who had been on duty the night before.
"This is a provocation to the dignity of our God! It's even more of a blasphemy against the glory of our God!" The archbishop shouted loudly and unquestionably, his eyes gliding gloomily over everyone present, pausing for a moment on the new black-haired priest. "Open your eyes, my compatriots! There must be a devil lurking among us!"
That's right, your golden-looking Son of God is the biggest and most formidable devil here—the black-haired young man stared at the archbishop expressionlessly, appearing remarkably calm. No one else present knew, except him, that beneath the black-haired priest's loose white robes lay two pitch-black bat wings, and a demonic tail, firmly tied to his leg and swaying impatiently.
Two more priests brought holy water in a golden basin. All the priests in the Cathedral of Redemption lined up, stretched out their hands, and immersed their hands in the holy water one by one as requested.
A priest standing three meters away from the professor suddenly let out a shrill cry. His hands, immersed in the clear water, began to decay at a visible rate, revealing charred flesh and white bones beneath. Before the surrounding priests could scream, the archbishop raised his scepter high. A blinding white light, like a lightning strike, pierced the fallen monk's chest, leaving a gaping hole. The heartless corpse staggered before falling silently.
"Go on," said the Archbishop gravely.
But what answered him was screams and roars one after another.
Perhaps realizing they could no longer conceal their identities, several demons present abandoned their disguises, revealing their true forms and attacking the remaining monks. Chaos reigned supreme. A demon, having captured a monk, immediately bit off his neck with a snarling grin, guzzling the still-shrieking human's blood.
The number of demons seemed to be far greater than the archbishop had imagined. The old man looked grim and tried to gather a barrier of holy light to resist the demons' invasion.
"Go to the temple!" He shouted sternly as he repelled the demons. "Pray to our God! He will protect his most devout believers!"
The professor even wanted to admire his dedication.
But in the chaos, someone suddenly grabbed the black-haired priest's wrist. His pupils shrank, and he grabbed the knife and was about to stab him.
"It's me."
The blond Son of God was using his cloak to hide his overly eye-catching appearance. He grabbed the professor and hurriedly left the melee between the demons and monks, running away from the temple.
The black-haired young man frowned at him: "Didn't you say you wanted to take this opportunity to go to the temple and destroy the statue of the God of Light and Glory?"
"Destroying it is useless. Zephyr is not inside the statue." Another person said simply, "But we have other ways to escape from here."
"Tell me, what is your name?" He suddenly put his hands on the professor's shoulders and stared at him intently with his gentle and sincere blue eyes. "Remember what the archbishop said? Don't tell the devil your name. Since you can't pray to Zephyr because they are trying to cheat your soul, why not try to give your name to the devil? After all, this devil is me."
The professor raised his eyebrows slightly at the man: "You obviously know my name."
"No, listen, 'telling' and 'knowing' are two completely different concepts in magic," the blond youth explained anxiously. "'Telling' implies an attitude of permission, similar to a devout prayer. It means the recipient has proactively opened their soul—so you must tell me in person."
The professor stared at him for a moment, then suddenly asked, "But what are you going to do?"
"Silly girl." The other party smiled indulgently: "Don't worry about me, you are also a devil now, can't I tell you my name again?"
The black-haired young man blinked slowly: "Oh."
"That seems to make sense." He pondered for a moment, then said decisively, "Okay, I'll tell you, my name is 'Nova'."
The world seemed to have come to a standstill.
The blond youth's handsome face froze, becoming increasingly distorted and distorted. From the nearby temple, a deafening roar erupted. As the ground shook, Nova saw the temple's bricks and stones clattering and falling. The gigantic statue of the God of Light and Glory grew ever larger, until it completely burst through the temple's roof. Even more terrifying, the statue was alive.
"-- Analene!" The God of Light and Glory roared in extreme anger. The rumbling sound came from far away and got closer. Wherever it went, the "priests" turned into dust silently.
The Son of God's beautiful face seemed like a melting oil painting, his features dripping with fluid, his body twisting and deforming. A woman's gentle voice emerged from that terrifyingly twisted "mouth": "Don't be so angry, Zephyr. After all, even I can't break the 'rules' here. I accept defeat."
The souls they sought to capture were too powerful. To gain something, something had to be lost. Even gods could not violate this principle, nor could they bind the other's memory for too long. Since the target chose to hand over his name to the devil instead of praying to the statue, no one could stop the victor from enjoying the spoils, not even the new god who was forced to watch his lover being captured.
That fool Zephir was indeed powerful, Analene thought smugly. The endless stream of faith on the continent of Ambrose had ensured his soul was the furthest from "death" among the remaining gods. But he was too arrogant. He wanted to borrow her captivating abilities, yet he also despised her devious methods. So, even in the ridiculous "Cathedral of Redemption," she only needed to seize the opportunity and employ a few subtle tactics—wouldn't it be easy to capture the souls of ordinary humans?
"Dear, dear." She looked at the black-haired chosen one with great interest and giggled sweetly, "Don't frown and look so sullen. Love is so cruel and fickle, and it is so good at torturing people's hearts!"
"Who made you choose to step into the trap of love?" She laughed joyfully, wishing she could surround him and applaud him. "You could have been high and mighty, wantonly toying with the soul of a god, making him as flattering and docile as a hound, making him as miserable and humble as a slave. What a thing to boast about! But you chose love, chose trust, and so you immediately fell from the altar into the mire, from the king who owned the world to a poor and destitute beggar—"
"My dear, you asked for it!" the god of love declared triumphantly. "You yourself put the knife pointed at your heart into your lover's hand!"
But she did not see the other person's regretful expression as she wished.
To be more precise, the dark-haired youth gazed at her with an unusually calm expression, not even a hint of anger, which made Analene feel somewhat uneasy. The prey's soul was too powerful, and the power of the new god always enveloped it. Neither she nor Zephir could glimpse what he had done after leaving the statue and the hidden demon.
…something doesn’t seem right.
"It's really not easy to see you."
The fourth person's voice slowly sounded, and the true savior gradually emerged from the void.
He stretched his shoulders and neck, and a pair of enormous black wings suddenly emerged from behind him, stretching out with extraordinary grace. Even the professor, who was facing off against two gods, couldn't help but glance at him—wow, a pitch-black birdman.
...Well, the common name of "Fallen Angel" actually fits his definition of this person quite well.
This was the new god who had slain Samuel, the god of night and death. Even though she knew there were rules protecting her, Analene's eyes still flickered with fear and dread. Even if the fragments of her soul destroyed in the mortal realm couldn't return to her memories, they were undoubtedly connected to the god before her.
Zephir, that loser, she couldn't help but curse in her heart for not being able to restrain the other party - if the God of Light heard her slander, he would probably feel extremely wronged. Who could capture a space god?
She didn't even think about using her clever mouth, but grabbed her precious trophy without hesitation, whether it was to threaten or escape -
“Ah, Ahh ...
The Goddess of Lust suddenly let out a sharp scream. The moment her soul was touched, she felt as if she was burned by the sun. If she had not acted decisively and cut off a piece of her spirit, she would have been almost swallowed whole by the extremely bright and dazzling soul.
"How is this possible?! This is impossible!" Analene screamed like crazy: "According to the rules, you have clearly opened your soul to me--"
"You mean I told you my name?" The black-haired young man blinked slowly, looking somewhat innocent. "But that's not my real name."
"You figured it out?" The God of Love stared at him in disbelief and roared in extreme anger: "When did you figure it out? How dare you play tricks on me—"
"With all due respect, your imitation of him is flawed," the professor deadpanned. "And the most fundamental point is that he would never call me a fool."
——This is not a nickname for him. Doubting his intelligence is a naked provocation to him.
Zephyr suddenly burst into a gloating laugh.
"How unfortunate, Analene!" He mocked the god of love wantonly. "Before you corrupted the first priest, he actually told him his true name. It's a pity that you were a step too late!"
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
