"No matter who I am, at least right now, I will never stand with you."
This movement of raising the head lasted a full seven seconds - the first six seconds were at human speed, and the last second was completed with a sudden twitch like a malfunctioning machine.
At this moment, his pupils had turned into two Klein bottle projections that were constantly generated and annihilated.
Purple lightning suddenly burst from between Blore's fingers and coiled up his arm like a living thing. His temple throbbed and the roar of waves crashing on the reef echoed in his skull.
In the abyss of the spiritual picture, the cliff composed of thunder and flowing black slurry is collapsing, the chains emit the dying wail of an ancient beast, and a sticky dark light seeps from the cracks in the bronze coffin.
Blore could feel the lingering images of multiple dimensions on his retina, reality like a crumpled and flattened piece of parchment, painfully twisted on the border between truth and illusion.
The brass compass vibrated violently in his palm, and the shriveled human head embedded in the center suddenly opened its lidless eyes, with galaxy-like vortices swirling in its pupils.
But at the same time, purple lightning suddenly burst out from between Blore's fingers and coiled up his arm like a living thing.
His temples were throbbing, and the roar of waves crashing against the rocks echoed in his skull.
In the abyss of the spiritual picture, the cliff composed of thunder and distortion is collapsing, the chains emit the dying wail of an ancient beast, and a sticky dark light seeps from the cracks in the bronze coffin.
"Shut up."
Blore heard his voice split into countless parts, the structure of the human vocal cords reorganizing in his throat.
"But what happened now?"
The five fingers of his right hand suddenly pierced into the scene behind him, but no blood gushed out - the air rippled like mercury, and a flowing dark purple long blade was drawn out from the depths of the bronze coffin.
"It's actually quite boring to spend so much time here with you."
"I can't really tell whether what you said is true or not."
This knife seemed to be forged from the solidified night sky, and the blade constantly exuded a nebula-like light mist.
As Blore began to draw it, the blade seemed forged from the solidified night sky, but not the night sky as humans knew it—a darkness licked by old stars, a void entity that existed before the creation of the universe.
Nebula-like light mist continuously seeped out from the surface of the blade, and in each wisp of light mist, microscopic constellations were floating. They moved in non-Euclidean geometric trajectories, and collided at the edge of the blade to produce blue-purple sparks of quantum tunneling effect.
When Blore pulled it out completely, the entire mental image let out a whine like glass shattered by overclocked sound waves.
The black fog that had settled on the top of the cliff for seven epochs suddenly came alive, and the sticky mist collapsed into liquid malice, rushing down the cliff like the body fluids secreted by billions of transparent slugs.
These slurries constantly change density during the fall, sometimes as thick as lava, sometimes as thin as morning mist, dragging phosphorescent trails in the void similar to those of deep-sea luminous organisms.
In the picture, the purple lightning in the sky is undergoing a terrifying transformation.
Those lightning bolts that originally branched out like synapses are now being permeated by some power from a higher dimension.
Gold—but not the color of gold in the ordinary sense—but a primordial light similar to the nuclear fusion inside a star, carrying pure energy that could burn a black hole in the retina, spreading along the veins of lightning.
Each transformed golden-purple lightning left a permanent crack in the air. Through those cracks, one could see the Brolls in countless parallel worlds drawing their swords in sync.
Most unsettling of all was the color rising on the skyline.
It was definitely not any wine red in the natural or human color spectrum. It was more like the corrupted blood that had been deposited in the veins of the ancients for millions of years, mixed with the iris pigment of the pupils of the sacrificed at the moment of death.
The cloud grew and expanded like a malignant tumor, with wrinkled structures similar to the grooves of the brain emerging on its surface. A "lianchadai" substance, between solid and gas, continuously seeped out from the depressions of the wrinkles. This color itself emitted a low-frequency humming sound, and any conscious being that looked directly at it would suffer irreversible cognitive distortion.
From the bottom of the cliff came the sound of bronze coffins and chains resonating, the frequency of which just happened to harmonize with the new colors.
Blore felt his cones being genetically rewritten, a fourth type of photoreceptor growing that allowed him to see—no, taste—the rusty sweetness of the color, like radioactive crystals melting on his tongue.
The beating eyeball on the hilt suddenly shed a line of turbid tears, and the teardrops vaporized into miniature nebulae in mid-air, each of which reflected other spiritual images that were being polluted by this color.
The entire space began to secrete a transparent mucus similar to the mother's amniotic fluid. After the black mist slurry that rushed down from the cliff mixed with it, translucent gelatinous creatures were born.
They extend their pseudopodia made of fractal geometry and recite forbidden passages from the Eltton Ostrars in hieroglyphics that emerge from their bodies.
Blore realized that the appearance of this color meant that the mental picture had broken through a certain threshold and was transforming into a more ancient and essential form.
I don’t know what stage his spirit has reached now. If he has really reached the final stage, then does he not need to take the exam?
Blore thought with a certain bittersweetness.
The blade suddenly vibrated with a sound like whale song, and Blore saw his own reflection split across the blade, splitting into twelve forms in different stages of evolution. The figure on the far right, with bronze horns like those on the coffins at the bottom of the cliff, smiled at him with too many teeth.
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