Chapter 362: The Evil God Descends
Even though he had mentally prepared himself, the overwhelming power of Obelisk the Tormentor's attack still left Zhou Ning deeply shocked. The shockwave alone had killed a transcendent whose strength was roughly on par with his own.
If that 4,000,000-damage punch had landed on him directly, he'd probably owe the thing a thousand lives in return.
Zhou Ning turned his gaze toward the interior of Vick University. This sudden catastrophe hadn't just claimed the lives of ordinary civilians—many of the students possessing extraordinary abilities within the campus had also perished.
From his vantage point, he could see that many students on the athletic field had already become undead, wandering aimlessly.
"Professor Riley, Professor Edwin, gather a team and try to destroy all nearby almshouses covered in black smoke. See if there's any chance of stopping the ritual," Zhou Ning said in a deep voice.
He had already told Sherlock to keep an eye on those almshouses—so why hadn't there been any response yet?
"Y-yes, of course!" The two professors finally recovered from their unspeakable shock and nodded instinctively. At this moment, Zhou Ning's image in their minds had ascended to an entirely new height.
Zhou Ning didn't choose to linger. His focus value was draining rapidly—there were less than twenty-five minutes left to maintain Obelisk the Tormentor's summoning. The state of infinite attack power was even harder to sustain. Since that floating blood sphere was merely a mass of blood and resentment without a true body, his attempts to destroy it had proven useless. He turned his gaze once again toward the trade district and the docks, where he sensed the presence of equally powerful transcendents.
——
Meanwhile, Talonnia, cloaked in black, was strolling leisurely through the chaotic streets of the trade district, taking in the scene of destruction.
Throughout the entire city of Darkland, negative energy had gone completely berserk. The weather shifted chaotically. Meteorological tides were, after all, a byproduct of post-divine-war elemental rampages. If all went according to plan, this city would soon become uninhabitable—completely transformed into a meteorological tide.
Tragic as it was, Talonnia—a former general of the Elven Kingdom's rangers who had lived for over a thousand years—had long grown indifferent to life and death. To him, life was merely a symbol; truth alone was eternal.
If everything proceeded smoothly, he could soon return to Ruins to continue his next experiment.
Just then, he sensed a surge of powerful divinity emanating from nearby.
A deity?
Talonnia's eyes narrowed as he immediately prepared for combat.
A thick layer of alchemical armor rapidly encased his body. He grasped a longbow etched with intricate patterns in his right hand—winds flowed visibly along its limbs. With his left hand, he touched a pocket watch.
The bow was twice the size of a normal one, inscribed with a complex alchemical formation that could use the wind to accelerate arrows and enhance his own speed. Even if he couldn't win, escaping shouldn't be a problem.
As for the pocket watch—it was one of his unknown curiosities. By winding it, he could rewind, pause, or fast-forward time by two seconds, at the cost of occasional bouts of memory loss.
Then, within his field of vision appeared a massive blue monster, towering over ten meters tall, exuding both majesty and ferocity.
Standing upon its shoulder was a handsome young man with a cold expression. The divine aura Talonnia sensed was emanating from this blue behemoth.
The man wore a white top hat and a white trench coat, slightly damp, standing against the wind with icy composure—his gaze locked upon Talonnia.
Wayne Sturwell.
Talonnia had already heard that name from his allies. He immediately wound his pocket watch, intending to reverse time by two seconds and flee.
As a long-lived being, he understood better than anyone that caution was the key to survival.
But before he could act, his body had already been hurled into the air. His alchemical armor shattered on impact, and his consciousness was snuffed out instantly.
–115,978! Even a demigod was instantly annihilated.
Seeing that Talonnia had been completely obliterated—leaving not even his mysterious relic behind—Zhou Ning shook his head slightly, showing no trace of pity. Clearly, the damage matched the opponent's total HP. No one knew what the true upper limit of the Tormentor's attack power was.
Just like the area near Vick University, this district was filled with innocent casualties. Most of the civilians had turned into undead or shadowed figures—including a great many children.
Zhou Ning's gaze fell upon a nearby ruin, where a little undead girl wandered in confusion. She wore her hair in a ponytail—and a familiar hat rested on her head.
"…Haa."
Zhou Ning exhaled wordlessly. He recognized her—the once cheerful, lively little girl. Sometimes, life truly was cold and merciless.
Perhaps because Zhou Ning's mission had instructed players to follow him and eliminate all visible cultists, more and more players had gathered around him. At first shocked, they had now grown accustomed to watching him obliterate one enemy after another. Their eyes turned fanatical as they rushed forward to claim the finishing blows with excitement.
Yet what left Zhou Ning helpless was that the cultists' blood and resentment still rose into the sky after death, merging with the massive blood sphere above. There was no solution in sight. Then, perhaps coincidentally, black mist began to envelop the entire city of Darkland—the result of an overabundance of necrotic energy.
As time passed, the blood sphere continued to grow larger. The black smoke hovering above the Ascendant's Altar had reached its limit, gathering together over the Darkland Fortress. This marked the ritual's most critical stage.
——
At that moment, the book in the darkness seemed to realize something was wrong. Its pages began to turn wildly as lines of new text appeared:
"It seems the final act of the opera has met with unforeseen complications. Wayne Sturwell has once again displayed power beyond expected parameters. Fortunately, at this moment, through the life force offered as sacrifice by Karl Robbins and his companions, the great being slumbering within a cavern of the Allsop Marsh may briefly awaken. It will use the body of an arachnid creature as its vessel, ensuring the plan proceeds smoothly."
There was no response. Moments later, as though unwilling to concede, the book added the words 'after consideration' before "may briefly awaken," and changed "will awaken" to "might awaken."
Then, as the pen halted, somewhere in Darkland, Count Robbins—already somewhat frail—suddenly froze. His life force began rapidly draining away, his features growing gaunt. Beside him, Harrison Rivers suffered the same fate.
"It's that damned Four-Act Opera by Leoncavallo again—it's gone mad, who knows what it's scheming this time!" Count Robbins spat through gritted teeth.
Almost simultaneously, the heavy rain ceased. The massive blood sphere in the sky abruptly shattered, collapsing into a torrential blood rain. Streetlights exploded one after another, and from the heart of the raging resentment, a blinding light descended.
An aura of overwhelming dread burst forth from within it—so terrifying that even from afar, all who felt it trembled uncontrollably, hearts consumed by fear.
It was the aura of an Old God. Nyastora had finally descended!
Standing upon the Tormentor's shoulder, Zhou Ning's expression remained unreadable. He was ready to strike the instant Nyastora appeared. Judging from the rate of focus consumption, the Tormentor had less than fifteen minutes of summon time left—enough for now—but the duration of its infinite attack power was anyone's guess.