Adam gazed up at the sky, and the deep, dark ocean reflected in his eyes became turbulent, with whimpering wind sounds rising around him, reaching the sky. This sound seemed to come from reality, yet also from illusion.
The scorching sunlight erupted, drowning out and purifying the wind sounds from the spiritual domain. Even the surrounding space distorted under the intense sunlight, and the concept of distance became blurred.
Under the sunlight, Amon's figure silently appeared above the "ocean" filled with a degenerate aura.
Above his head, a giant, ancient, mottled stone wall clock phantom emerged.
The clock face was divided into twelve sections, each either grayish-white or bluish-black, intermingled but clearly separated, with different symbols.
Dong!
An illusory chime suddenly reverberated around, and on the surface of the giant wall clock phantom, the hands rotated two sections clockwise.
An indiscernible and indescribable invisible torrent surged forth, as if traversing a long history, rapidly sweeping across the entire pitch-black "ocean."
Amon stole time, stole the process of the descent ritual, allowing the True Creator's descent to take a big step forward.
In the pitch-black, viscous "ocean," dense shadows silently flowed out, and a crimson eye flickered in and out of view within the thick curtain of shadows.
Auras of darkness, Fallen, filth, and mutation uncontrollably spread out, interweaving into a giant inverted cross on the pitch-black sea surface.
The sunlight overhead grew more intense, as if it intended to incinerate everything around into ashes.
Amon turned his head to look at Adam, reached out to press the monocle over his right eye, and pulled out a smile, saying:
"I told you the main body should have come. A mere Sequence 2 level avatar makes it difficult to accurately steal the ritual's progress and cause you to go mad, allowing the other half to descend on the Southern Continent."
"Without sufficient opportunity, your main body appearing here is not reasonable," Adam responded calmly, his tone and demeanor remaining as gentle as ever. It seemed the Lord of Storms and Eternal Blazing Sun's obstruction had not caused him too much trouble.
"Heh, boring," Amon sighed softly, shaking his head. He wiped away non-existent sweat from his forehead, and the illusory wall clock phantom above his head rotated two more sections clockwise.
Dong!
A melodious chime echoed again, and an invisible torrent surged from the river of time, once again sweeping the surroundings.
Crack! Crack!
A somewhat illusory breaking sound came from overhead. A silver-white bolt of lightning, like a sharp spear, pierced out from the Astral World. Its speed was extremely fast, almost reaching its limit, and in the blink of an eye, it arrived in reality, above the pitch-black "ocean."
The space seemed to be shattered by this attack, emitting groaning cracking sounds and tearing open pitch-black fissures.
The moment the silver-white lightning entered the pitch-black "ocean," it strangely distorted its direction, shooting diagonally into the sky.
In Adam's light-gold eyes, the deep, dark world almost shattered, and two lines of crimson blood flowed from his eye sockets, down his cheeks, staining the light-gold beard that covered half his face.
The grayish-white stone slab he held uncontrollably erupted with an invisible fluctuation, causing the surrounding "ocean" filled with a degenerate aura to become chaotic.
In less than a second, the silver-white lightning, approaching its speed limit, changed direction and once again struck towards the pitch-black "ocean."
An elusive, immaterial "light" surged from nothingness, as if composed of countless complex pieces of information, continuously converging and surging inward in an illusory state, forming an illusory ball of light.
This illusory ball of light was like a black hole, carrying an irresistible gravitational pull, transforming surrounding matter into an informational state, pulling and devouring them.
The silver-white lightning bolt, shooting from the horizon, instantly reached above the pitch-black "ocean," and was pulled off course by the gravitational force erupting from the information black hole.
A strong electromagnetic storm then erupted, destroying all information structures. The black hole, composed of countless pieces of information, instantly collapsed, revealing its true form: a black mass covered in countless eyes.
All the eyes on the giant black mass were filled with crimson bloodshot, as if stimulated by the electromagnetic storm. They stared intently at the lightning-transformed Lord of Storms, gazing deeply at him, and then shattered into specks of starlight, dissipating in the sunlight.
The silver-white lightning plunged into the pitch-black "ocean" filled with a degenerate aura. For a moment, silver-white electric snakes darted everywhere, enveloping everything, turning the pitch-black "ocean" a silvery-white.
The pitch-black "ocean" evaporated little by little under the silver-white lightning, and the auras of shadow, darkness, Fallen, filth, and mutation were gradually dissolved.
Amon raised his hand to remove the monocle from his right eye, looking at the new crack on it, and said in a deep voice:
"This avatar of mine has reached its limit."
As his words fell, his body suddenly disintegrated, transforming into streaks of faint white flowing light that surged into the monocle with several cracks, finally disappearing into the silver-white lightning.
Adam looked at the spot where Amon disappeared and nodded imperceptibly. He gently wiped the grayish-white stone slab he was holding with his right hand, and the silver-white currents darting around quickly dissipated.
The bloodstains on his cheek were gently wiped away, and illusory light-gold scales appeared layered on his body.
Looking at the figure surrounded by countless currents and storms, Adam sighed softly:
"Actually, I hoped it would be Herabergen who came here."
Adam was answered by a silver-white bolt of lightning, almost at its speed limit. This lightning easily pierced through his body, leaving a basketball-sized charred hole in his chest.
Adam maintained his gentle smile, without any expression of pain on his face. He calmly watched the silver-white lightning striking him again, and the deep, dark world reflected in his eyes completely shattered.
Silently, the silver-white lightning, approaching its speed limit, split apart, unable to form again.
After doing all this, Adam's body tilted and shattered, turning into countless grayish-white fluorescent specks, interweaving into complex and three-dimensional mysterious symbols, surging into the giant cross inverted on the silver-white chaotic black "ocean."
Dark-red flesh grew from inside the giant cross, gradually forming an inverted humanoid figure. One of his eyes was dark-red, the other light-gold, filled with extreme rationality and madness respectively, appearing extremely uncoordinated.
"After Amon's two 'thefts,' the descent ritual is already nearing its end. The Lord of Storms, due to his pride and various delays, failed to destroy the entire ritual at the first opportunity. Under Adam's self-sacrifice, the ritual was finally completed, and the True Creator fully descended upon the Southern Continent!"
Leyton quietly appeared here. He held a kettle-shaped wishing lamp in one hand and a black classical quill in the other, narrating like a bystander the script Adam had long since written, a script engraved deep within the Spirit World.
The Lord of Storms, surrounded by lightning and storms, only had a blurred figure emerge. He gazed at the True Creator, who seemed to have regained his sanity, and ultimately did not continue to act.
After a moment of stalemate, his voice, filled with extremely suppressed anger, was deep and hoarse:
"You have deceived everyone."
As his words fell, his figure transformed into a streak of silver-white lightning and shot into the sky, returning to the Chasm of Storms located in the Astral World.
In the sky, the scorching sunlight also receded, revealing the hidden crimson moon and the tranquil night sky.
With the departure of the Lord of Storms and Eternal Blazing Sun, the gazes from the Astral World and Spirit World also departed one by one.
The figure hanging upside down on the cross transformed into a dense shadow, flowing and spreading to Leyton's side, then condensing into a male figure wearing a black clerical robe with a silver cross hanging on his chest.
Aside from his two eyes, the rest of his body was extremely blurred, shrouded in a layer of shadow, seemingly still in a state of self-opposition.
Specks of grayish-white fluorescent light separated from the shadow on his body, continuously gathering in his hand, condensing into a monochrome book inscribed with many abstract, distorted patterns.
As soon as it condensed, the book was thrown to Leyton, and at the same time, he said:
"You can keep it yourself, or give it to Herabergen. He cooperated with us to perform this play, and this is the deserved reward."
"I will sleep deep within the Spirit World. Until I completely master the Visionary Pathway and escape madness, Sasrir will still handle affairs on my behalf."
The True Creator's voice layered and echoed, as if with a deep sense of fatigue and extremely restrained madness.
Leyton nodded gently, no longer communicating with him. His body instantly etherealized, disintegrating into pure streams of information, surging away into the distance.
Having gained divinity from Adam and enough normal faith, the True Creator's state improved significantly. He gazed at the place polluted by his descent, and after a long sigh, he stepped forward, entering a deep, dark ocean.
On the outskirts of Berens Port, where Ince Zangwill died, countless complex and pure streams of information converged here, reassembling Leyton's figure.
He glanced at Ariehogg and Klein, who were conversing, and casually threw 0-08 over, saying at the same time:
"This belongs to you."
Ariehogg raised his hand, and 0-08 automatically fell into his hand. He looked at the black classical quill in his hand with a hint of nostalgia, and a smile that was hard to decipher appeared on his lips.
Under the curious or puzzled gazes of Klein and others, he gently tightened his right hand holding 0-08. The black classical quill shattered inch by inch, turning into grayish-white light points, surging and flowing into his body.