Saraswati clasped the zither strings tightly, her knuckles turning white.
After a long time, she slowly raised her head, a resolute glint flashing in her eyes: "Fine, but I must first resurrect the Brahma Emperor."
"Very well."
......
India, by the Ganges River.
The blazing sun scorched the cracked earth, and tattered-clothed paupers knelt in the mud, praying to the long silent God.
Yet their suffering went unanswered, only the buzzing of flies mingled with the muddy river water as it flowed.
Mortal misery, Evil Qi rising to the heavens!
On this forgotten land, despair spread like a plague.
And today, that despair would be the key to open the Gate of Hell.
As night fell, clouds churned over India, and blood-red moonlight bathed the earth.
Saraswati stood in the center of the altar, the Seven-Stringed Zither suspended before her, its sound transformed into countless blood-red runes, enveloping the entire nation.
Hera raised the Divine Staff high, chanting ancient spells:
