In this ineffable and heart-pounding silence, the head bowed beneath the hood trembled slightly, revealing a face covered in pale whiskers.
The "Spirit Body Threads" interwoven and circling throughout the entire church began to retract and recede, as eyes as dark as a lightless water surface silently watched 0-17.
After a prolonged sigh, Zaratul looked up at the ceiling of the church, where countless corpses hung, and his voice even carried a hint of a smile:
"If I'm not mistaken, I've been imprisoned here for 150 years!"
"The advent of the apocalypse is imminent. Bethel Abraham has been exiled by you, but the gods need a Lord of the Mysteries!"
"Although I am not comparable to that 'Blasphemer,' I am willing to bet everything for one chance. I think this must also be the reason you have come here again after more than a hundred years."
On 0-17's expressionless face, the corners of her mouth curved slightly, and her clear, cold voice made the Crimson Moon above the Foggy Town outside the church grow even more brilliant:
"Find the Sefirah Castle amidst Amon's encirclement, and I will give you a chance to face Antigonus!"
As her words fell, pure crimson light poured into the church, then converged and flowed along the patterns on the altar beneath the stone statue, finally meeting.
In a burst of bright light, 0-17's figure vanished, replaced by an illusory, mysterious double-door.
Although he had long perceived the Evernight Goddess's conflicted state of mind from her choice to imprison him rather than annihilate him, and even had a guess the moment 0-17 appeared, Zaratul was still somewhat stunned looking at the luminous door that seemed to lead out of this prison.
What he had said earlier was merely based on his speculation about the Evernight Goddess's state of mind over the years, but in reality, he had no intention of fighting Amon to the death. After all, neither the King of Angels, who possessed the Uniqueness, nor the Lord of the Mysteries's consciousness, which might revive from him, were something he wished to face.
"Sefirah Castle...."
Zaratul muttered, turning his head to glance outside the church and slowly shaking his head.
After 0-17 appeared, his power was restricted to the vicinity of this altar, only vaguely sensing the emergence of other high-level powers in this hidden world.
Abandoning the idea of risky prying, Zaratul then slightly raised his left hand, and his historical projection appeared in the void beside him. Without hesitation, he slowly pushed open the double luminous door.
For a deity like the Evernight Goddess, who controlled the authority of Darkness, in a situation where their Beyonder Sequence was not equal, both divination and spiritual intuition could yield Error answers.
This was also one of the reasons why he, as a Sequence 1 of the Seer Pathway, was still ambushed during his advancement and ended up in such a state.
During these hundred-plus years, Zaratul, having learned his lesson, decided to use the safest method for the final test.
Beyond the pushed-open luminous door was a dilapidated palace made of ancient stone slabs and broken walls. Everything seemed quiet, with no abnormalities.
But if one looked up, one would notice that the palace ceiling hung with even more corpses of various races, "they" were densely packed, as if performing a grand opera!
Zaratul silently watched all of this. With his Beyonder Sequence, even if it was just a historical projection, he could still clearly see the transparent, slimy tentacles behind these hanging figures, with complex patterns, hidden mysteries, seemingly capable of driving one mad.
Following the countless tentacles into the depths of the hall, Zaratul's gaze fixed on an ancient, enormous stone chair, its surface inlaid with dim gold and jewels.
This was the main peak of the Hornacis mountain range, the territory of the Fourth Epoch's "Nation of the Evernight," and also where Zaratul was secretly ambushed by the Evernight Goddess 150 years ago!
Confirming that he was not in some kind of dream but had truly returned to this palace where he had obtained the "Attendant of Mysteries" characteristic, Zaratul decisively swapped positions with his historical void.
At the same time, on that massive chair, countless transparent maggots clustered together, slowly wriggling, growing rampantly, and extending nearly invisible tentacles towards Zaratul!
The next second, those slimy tentacles with intricate patterns pierced through Zaratul's body, instantly crushing him into points of light.
The tentacles, failing to capture their prey, vented their rage within the dilapidated palace, but quickly disintegrated back into countless transparent worms, falling into an eerie silence.
At the edge of the Hornacis mountain range, Zaratul, shrouded in a black robe, suddenly appeared, the smile gone from his face, his brows tightly furrowed as he looked at the object suspended before him:
It was a Tarot card!
Depicted on the card was his old acquaintance, Roselle Gustav, and the top corner of the card was outlined with brilliant starlight, forming text:
"Sequence 0: The Fool!"
This was the "The Fool" card he had lost when he acted as a decoy to obtain the Attendant of Mysteries characteristic from the half-mad Antigonus!
His expression quickly turned gloomy. Zaratul felt no joy whatsoever. While this "recovered" Card of Blasphemy could certainly make facing Amon much easier for him, likewise, the gifts of fate always came with a hidden price.
The Evernight Goddess, who controlled a portion of the authority of Darkness, was even more exceptional in this regard.
The last time, in order to advance to Sequence 1 "Attendant of Mysteries," he had lost the Card of Blasphemy gifted by his old friend and had spent 150 years neither living nor dying.
Now, for freedom, for that illusory godhood, what more would he have to pay?
The joy of rebirth was instantly diluted. Zaratul suddenly raised his head, gazing for a long time at the crimson moon, and vanished the moment he grasped the "The Fool" card.
-----------------
Just as Zaratul was released, in a certain sea area of the Foggy Sea, a black-painted ship cut through the mist, heading in a certain direction, with a large white flag bearing a skull fluttering from its mast.
It was none other than the "Black Death," which had been missing from the outside world for several months!
On the black flame-burning deck, "Vice Admiral Ailment" Tracy, even more enchanting than a few months prior, had an extremely pale face.
This being, who had recently advanced to "Demoness of Despair" and could be called the "King of Disease," trembled slightly, the aura of despair like a tsunami, almost submerging her distorted and collapsing humanity.
"Today's Demoness are truly growing weaker and weaker. Tsk tsk tsk, after the Pale Disaster, Cheek really has become more and more distorted...."
A slightly flippant male voice came, instantly stopping Tracy from losing control.
No longer looking at the "Demoness of Despair" sprawled on the deck in a disheveled posture, Amon, wearing a pointed soft hat, adjusted the monocle over his right eye and looked north, in the direction of the Hornacis mountain range.
He then curled the corner of his mouth and chuckled softly:
"This is Zaratul.... How increasingly interesting!"