A wailing sound filled the air, sharp and piercing, like the lament of a thousand souls. The scream of the Ghost-Faced Owl echoed again beside Lin Xiao's ears—each note like a blade slashing at him, each echo a claw tearing into his very spirit.
Beside him, the Other Shore Flower Martial Spirit appeared of its own accord, its crimson petals cracked and splintered, unable to bear the crushing force that raged around it.
Time blurred within the agony. Lin Xiao had nearly gone numb to the pain when his thoughts slowly returned.
His meridians felt as though they were snapping one by one. Power raged within him, swelling until even his flesh seemed to bloat.
No… something was wrong.
If the Soul Ascension Ceremony was only meant for the Holy Spirit Church to divide its disciples' souls and enslave them, his body shouldn't be suffering this much. This pain was different—familiar. There was something more here, something he hadn't yet realized.
"Urgh—!"
A stab of unbearable pain tore through him, breaking his thoughts apart.
A sticky, burning sensation rose from every pore. The surrounding liquid churned and boiled, as if the entire blood pool had come alive. His chest heaved violently as he forced himself to think—anything—to recall what he knew about this ceremony.
Even in his memories from his previous life, little had been said about it. Only that those who underwent it were bound to the Holy Spirit Church forever.
Within the Church itself, the topic was taboo—spoken of only in whispers.
So what set apart those who had endured it? What did they lose—beyond a fragment of their souls? What else—?
Another muffled groan escaped his lips.
This time, the pain didn't strike his flesh. It struck his soul.
His spiritual sea heaved violently, his consciousness splitting apart. It felt as if invisible hands were tearing his very essence into pieces.
Numbness crept through his limbs. Darkness thickened before his eyes. His soul trembled, slipping toward separation from his body.
And then—
A faint warmth descended from above.
Lin Xiao no longer had the strength to look up, but he could feel it—the closer he drew to that warmth, the weaker the pain became. His body instinctively reached toward it.
"Come," whispered a familiar, seductive voice. "Offer your soul to the Holy Emperor. Surrender all to the Holy Church. The world is a sea of suffering—only the Holy Light brings solace."
Nightmare Douluo's voice—or perhaps the statue's—echoed in his head. Lin Xiao's eyes snapped open.
Somehow, he was now holding a gray flame in his hands. As it flickered, the torment in his body eased.
Looking down, he froze.
Below him, another Lin Xiao lay submerged in the blood pool—eyes closed, still and pale, as if sleeping.
He didn't know when or how it had happened, but instinct told him the truth: that body was his.
He reached out to return—to reclaim himself—but the moment his hand left the gray flame's glow, agony returned with savage force. He jerked his hand back instinctively, gasping.
Outside the light's protection, the pain of soul-rending instantly devoured him.
It was just as Nightmare Douluo had said: only beneath this false "light" could one escape the torment.
Around him stretched nothing but darkness. Only the motionless body in the pool and the looming statue of the Holy Emperor remained visible, its shadow crawling ever closer.
For a fleeting moment, his mind cleared—and he understood what this "Soul Ascension" truly was.
No wonder every disciple who underwent it became an empty fanatic. Their worship wasn't born from devotion—it was born from conditioning.
This ritual didn't just fracture their souls; it rewrote their minds.
In the brink of collapse, the ceremony filled their despair with the illusion of light, whispering that surrender was salvation.
The pain conditioned them—to believe, to kneel, to love their tormentor.
He finally understood why the Sixth Servant's memories had been filled with so much anguish.
Lin Xiao looked down at the flickering gray flame in his hands. The warmth it radiated was deceptive, almost tender. His body trembled, unwilling to step beyond its fragile comfort.
Perhaps he wasn't the first to uncover the truth. But he now understood why no one before him had resisted. The agony outside the light was too much for any mortal soul to bear.
So, one by one, they yielded—offering up their souls in exchange for fleeting peace.
He rose slowly to his feet. The statue loomed closer. Its face was blurred, yet within its indistinct features he could almost see a handsome man smiling, arms open, ready to embrace him. The voices around him rose in a divine chorus of praise, drawing him nearer.
But—
As he took one step forward, the hymn shattered into screams. The cries of trapped souls pierced his ears, and pain like molten iron ripped through him once again.
His spirit quaked, close to shattering.
Maybe others before him had chosen surrender, unable to bear this torment. But Lin Xiao would not.
Whatever the cost, he knew—the body in the blood pool was his true self.
That was where he belonged.
"Hmm?"
Outside, Nightmare Douluo's eyes flickered. He raised his head toward the dimming flame that hung above the pool, sighing softly.
"A pity. You were such an obedient, capable disciple. I didn't expect you to fail at the final step."
He stepped forward, gazing at the boiling surface of the blood pool. "With your talent, you could have achieved great things. What a waste. Now, I suppose I'll just—"
Before he could finish, a surge of red erupted.
A wave exploded from the pool, splashing high into the air. Lin Xiao's naked form shot upward, his eyes shut tight, his entire body laced with glowing red veins pulsing with liquid from the blood pool.
The Other Shore Flower whirled madly around him, five spirit rings—yellow, yellow, purple, purple, black—flaring and dimming in chaotic rhythm.
"He's still alive?" Nightmare Douluo murmured, glancing up at the faint ember still burning above. His face twisted with disbelief.
Within the blood's light, Lin Xiao's consciousness stirred.
The pain was still there—but now he recognized it.
This swelling, this violent surge coursing through every vessel—he had felt it once before.
It was the same sensation he'd endured the first time he absorbed a spirit ring.
Only now, it was stronger—far stronger.
(End of Chapter)