Chapter 117: Mother of Corpses

Siroya, on the verge of a breakdown, caught sight of that snow-white figure and managed to regain a shred of her composure. Avoiding the arcane-tainted snowflakes, she approached cautiously from the perimeter, her voice stiff: "Who are you? There are no little girls like you in the God-Gifted Land."

The snow-white figure remained silent; it was less a matter of fear and more that she deemed looking up unworthy of her effort.

Siroya shrieked hysterically, "Did Provence send you?"

At that moment, the small box at Siroya’s waist emitted a loud volume, and Provence’s stern voice came through: "Miss Siroya, run!"

Hearing that voice she loathed so intensely, Siroya’s eyes reddened. She gritted her teeth and spat, "Provence, you dare to kill so many Dragon Knights? I will surely..."

Provence replied calmly, "I am grateful for your cover, but without our spells, you would have been completely wiped out by the demons. At least half of your Dragon Knights are still alive, are they not?"

This cold, ruthless calculation was something Siroya could accept with her logic, but her heart could never forgive it; the contradiction caused her emotions to spiral further out of control.

Siroya finally raised her spear, pointing it at the snow-white figure. There was no trace of tenderness for a young human in her demeanor as she pressed, "You—are you human or demon?"

The snow-white figure finally let out a light chuckle and said, "Provence, are you having fun?"

Provence’s voice came through the communicator: "Lord Adonsa is indeed generous, providing us with many precious materials. It is only a pity that you could not send us one final gift."

Adonsa laughed aloud: "What other gift could you possibly want?"

Provence laughed as well: "Your legacy."

Adonsa raised its head, a flicker of madness gathering on its overly pale face. Its mouth split open all the way to its ears, the petal-like lips instantly transforming into a bloody maw. Three rows of piranha-like teeth gleamed with a chilling light as it roared with laughter: "Then come and get it! First game: swat the mosquito!"

The earth began to tremble, as if ten thousand elephants were stampeding toward them, or as if the ground itself were terrified of an unpredictable fate.

Cracks spread rapidly. Amidst a rumbling, terrifying noise, countless grotesque tentacles of flesh rose from the ground like towering trees, swirling and reaching toward the exhausted Dragon Knights in the sky.

Siroya was struck with horror and scrambled to take flight. Three tentacles lashed out at her, but she severed them with a slash of battle-aura that shone like a rainbow; yet, in doing so, she discovered the true nature of these appendages.

They were blocks of flesh and blood pieced together from countless severed limbs and remains, held together by a blood-red, gelatinous substance, forming horrific, fleshy tentacles.

Sticking out from the tentacles that pierced the sky were many wriggling limbs, reaching out into the void as if trying to grasp at something.

These tentacles were composed of the corpses of the demonic beasts slaughtered earlier—corpses that had once been a welcome sight, but now made Siroya’s scalp crawl.

"All units, ascend! Ascend! Retreat to the city walls!" Even in the face of disaster, Siroya did not forget to issue orders.

For now, the only option was for the Dragon Knights to retreat to the city walls, relying on the massive fortifications and solid foundations to contain this terrifying subterranean monster.

As more tentacles surged forth, the corpses of the wyverns and demons already killed by the arcane pollution were also stitched together, surging toward the sky like a river of blood attempting to pollute the purity of heaven.

The arcane pollution was powerful indeed, but in the face of such a vast amount of flesh and blood, it could only be helplessly diluted.

She gritted her teeth, struggling not to scream, and seized an opportunity to prepare for another ascent.

Dodging the attacks of the corpse-tentacles, the space grew wider the higher she moved. Faint starlight peeked through the dark clouds, and it seemed as though Siroya was about to fly back into the familiar blue sky to once again lead her legion of Dragon Knights.

But a nightmarish voice fell beside her ear: "You are 15.9 meters away from freedom, but your distance to hell is negative."

Then, a heavy blow struck Siroya’s head. She lost consciousness, feeling only a slick, warm ocean enveloping her.

The Dragon Knights, witnessing this hellish scene, were shaken to their cores. The remaining four hundred or so knights could only retreat in a panic.

But immediately after, countless shadows shot out from the thick corpse-tentacles. They were incredibly fast, striking the wyverns with almost no sound.

When the knights looked closer, they were nearly frightened out of their wits. These were not bullets, but grotesque little monsters resembling spiral shells.

Their lower bodies were sharp, spiral shells that dug deep into the wyverns' scales and muscle, while their upper bodies were masses of wriggling soft flesh, featuring tiny black eyes and six sharp, hooked claws.

The little spiral-monsters let out "hee-hee-hee" sounds like mocking laughter. After glancing at the knights, they burrowed rapidly into the wyverns' muscles along their shells, disappearing into the hollows and leaving behind only an empty, conical shell leading into the wyvern’s body.

Then, before the desperate eyes of the knights, the wyverns began to struggle violently, falling in agony into that sea of blood-red tentacles, where countless limbs danced as if welcoming one Dragon Knight after another.

Those churning, massive tentacles looked like the villi of a hellish stomach.

This was the last demon, created almost entirely in imitation of Adonsa’s original form—the Mother of Corpses.

It was an experiment. Through cloning itself, Adonsa sought to discover the essential difference between itself and other life forms. It was a highly dangerous undertaking; the slightest carelessness could produce a second terrifying and insane monster.

Putting itself in its place, Adonsa did not believe a second version of itself would be the type to sit down and have a friendly chat.

Adonsa watched as Siroya and her wyvern plummeted into the womb of flesh woven by the main body of the tentacles, thinking back on the emotions she had finally erupted with.

It was a marvelous contrast, a sudden fall from heaven into hell. The lingering taste of hope mixed with the inception of despair—neither too sweet nor too bitter, it was intoxicatingly heady.

Adonsa shook itself awake.

The aftereffects of communicating with the Cancer of All Worlds did not seem to have vanished, leaving Adonsa with many redundant desires and hallucinations, even finding pleasure in the intense emotional fluctuations of other creatures.

Although it was usually imperceptible, it would appear like a hallucination at critical moments.

Adonsa did not particularly reject this unique experience, but it had more important things to do.

It picked up the communicator Siroya had dropped and said to the person on the other end: "Second game: Hawk Catches the Chick."

Provence felt a chill rise from the soles of his feet to his crown; it was his battle-hardened sixth sense warning him of the arrival of unprecedented danger.

The sixth sense was the consequence of the deep subconscious of the brain collecting all information to date and processing it through unknown logic—something even science could not fully explain. The more a warrior fought, the more they tended to rely on this mysterious and accurate perception.

Provence felt his adrenaline switch fully open, as if the gear of a car had been slammed to the floor. Tires screeched, grinding charred ruts into the ground. The excitement of facing a strong enemy made him lose a bit of his calm.

His blood seemed to be boiling. Suppressing his excitement, Provence growled, "Boss fight!"