musicians of old

Chapter 936 What does it count for?

"Whoosh whoosh whoosh—!!!"

The howling wind, mixed with a torrent of countless twisted and broken thoughts and blasphemous whispers, roared as it tried to penetrate eardrums, to seep into every crevice of the mind, and to turn everything into a chaotic pulp.

Pogrelic's eyes were cold as he plummeted downwards, his dress fluttering in the wind.

It fell vertically for less than a breath, but its trajectory inexplicably changed to a circular path as it sank down along a vortex.

The writhing links of the "Viper of Truth" sometimes transform into the mournful accusations of deceased enemies, sometimes into a twisted mockery of the principles held, and sometimes into purely meaningless repetition of vicious syllables, successively imprinting on the visual perception a series of contaminated patterns of suction cups and eye-shaped spots.

Pogrelic's free left hand reached out directly, grabbing a most nauseating wriggling sensation and the most intense intent to contaminate.

Then, exert force with all five fingers.

That indescribable shadowy thing, which should have originated from an ancient and terrifying being, was forcibly pulled out of the surrounding viscous, pale vortex by Him, as if dragging an overly fat roundworm!

A spray of something grayish-white, like brain matter, accompanied by a piercing shriek, appeared. It seemed as if he hadn't grasped anything in his hand; instead, his own fingers writhed wildly like mangled corpses, their skin bursting open with countless rapidly opening and closing eye-like spots, releasing an even stronger form of mental pollution.

Without even looking, Pogorelich flicked his wrist and swung the ball around in a wide arc.

The other writhing creatures that swirled around it were swept by this "rebellious remnant of its kind" infused with the principle of "ashes," and like snow meeting a red-hot iron, they all stiffened, broke, and melted away.

The downward momentum has not diminished.

Along the way, Pogrelic casually tossed the shriveled object away.

The cold gaze then locked onto the endless, colorful ocean of liquid below.

The tip of the knife is pointing downwards.

"Sizzle!!—"

The boundless ocean of mud below the Church of Genesis, thick like living asphalt, was ripped open by the "muscles" and rolled to both sides, forming a huge V-shaped gap!
It felt like I had stumbled into a pot of boiling, bubbling residue of rules.

The dissolved matter of the entire old world piled up here, surrounded by thickened malice and condensed matter that had lost its essence. The corpses of emotions and concepts floated and tumbled within it, and countless distorted colors fought and devoured each other here, screaming and denying each other while also tightly entangled and grotesquely coexisting.

The spatial relationships are like tattered cloth haphazardly glued back together, but that doesn't matter. Wherever the "blade" goes, the viscous liquid is directly cleaved into empty scars, which, in contrast to the excessive use of color, have a slightly sharp bluish tint.

"Are you...you're insane!?" Mr. F's voice was filled with shock and anger, because he not only felt the "Secret of the End" contained in the slurry being cut and shattered, but also a kind of...spreading! A terrifying spread from the "Power of Breaking the Game"!
The "scars" or "gullies" that Pogrelic has carved out along the way are too "overcorrective" and too "making a mountain out of a molehill." If it were just to clear a path, there would be no need for such efforts! But they are spreading rapidly and further afield, spreading an annihilating quality with a strong sense of suppression, refusing any color or chaos to fill the gap again!
This will definitely come at a price; doing so will certainly damage the very foundation!

But this arrogant dictator, this terrifying killing machine, not only showed no restraint, but its arrogance continued to increase, even surpassing its previous level!

"Sizzle sizzle sizzle sizzle—!!!!!"

A dense, indistinguishable cracking sound rang out. Wherever the whirlwind of blades reached, the floating, twisted faces and limbs instantly evaporated. The massive outlines of color were sliced ​​and dismembered like tofu. Countless "cavities" and "tentacles" that wrapped around from all directions were shredded into mincemeat the moment they touched the edge of the whirlwind, and then the mincemeat was further "erased"!
Centered on Pogrerich, a long, ever-expanding pale blue void is being forcibly stretched open from the filthy ocean!

Mr. F, who was lurking in an inconspicuous spot below, suddenly retreated swiftly, and the arterial tendons around him that were used to draw "nutrients" were broken and quickly withered and dissolved.

However, this annihilation and diffusion trajectory was not aimed at his main body. It merely swept past him at high speed, drawing a huge arc in the slurry, and then rose straight up, its target being directly beneath the church's base!

The interior of the church.

The Aggregators, who played a key role in the many secret histories, have vanished. The "Three-Pointed Petals" are increasingly trapped in a morbid but "bewildered" pulsation, with only dark green oil stains floating and lingering in the air.

"The principle of 'Ashes' is above all else, including mine."

The embers of the sound had long since settled inside the church, but Fanning stood there motionless, his whole body seemingly wrestling with the polluted air.

What do those things even matter?

It certainly doesn't affect the performance, for example, in terms of the musical interpretation.

The congregation of over a thousand people in this church possesses unparalleled artistic talent. The loss of three former concertmasters, replaced by second-in-commands, is hardly a problem; even after more than thirty bars of hands-off conducting, there seems to be no impact. Is the principle of "Ashes" above all else? That's merely above all else on the pioneering path of "the power to break the deadlock."

These troubles did not affect another pioneer.

Fanning simply didn't know what the "main issue" of his current thoughts was, which emotion he needed to experience, whether through reflection or catharsis. He felt dissatisfied with his current state, despite the presence of both love and hate, despite having received the answer that "love never fails." He simply understood that this was what it felt like to be on the path of pioneers. This was divinity, but was this truly divinity?

I just don't think it should be like this.

This was the umpteenth time. Separation, death, enmity, revenge—these things were nothing in the midst of "noon." Fan Ning recalled how Qiong's remaining divinity shattered during their escape along with the Southern Kingdom's projection. Perhaps the pain was even more intense then, even though the other two had lost theirs much earlier. In short, even on the eve of that world's impending "reset," none of this mattered. Moreover, moreover…
Is it on the eve of the "birth" of a world?

Fanning felt that the Canon section of the Conversion Trio had been there for a very, very long time, a very, very long time.

The music stopped at some point.

It doesn't mean that the music itself has disappeared, but that all the people present now realize that for a considerable period of time, the music had been flowing through a background noise of whispers and screams, and now that the background noise has disappeared.

Because Mr. F was under extremely terrible threats and pressure from the outside—at this moment, this dangerous element truly felt death close at hand, and only one mistake, one moment of "not being able to catch his breath."

It was at this moment when "silence" descended upon the church that truly unpolluted music, like a seed that had been pressed under a boulder, finally broke free from its burden and sprouted anew.

It was the sound of a mandolin; it seeped in quietly.

This timbre, which once lingered in Fanning's "Night Walk" in his Seventh Symphony, is now being played by Paganini, the maestro, in a distant corner of the room.

The piano music was clear and simple, carrying the warmth and purity of the world, echoing the orchestra from afar.

Miss Nightingale, who played Greta's vocal part, sang the "Our Lady of Glory" theme again with gratitude and devotion after three converts prayed for her forgiveness.

"You are incomparable, you are radiant,"
Please turn your kind face to me and look upon my overjoyed expression.
My former lover, after enduring countless hardships, has returned!

The band develops the melody richly, the tempo shifts to allegro, and the "Ascension Child Theme" is sung in sync with it, while Miss Nightingale's voice soars over three exciting B-flat high notes, bringing a wonderfully satisfying ending.

The glockenspiel and celesta scatter stardust, while the French horn and trumpet once again play the "Illumination Theme".

At that moment, Fan Ning seemed to suddenly have an epiphany.

He stretched out his long hand.

It was as if we had touched upon a harbinger of something more magnificent, loving, and all-encompassing "eternal thing."

It was the voice of "Our Lady of Glory" that finally broke through and responded to everything that had come before.

Although this theme has been fully developed before, with both vocals and instruments, those were all separate matters. Now, it is Our Lady of Glory speaking herself, with concise yet weighty lyrics.

"Come! Ascend to a higher realm!"
If he senses you, he will surely follow you!

The source of the sound could not be located; it did not come from the altar or any specific direction.

But the important thing is...
But that's all that matters.
Fan Ning was surprised to hear their voices.

it turns out?

The most tender and cherished one, the one who allows you to shed your weariness and pretense, the one you regard as your confidant, the one who understands all your thoughts and feelings, the one who carries carefree innocent memories and profound companionship and care—all those beautiful qualities are contained in that demanding yet precious response.

"Om——"

The lingering, eerie green light and the distorted dome inside the church were suddenly "lifted" by an incredibly soft yet irresistible golden light from within!

Beyond the dome, there were no longer rolling muscles and twisted celestial bodies, nor the cold, dark void. Instead, there was a sky that, though illusory and blurry, was characterized by its azure, vastness, and the presence of gently rolling clouds!