Extraordinary Pedigree.

Chapter 962 We Will All Go to Hell

Deep within the dungeon, pale light spilled like cold rain into the air thick with dust and a frozen atmosphere. Mottled rust formed on the metal pipes, and a faint tremor came from deep beneath one's feet, as if the entire Site-01 was groaning and panting under the pulsation of some invisible heartbeat.

Santiago's figure swayed slightly in the silence.

Upon hearing that sentence, he initially raised an eyebrow slightly, a hint of undisguised astonishment flashing in his eyes.

The next moment, it was as if some joke that had been dormant for many years in the depths of his aged eyes was suddenly exposed, and he suddenly threw his head back and burst into laughter.

"Hahahaha-"

Laughter echoed through this enclosed space, resounding like a great bell, carrying with it a sense of outdated absurdity, humor, and self-mockery of the ridiculous reality.

“Aaron Siegel…you really are…”

He laughed until his voice became hoarse, but he still murmured to himself.

"You guys really are... more like demon kings than we are!!!"

[0-01] simply stood there calmly, watching the old man who had once written down some of the world's rules with him.

The laughter eventually subsided. Santiago smoothed his messy, graying hair, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes pressing together like tree bark branded by time.

He looked up at the successor before him, making no attempt to hide his joy and admiration.

"So...you've dug up our things...the legacy of what you call the Demon King's army?"

His eyes flickered, as if he were trying to piece together some complex mystery he had long since left behind.

"How did you dig this out? Through that traitor, that unlucky guy who took Calvin Lucia's place?"

"What remnants of buried things did you use the beast of the traitors to dissect? What did you unearth from the 'library,' and then, through the hands of the four monarchs—"

He paused, as if realizing something, and a belated, mocking expression appeared on his face:

"Oh wow... I can roughly imagine what will happen if they fall into their hands."

His tone turned serious, and his gaze suddenly sharpened like a knife as he swept over Aaron:

“They will continue to expand and grow on the foundation laid by us old folks; that is their nature.”

“I guess… there must be no fewer than fifty anomalous specimens that have fallen into their hands.”

"If we combine this with the perfect prosthetic body project... ha, what a brilliant plan."

Santiago's voice grew lower and deeper, as if traversing countless ashes and cracks in memory:
"That so-called 0-13 is a complete scumbag... and a pitiful person through and through. He became your scalpel, a victim just like your brother."

“You take him—first strip the Financial Street of pollution within the Kingdom of Heaven, then use him to replace Calvin Lucia’s lost position… even make him wear the hat of a traitor, dig out those immature half-finished products from that endless library, and throw them to the Four Monarchs.”

“You are certain that they will eat it.”

His tone became sarcastic and sharp:
"I am also certain that the four of them will eventually return these fragments because of the Red King's problem, to help your prosthetic project complete the final stage."

"What a pity... I guess that unlucky guy's final fate won't be much better."

"Given you madmen who are even more terrifying than capitalists... given your ruthless and destructive methods of getting things done, how could you possibly be satisfied with three meals from one fish?"

Santiago leaned forward slightly, his voice low, like a whisper, a accusation, and a sigh:
“You definitely want more.”

He counted his fingers one by one, as if he were counting chips in a series of shady deals, his tone growing heavier with each finger he counted:
“If that unfortunate fellow really does as you wish, digging up those specimens one by one from the bottom of the ‘library’ and personally offering them to the Four Monarchs, then what will happen next… I can almost foresee it.”

“They will surely build a huge petri dish for these specimens—a space large enough to accommodate the entire reconstruction of the heritage.”

"And this petri dish... will naturally be located in the etheric belt around Terra—the subspace solar war zone that Heaven once planned."

That entire area was the dwelling place of deities, and also the most stable ecological pocket in terms of etheric density, making it ideal for constructing experimental scenarios.

He tilted his head slightly, his tone carrying a hint of almost sarcastic admiration:

"How ingenious... Through their hands, you not only activated the legacy, but also conveniently dragged down those peripheral deities, making the subsequent reckoning easier."

"But of course you won't stop here."

He broke off another finger bone and murmured:
"There's more... there must be more... let this old-fashioned relic of the past think about it some more..."

After a moment of silence, his eyes turned cold:
"Ah, right, and those two chronic problems—Financial Street and World Tree."

This is an obstacle that the Kingdom of Heaven must remove, and the leap of the Four Princes will pave the way for you.”

He shook his head and smiled, his tone carrying a hint of unreadable emotion:

"But this... isn't over yet."

“You suck the marrow out of people, you’re more greedy than vampires and more stingy than Grandet, and you’ll never stop here.”

He suddenly looked up, his sharp gaze seeming to pierce through the silent wall:
"And the corpse—that traitor whose value you've drained, he can still be squeezed dry; and that library hidden in the void; and that god-slaying spear..."

"You won't let anything go."

He gently shook his head, then slowly leaned back into the cold metal prison chair, tilting his head back to look at the man in the gray three-piece suit in front of him.

At this moment, the old man's tone was no longer sarcastic, but slowly lowered, his eyes deep, as if piercing through the chasm between these two entire eras.

He looked at the silent successor, the planner, the initiator before him, and spoke with unprecedentedly complex emotions:
"Aaron Siegel—"

His voice trembled slightly, low and deep like the sound of water from a deep well:

"You guys really do have to calculate everything."

It was not blame, nor resentment, but a sorrow that bordered on admiration;

Look, only a monster like this can lead the Kingdom of Heaven further.

The old man sat on that cold, rusty metal prison chair, the knuckles of his hands, which had once held the throat of civilization, making a reluctant grinding sound in the silence.

He didn't speak immediately, but looked up at the tall figure standing in front of the prison door, his gaze softening.

It was the gaze of an elder upon a younger generation, piercing through the malevolence of power and transcending the barriers erected by time.

"Aaron, my poor student..."

His tone was not sarcastic or judgmental, but rather carried an almost loving compassion and pity.

Aren't you tired?

[0-01] stood there, without responding.

The old man continued, his voice low and slow, filled with an indescribable sadness:

"Others can periodically clear their memories, unload their burdens, and occasionally get a chance to catch their breath... But you alone must remember everything, bear everything, traverse this hell, and never stop."

You know, that book… that book is forever alive; it remembers every price paid and demands retribution without exception.

He raised his hand and gently pointed to his shattered chest:
“We’ve accomplished so many impossible things with it: redemption, restoration, deceiving fate, stealing from the gods… But every time I think about the price we paid, I can’t help but think—Aaron, we’re going to hell eventually.”

[0-01] It's rare that there was no silence.

He lowered his eyes and replied softly:

"Yes, we will all go to hell... that is an indisputable fact."

The air froze again, as if time itself within the cage had stopped for this weighty truth.

After a moment, Santiago looked up at him, a complex smile playing on his lips:
"So, besides bringing some... good news and having a chat with this old man, you must have come to see me about something else, right?"

[0-01] He simply bowed slightly to Santiago.

“Looks like this time… I’ll be going to hell before you.” Santiago smiled with relief.

[0-01] watched him quietly, her voice unwavering:

"Go, teacher. I need you to go to the Twin Gates and die for all humanity."

Santiago tilted his head slightly, his tone playful yet tinged with a hint of experience:

"One of the costs?"

[0-01] Nods:

"Yes, one of the costs."

His tone was calm, as if he were reading a user manual:
"An opportunity bought with the price of a cataclysmic apocalypse that wiped out all of humanity; I didn't read the full cost listed, nor did I try to calculate the path to redemption, because I knew that doing so would mean my death, and now... I cannot die." He paused, raised his eyes, and gazed into the depths of the eyes of the elder who had once taught him:
"Therefore, I need you, teacher, to accept this death on my behalf, on behalf of heaven, and on behalf of all humanity."

The old man did not move, as if this heavy question had been weighing on his mind for a long time.

He showed no anger or refusal, but simply smiled, a long-lost light appearing in his eyes.

“Aaron…” he said softly, “you have finally… brought me a gift that I like.”

This statement is both a lament and a footnote to a certain destiny.

He took a deep breath, as if finally shedding the heavy burden of his prison, the years, and disappointment, and his voice was steady:

"Then let's go, Aaron. It's my turn to go to hell now."

……

……

Terra.

Northeast Bulgaria, on the shore of the Black Sea.

Deep within the fissures, the rocks extend like veins, still permeated with the lingering spiritual tides left after the Second Consul was taken in.

Xia Xiu sat quietly beside the stone wall, the bloodstains on his body and the residual energy from the feedback from the throne still slowly evaporating, like the embers after a god descended to earth.

He did not call for the Rainbow Bridge.

It wasn't forgetting, nor was it rejection; rather, at this moment, he wasn't in a hurry to return to heaven. He knew that at this moment, he carried not only the victory of "Operation Kick-off," but also a dual leap forward for both worlds.

[Angelic incest ceremony in progress—]

[Recognition complete]

[Individual Verification: Hugh Abraham]

[Data comparison in progress...]

[Permission chain cross-validation passed]

[Genealogical synchronization in progress...]

A buzzing sound rose from the silence of the earth, like a ray of light piercing through the abyss.

[Original Rank: Intermediate Second Tier - Legitimate Executioner]

[Event indicator received: "Trip Off" Completed]

[Promotion Path Detection: Valid, Not Skipping Ranks, Preset Record Exists]

[Writing upgrade files...]

The data remained silent for a moment, then slowly unfolded:

[The Catalogue of the Upper Three Angels - Officially Unsealed]

[Current Position: Toronus - Seraphim]

The temperature around the cave suddenly rose, as if the entire space was enveloped by a transparent logic.

That is the light of heaven—not illumination, but the information itself manifested as sensory feedback.

Layers of feather-like information structures fell from the void, like cipher wings in a sacred text, constructing a new image around Xia Xiu.

[Promotion Confirmed]

[New Class: Cherubim - Cherubim]

[Key Aspects of Access Control: General Knowledge and Confidentiality, Cognitive Supervision, and Willpower Encoding]

"Does this count as me getting promoted on both fronts...?"

Xia Xiu muttered to himself, his voice filled with the elation of being promoted, but his mind was perfectly clear.

He has now reached the pinnacle of two lineages.

On one side is the fifth saint in the genealogy of lust, the fifth in line to the throne; on the other side is the cherubim, the second order of the three levels in the genealogy of heaven.

As the Heavenly Kingdom's authority was gradually unlocked, a perception as clear as light yet as heavy as stars slowly flowed from the deepest part of his soul.

Xia Xiu could feel the Heavenly Consciousness Network responding to him more and more deeply. Some semantics, permissions and channels that were originally blocked were now moving with his will like dust on his fingertips.

But just moments after this promotion, his body trembled slightly.

Something ancient and dormant is awakening within me.

It already existed deep within his soul, but it was tightly sealed away.

Xia Xiu frowned, slowly extended his right hand, pressed it against his chest, took a deep breath, and lowered his consciousness to "pull" that restless entity out of the depths of his mind.

--Snapped.

A very soft, crisp sound, like the echo of a sealed sarcophagus being opened amidst stardust.

What appeared in his palm was a piece of dark gold parchment.

Its texture is ancient and dense, as if it were soaked with dried dragon blood, and its edges are scorched and cracked by some kind of inextinguishable black flame, surrounded by a circle of complex and twisted runes, as if whispering in an ancient language.

In the very center of the parchment, a pure black seal, devoid of any reflection, floats in mid-air.

It was an eye, an eye devoid of emotion, yet seemingly all-seeing.

It has no pupils, only an abyss-like vortex.

Looking at it is like gazing at an apocalypse that can never be reversed.

This is one of the seven seals.

[Third Seal - Black Seal]

The moment Xia Xiu's fingers made complete contact with the "Third Seal - Black Seal" on the dark gold parchment.

The black seal, resembling the eye of an abyss, trembled slightly.

Then, without him speaking or any medium, a fragmented, blurry image, as if transmitted across the origin of time, slowly spilled out of the mark like ink and projected into the air before his eyes.

The image was initially silent, a completely out-of-focus gray fog, like a screen with static noise caused by cold iron powder mixed with signal interference.

But then, a black outline slowly emerged from the gray-white world—wings, wings so large that they could not be fully captured within the observation frame.

They fluttered slowly, the edges of their wings like torn battle flags, chaotic yet symmetrical, like some kind of divine deformity compressed by numbers.

The central figure is blurred and collapsed, as if even the camera device itself cannot contain its form.

It is the purest black in the image.

It's not a color, but an information vacuum.

Is there water mist all around?
Ice dust?

Or perhaps it is the ashes of eternal burning?
The image cannot recognize the environment; the target area can only be seen through the signal projection frame and parameter lines.

It is slowly rising from some ruins.

That's not takeoff.

It's more like a recovery.

"A new, perfect embryo..."

……

……

……

PS: This volume is nearing its end. The next volume will still be about the Ivy League War, but more specifically, it should be called the Constant War.