Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Nuerles moved.

The half-open giant eye suddenly sank.

All coughing sounds in the void ceased simultaneously.

The next moment, Xiren heard his own breathing.

Not now.

It was many years ago.

In that cramped, leaky little house, a wooden basin caught the water dripping from the roof, making hollow sounds one after another.

He lay on the hard bed, his high fever making his vision blurry, and his throat felt like it was stuffed with red-hot iron filings.

The mother stood by the door.

She was soaked to the bone, her hair stuck to her face, and her eyes held no worry, only barely suppressed irritability and disappointment.

"Why aren't you dead yet?"

The sound was as sharp as a scraper.

Xilun's consciousness suddenly contracted.

He knew perfectly well that it was the pain that Nurles had brought up.

But something deep inside me was still pierced.

So he still remembered.

I remember it so clearly.

I remember the smell of rainwater, the splinters on the cracked edge of the wooden basin, and how I tried to call out "Mother" but could only manage a muffled sound from my throat.

He thought he had long since stopped caring.

He thought that the past had been covered up by fighting, gunplay, breathing techniques, chill, power, and bloodshed.

But now he realizes that those things have always been there.

Like a rusty nail, driven into the bone.

If you don't usually touch it, just pretend it doesn't exist.

Once it gets rainy, once it gets cold, once it's about to die, it will start hurting again from the very marrow of its bones.

The misty shadows of Nurlesi drilled inward along this pain.

Countless images appeared in his dark, well-like pupils.

Xilun saw himself being pushed down into the mud by his mother.

I saw the dark street corner of Tukor town.

He saw himself being beaten so badly in a fight club that his mouth was full of blood for the first time.

He saw Clement's sword pierce his right chest.

I saw Fowles' punch crack his sternum.

I saw Lund pinned to the clock tower by the Black Frost Spear, his blood slowly flowing into the cocoon.

Finally, he saw what Lund looked like now.

A young face, a withered body, lying among the ruins and rubble.

Kuroba protected him for the time being.

But that body was so withered that it didn't look like a living person.

His skin clung to his bones, his chest rose and fell almost imperceptibly, and dark red blood foam lingered at the corners of his mouth.

The bloodline has been contaminated.

Even those eyes, which were always stern, clear-headed, and occasionally tinged with a hint of mockery, were now just a murky gray.

Lund is going to die.

When the thought crossed his mind, Xilun suddenly felt it was absurd.

He devoted himself to spiritual practice.

Calculating desperately.

They desperately crawled into every crevice.

He had killed people, lied to people, endured humiliation, and told himself countless times that survival was the most important thing.

In the end, he couldn't protect any of the things he wanted to protect.

Finn left him.

Susie left.

Daisy watched him through the shadows upstairs.

A fraternity is a responsibility, not a family.

Saiwei cried out in the rain, but he couldn't turn back.

Lund had clearly bought him a ticket to go to the Chaotic Sea and told him to wait until later.

But he still came.

Then I watched as my teacher walked step by step toward death.

It's ridiculous.

Xilun wanted to laugh, but he couldn't even move the corners of his mouth in his mind.

Perhaps this is the end of my life.

He still has many things he wants to do.

He wanted to go see the Sea of ​​Chaos.

I want to find out what kind of person the Duke of Storm really is.

I want to keep the Iron Cross Club running.

I want to tell those poor children not to kneel down easily.

I'm trying to find the gray top hat.

I want to ask my mother if she ever regretted it even for a moment back then.

But all of these things now seem distant.

It's as far away as a lamp in the fog.

Nurles's voice was not spoken, but it resonated in his heart.

Pain will accept you.

Rot will acknowledge you.

All beings are equal in times of illness.

Xilun listened quietly.

Then, in the darkness, he struggled to recall Lund's crude words.

Hold the gun firmly.

Don't sell the bones.

The next moment, Lady Black Crow's cold laugh shattered all illusions.

"roll."

The faceless crown was raised.

Scarlet fear washed over the Black Well like a tidal wave.

Xilun saw the mythical form of the Black Raven Lady take a step forward.

As that step was taken, countless withered flowers appeared in the void.

The petals are jet black, the stems are scarlet, and new shoots sprout from the decaying soil the moment the flowers wither.

Withering away.

vitality.

scarlet.

destroy.

Four distinct moods overlap, transforming into a black wilderness that defies description.

The fog of Nuerles spread outwards.

decay.

disease.

plague.

pain.

The gray-white disease rings spread in concentric circles, and all the diseased embryos that had been torn apart by Lady Black Crow curled up again in the fog, like festering sores that could never be healed.

The two mythical forms collided once again.

There is no sound in the human sense.

But Xilun's spiritual core was struck as if by a giant hammer.

A crack spread.

Another crack spread.

His third-order chill was pitifully weak in the face of this level, and he could only instinctively protect the last bit of his sanity.

Lady Black Crow's wings were corroded with large holes by the gray mist.

Scarlet sparks dripped from the hole, falling into the void and transforming into new black feathers.

Nuerles's disease ring was torn apart, and countless coughs screamed and disappeared in the mist, but more black mist squeezed out from Eli's fourth-order corpse to fill the gap.

None of them are complete.

A wisp of divinity descended merely through the bone whistle and the body of Siron.

A partially formed evil god, Mist Shadow, who had prematurely emerged from his cocoon and was residing in a fourth-tier corpse.

Even so, it was enough to make the entire lower city tremble invisibly.

Xilun suddenly noticed a certain pattern.

Lady Black Raven never chased after Nurles's misty form during her attacks.

She severed the connection.

The connection between the diseased fetus and the nebulo-induced cyst.

The connection between the giant eye and the corpse.

The connection between the cocoon remains and the traces of descent.

And each of Nurles' counterattacks was not aimed at killing Lady Black Crow.

It is polluting West London.

It is corroding the carrier.

It knew that Lady Black Crow could not stay long.

They also knew that Xilun couldn't hold on.

The struggle between gods ultimately came down to two broken human bodies.

Xilun bowed his head.

He saw that his body no longer resembled a body.

His skin cracked open, black feathers pierced out, bluish-black lesions crawled into the gaps between his bones, the old wound on his right shoulder tore open again, and the ribs in his chest, which had been severely injured by Fowles, made a faint sound as they creaked under the strain.

pain.

My body is in pain.

The soul is also in pain.

Every inch of flesh and blood felt like it was being repeatedly pounded on an anvil.

But suddenly he didn't want to close his eyes anymore.

Since we're going to die anyway.

At least see it more clearly.

At least watch this epic battle.

As if sensing his thoughts, Lady Black Crow's voice rang out on the edge of his consciousness.

"Don't force yourself to memorize things you can't learn."

Her tone remained indifferent, even carrying a hint of disdain.

"You'll die even faster."

Xilun did not respond.

He simply stared at the trajectory of those energy flows.

Black Feather first gathered up.

It turns scarlet and then ignites.

Fear is not something that is projected outward, but rather something that is pressed into the deepest part of the other person and then blossoms from within.

Withering is not the end of life.

Instead, let everything move towards its proper end.

The giant eye behind Nurles suddenly opened to two-thirds of its full size.

All the sick embryos in the void exploded at the same time.

Countless black mist umbilical cords twisted into a huge, rotting long arm, which passed through the Black Raven Lady's feathered blade blockade and viciously grabbed at the chest of Xiren's body.

That is the spiritual core.

Lady Black Crow paused for the first time.

She glanced down at Lund.

The slight rise and fall of the man's chest was almost breaking.

If this drags on any longer, Lund will die.

Xilun will also die.

She raised her hand.

All the shadowy arms vanished at that moment.

The crow's wings folded.

A faceless crown hangs down.

That enormous mythical form began to collapse into a single point.

It's not a retreat.

Rather, it is about cohesion.

Xiren felt his bones creaking under the pressure, as if the entire darkness had been crammed into his spine.

A golden spear emerged from the void.

The gun that originally belonged to Lund.

He was later held by Xilun countless times.

At this moment, it hung quietly in Lady Black Crow's palm, the cracks on the gun being filled inch by inch by black light.

She used the golden spear as a base to create a spear whose end could not be seen.

The spearhead is not gold.

It is deep black.

It was so dark that even the fog around Nurles contracted in that instant.

Lady Black Crow spoke calmly.

"My spear of Chianurance has never missed."

She paused.

"Not this time either."

The spear was thrown.

There was no thunder.

There was no explosion.

It just moves forward.

It pierced through the long arm of black mist.

It pierced through the giant gray-white eye.

It pierced through Eli's completely mutated fourth-order corpse.

It also penetrated the root system of the plague cocoon that still remained underground in the distance.

The void was torn apart like a piece of cloth.

Nuerles spoke for the first time.

That wasn't a scream.

Rather, it's the breathing of an entire city when it falls ill at the same time.

heavy.

Damp.

despair.

But that voice was quickly silenced by the black spear.

The spearhead pierced deep into the decaying, plague-ridden body of the god.

Lady Black Raven whispered, "Wither."

And so, everything began to wither.

The black fog stopped spreading.

A sick fetus will not be reborn.

The giant gray-white eye quickly shrank, and the black well in its pupil was burned through by some kind of black flame.

Eli's body stood still, like a withered tree struck by lightning, cracking into ash from the chest down.

The incomplete misty shadow of Nurles struggled to break free from its vessel.

But that spear pinned down more than just a corpse.

And the path by which He descended to this place.

Lady Black Raven raised her hand and took out a few wisps of grayish-white substance from the rapidly disintegrating black mist.

Like fog.

It also resembles rotten silk threads.

It also resembles some kind of broken divine remnant.

She casually tucked it into her palm.

Then, she turned around and looked at Xiren deep in her consciousness.

"Where is a safe place?"

Xilun could barely hear anymore.

But he still instinctively thought of a place.

It is not the Brotherhood residence.

It is not a South District stronghold.

It's not the Daewoo Dojo.

It's not the Link family either.

It was Lund's estate.

That old courtyard in the southern suburbs.

It was drafty, damp, and old.

But there was Savy's hot porridge, Lund's cough, and the smell of damp earth in the yard.

With difficulty, Xilun raised his hand from his consciousness and pointed in a certain direction.

Lady Black Crow nodded slightly.

The next moment, darkness enveloped everything.

The crumbling walls, Lund, the golden spear, and the broken humanoid figure of Xilun all vanished from the ruins.

Above the old textile factory, only falling dust remained.

And a deathly silence, devoid of any sound.

When Xilun heard the sound of rain again, he couldn't tell whether he was awake or still dreaming.

Tick.

Tick.

Water droplets fell along the eaves.

In the distance, there seemed to be wind rustling through the old tree branches and leaves, making a hoarse, grating sound.

The voice sounds familiar.

Like the old courtyard in the southern suburbs.

Like Lund's house, which always smelled of medicine and old wood.

He wanted to open his eyes.

But my eyelids felt frozen.

Then, pain surged up from the deepest part of my body.

It's not the pain of a single wound.

Instead, the entire body was cracking open.

Every inch of flesh beneath the skin felt like it was being churned by tiny blades, and there was a hollow feeling in the bones after black feathers had been pulled out. The area around the spiritual core was covered with fine bluish-black lines, and with the slightest movement of the breath, the chest cavity felt like it was filled with shards of glass.

The stench of decay still lingers within.

Although Nurlus's shadow was nailed to the path of his descent, the pollution he left behind was not completely dissipated.

Those things, like damp, cold insects, slowly crawled along blood vessels, lungs, and bone crevices, trying to find a new nest.

The chilling aura instinctively retaliated.

The remnants of Black Crow's divine power were also being cleaned up.

Three forces were tearing at each other within his body.

Xilun wanted to make a sound.

But only a mouthful of dark red blood welled up in his throat.

"Don't move."

The Black Crow's voice rang out.

Very close.

It's also very far away.

Xilun struggled to open his eyes a crack.

At first, all I could see was a blurry darkness.

Then he saw the familiar rooftop.

The wooden beams were blackened, old cobwebs hung in the corners, and rainwater seeped in from an unrepaired crack, slowly sliding down the wall.

This is indeed Lund's old house.

But he wasn't the only one in the house.

Lund lay on the hard bed next to him.

The man was covered with a thin blanket, his face was ashen, and his chest barely rose and fell.

Savi is not here.

Perhaps they were separated by Lady Black Crow.

Maybe he hasn't made it back yet.

Xilun tried to turn his head to see Lund clearly, but found that his neck was completely unresponsive.

Lady Black Crow stood by the window.

It is no longer Xilun's body.

It is no longer that enormous and overwhelming mythological form.

She was like a woman draped in a black dress, her figure hazy, her edges sometimes scattering like raven feathers, and sometimes coalescing again.

She looked down at her arm.

That arm should have been white and slender, like moonlight stretching out in the night.

But at this moment, a wisp of black mist was wrapped around it.

The black aura was extremely faint.

Yet it remains stubbornly etched into the bone like ink burned into the marrow.

It is not the decay of Nuerles.

It's not like Eli's gray-black disease ring.

It's more like a distant, ancient, and familiar echo.

Lady Black Crow stared at it for a long time.

For the first time, a thoughtful look appeared in his eyes.

"This aura..."

She said softly.

He didn't finish speaking.

Xilun couldn't hear clearly.

All he could hear was a deafening roar, as if his blood was being forced back up.

Lady Black Crow turned around and looked at him.

"The transaction is complete."

Her tone remained calm.

"The vessel of Nuerles has vanished."

"It will be unable to be reborn for at least ten years."

Xilun wanted to ask Lund how he was doing.

I'd like to ask if all the members of the Black Death cult are dead.

I wonder if I can still live.

But he couldn't make a sound.

Ms. Black Crow didn't seem interested in explaining any further.

She walked to the bedside and looked down at Xilen's mangled body.

At this moment, Xilun has returned to human form.

The black raven wings, feather bones, and shadow hands that had grown from the mythical form all disappeared.

There is no crown.

There is no scarlet.

There are no divine figures whose outlines are too striking to look at.

Only one person remains.

A third-order aberrant individual.

A young man whose body is cracked, whose flesh is withered, and whose spiritual core is about to shatter.

He has a penetrating wound in his right shoulder.

Multiple fractures of the sternum.

The old wound on my left rib was reopened.

There were bluish-black lines on the side of his neck, and scorch marks like black holes left by the backlash from the bone whistle on his palm.

His skin was cold.

So cold it was unnatural.

Yet there was a kind of putrid heat emanating from within, rising in bursts.