The Witcher: The Journey to Transcendence from Marvel...

Chapter 539

Countless long years have passed, and he has always faithfully followed God.

His radiant, holy figure remains in every corner of heaven.

At the same time, he is the sharpest and most deadly sword in God's hand.

Whenever the shadow of evil looms and a force challenges God's authority, the seraphim always step forward without hesitation or fear.

The seraph gripped the greatsword tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white from the force.

Under the intense light of the fireball, the sword shone brightly, dazzling and radiant, as if the sun's brilliance had been concentrated on this small blade, exuding a chilling power.

His eyes burned with fury, filled with unwavering resolve. He glared at David before him, and roared in a voice as loud as thunder, "Heretics!"

The sound boomed like thunder in heaven, filled with majesty and rage.

No sooner had she finished speaking than the Seraph did something that astonished everyone.

He resolutely set his body ablaze, the holy light and the raging flames instantly merging into one, weaving together a terrifyingly powerful force.

The flames were no ordinary fire, but golden flames imbued with divine power. Every wisp of flame exuded an awe-inspiring aura, as if the wrath of heaven were burning.

No one expected that the seemingly indestructible and invincible black water would be ignited by the scorching golden flames.

The flames, like nimble little snakes, spread rapidly along the black water, advancing quickly towards David's entire body.

In the blink of an eye, David was covered by golden flames. The flames seemed to have their own will, tightly binding him, and no matter how David struggled, he could not extinguish them.

Intense pain surged through David like a tidal wave, causing him to let out a deafening roar, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably.

Under unbearable torment, David had to relinquish his giant form, and his body rapidly shrank back to its normal size.

At this moment, he was kneeling heavily on one knee, his hands gripping the Black Death Sword tightly, his knuckles turning bluish-white, his body convulsing in pain.

Even in such a wretched state, his eyes were still filled with resentment and anger, like two burning flames staring intently at the seraphim before him. The hatred in his heart burned brighter and brighter, like a fire doused with oil.

The Seraph, despite the immense pain of burning his own body, feeling as if every second was torture in purgatory, showed no fear or regret on his face.

He stood there straight, like a sacred and inviolable judge, his eyes coldly fixed on David, silently awaiting his demise.

As David was relentlessly burned by the golden flames and was on the verge of losing consciousness from the pain, a resolute glint suddenly flashed in his eyes, like a flame of hope burning in the darkness.

He suddenly stretched out his hand, as if issuing an irresistible command.

The black monsters, who had long been enslaved by the Black Death Sword, seemed to be summoned by some mysterious power. Without hesitation, they abandoned their ongoing battle and rushed towards him madly.

These monsters came in all shapes and sizes, some with twisted limbs and others with hideous and terrifying faces, but at this moment they all shared a common goal: to use their bodies to cover the raging flames burning on David's body.

They showed no fear and felt no pain; they only knew how to obey David's commands and go through fire and water for him.

Thanks to the monsters' relentless efforts, the golden flames that had been so fierce and seemed poised to completely engulf David actually began to weaken and eventually extinguish.

When the last flame finally disappeared, David slowly stood up. Although his figure was still a little swaying, his eyes were cold and full of power.

Then, with a gentle wave of his arm, he absorbed all the remaining black monsters.

The moment those monsters touched his body, they transformed into a black energy that rapidly merged into his body, just like water droplets merging into the ocean.

As black energy continuously flowed into him, David's originally hideous wounds healed rapidly at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The skin in the previously bloody and mangled areas gradually became smooth again, as if those wounds had never existed.

This is the astonishing yet somewhat ruthless ability of the Black Death Sword: it can not only enslave the souls of gods, turning them into its own fighting tools, but also use the power contained within these souls to heal its own injuries.

That is why the gods are so wary of this sword and regard it as the greatest threat.

At this moment, the Seraph had burned out its last bit of power.

His body became transparent, as if it were an illusory existence composed of light and shadow.

Slowly, his body transformed into countless points of light, like drifting snowflakes, which slowly dissipated in the air.

The lower-ranking angels witnessed this scene and were filled with grief and despair, and they all burst into tears.

Their cries echoed in heaven, their sorrow overflowing.

In stark contrast, neither God nor the four monarchs showed any obvious emotional fluctuations on their faces.

Hallelujah!

The soft, sorrowful voices of the lower angels were the first to rise in Heaven, like sighs carried on a gentle breeze. The voices flowed from the softest part of their hearts, carrying endless longing for the departed seraphim.

As the first note began, it was as if an invisible call drew more and more angels into the chanting.

The sound of the hymns, like the rising tide, transformed into an invisible yet powerful wave that quickly spread throughout heaven.

The singing grew louder and louder, gradually becoming as powerful and awe-inspiring as a great bell, resounding through the sky.

As the stirring yet sorrowful song played, a strange and magnificent sight appeared in the sky.

They are tall and imposing, exuding an aura of majesty that inspires awe and is the embodiment of the power of heaven.

Before the saints was an army composed of the most devout believers.

These believers were dressed in magnificent and solemn attire, the patterns and decorations on which shimmered with a mysterious light.

Holding weapons that symbolize their faith, they stood in perfect unison, like a well-trained army of steel.

Their eyes were filled with determination and loyalty, their gaze piercing through all difficulties and obstacles, revealing a resolute willingness to dedicate everything for heaven and for God.

Their steps were steady and powerful, each step firm and resounding.

(End of this chapter)