Nine Venoms Sect Founder - Chapter 108: The Apocalypse has Come

Before Harun could react, Jiyan rushed past him and rammed her fist into the armored punch. Energy ripples and earth-shattering shock-waves rumbled from the collision. The armored fist cracked. But as the owner attempted to retract his move, Jiyan trapped the arm between her palms. Gray Withering Essence flowed out—breaking the punch into particles of metallic dust.

“AAAAAAAAARGH!” A sharp, doleful scream pealed from the deepest reaches of the Obsidian Soul Stone mine, terrorizing the Soul Refining Hall’s disciples—some Reverends included. Although they couldn’t judge the owner’s cultivation, from this sound alone, they knew it’d surpassed all they ever confronted—a God-level expert undoubtedly.

Harun’s heart skipped a beat. Despite remaining alert of his surroundings, despite having better raw senses than Jiyan, he didn’t see that move coming. Had she not taken this blow for him, perhaps this day would later become his death anniversary. Instantly, Harun realized that the nine million believers’ impact on his soul and senses was even worse than he first estimated. If he didn’t find a place to quietly siphon Soul Essence and mend the damages, disaster might strike him down.

“And this is just the price of receiving their worship. The Heavens be merciful. If I attempted to breakthrough to the Suffering stage now, how could I survive?” Harun could free the Birusk clan’s several hundreds from sufferings, but the Dark Stone City’s millions was another game altogether. In the short time, that wasn’t feasible. But if he didn’t break through soon, Harun faced another problem: fame.

Karmic Attachment was a mysterious thing. As long as the Karmic Threads stemmed from Harun’s actions, he couldn’t easily reject them. For that, he’d not only need to actively reject his devotees’ worship, but demystify himself in their minds. Only by ruining the image and bond they clung on, could Harun escape that attachment. But even as he trod the Obsidian Soul Stone mine, his name spread across the Dark Stone Country. When the chaos peaked, and his feats reached the desperate’ ears, Harun would receive even more Karmic Threads—his soul and Mythical Idol Incarnation couldn’t endure that.

Joining his hands in a prayer sign, Harun released his Spiritual Incense. The golden smoke plunged into the nearby walls and ground—forming a radiant barrier around a ten meters radius. Centered on Harun, the barrier instantly alerted him of and expelled every existence with ill-intent aimed at him. However, it’d exhaust 10 incense points per minute.

“How fast does your Spiritual Incense regenerates?” Jiyan asked. Harun’s Spiritual Incense was a consumable resource with a hard cap determined by how many worshippers he possessed.

“Typically, about 24 hours. But it depends on prayer activity and could be as fast as one minute, or as long as a week. But it’s fine, I now have a hard cap of over nine million incense points, and only spent one million on the formation. Considering how desperate the citizens are, it shouldn’t take long to replenish,” Harun explained.

…

Meanwhile, in the recesses of the Obsidian Soul Stone mine, a bronze-armor-clad giant over 30 meters tall, clutched his right shoulder—staring at his missing arm. Golden eyes akin to an orb of lightning, flashed under his helmet—reflecting his fury.

In that room, the armless entity included, 27 creatures sat on obsidian thrones that formed a circle around a blood-red lake. Blood-colored fishes fluttered at the lake’s surface, trapped in blood bubbles of unknown function. Though separated by several meters, the 26 entities clearly saw their peer’s misery. Eight colossi, similarly clad in bronze armors, snorted disdainfully and ignored their brother’s grief.

However, the remaining 18, diminutive youths of porcelain skin and crimson eyes, couldn’t restrain their laughter. “Mhmm, First Landgrave. Seems like these millions of years of slumber slightly dulled your skills. A pity that you Berserk Colossi lack…well, any form of regeneration abilities. Ha, the plight of brutes,” said one of the 18 men. Dressed in ashen cloaks, the 18 shorties lacked their peers’ oppressive presence. Yet, a profound and mystical force laced their porcelain flesh, given them an air of inviolable, stainless saints. Thankfully, the clear murderlust in their eyes enabled most to see through their true nature.

The First Landgrave leaped from his throne, the earth shook underneath his several tons of mass, and despite the profound strength gap between those 18 doll-like dwarves and he, clear battle intent billowed from his form.

“Oh calm down will you? Though some are clearly more evolved than others, all of us Landgraves are brothers born from the same womb—so to speak. Staying united is critical.”

“An Anasrava level refiner lost an arm to a girl barely in her thirties, in a physical contest, and still has the gall to show off his temper? Fuck, she’s not even old enough to be your 1,000th generation descendant’s 1,000th generation descendant. Brother, learn some shame.” One after the other, the red-eyed dolls battered the First Landgrave with insults. And even his fellow Colossi didn’t bother assisting him.

It had always been this way. As the eldest of this band, he was also the weakest. From infancy to maturity, he watched his brothers pop out of the Abyssal River, and steadily outpace him. Scorn, physical abuse and derision didn’t diminish his berserker spirit, but spirit alone couldn’t defeat the abysmal gap.

But as the First Landgrave prepared to fight a lost battle, a blood-red ray surged from the Abyssal River, stabbed his chest, and rebuilt his lost arm. Instantly, peace returned to the Colossus’ mind. Although she bestowed more favor on his younger siblings, at least his mother…still cared for him.

A crimson cloud formed above the Abyssal River, revealing two faces to the Landgrave Assembly: Harun and Weeping Soul’s.

“Oh. Seems like mother made her choice. Lucky fellows. Who do you want? The Dream Seer or the mhm…even mother doesn’t recognize those two brats’ precise path. Interesting…” One of the red-eyed dolls started. After studying the info collected by the Abyssal River, the 27 Landgraves made their choice.

“Let’s probe them first. You Berserk Colossi can focus on the brats, we will study the blind donkeys,” the 27th Landgrave, a baby-faced doll with curly black hair, said—and none dared contradict him.

For the Gods and Dream Seers, the Abyssal River and Obsidian Soul Stone mine were lands of abundant resources and opportunities they could use to rapidly enhance their strength. As long as the river didn’t devour souls, this was correct. Only Weeping Soul and his top four elders knew of the river’s true identity: A slumbering, underground faction of the Lost Era whose location shifted across the First Range, surfacing only in places of war, death and abundant souls.

In the past, whoever took control of the Abyssal River merely obtained an inert treasure capable of refining flesh and souls to strengthen the master. But the river ultimately consumed its lord, making the expert “mysteriously” vanish from the cultivation world. But thanks to Weeping Soul’s malignant efforts, the entity hidden within the river would soon awake—how could she not hug him tight?

As for Harun? He was just that tasty.

…

In the meantime, the First Range went from a place of disturbing social dynamics to a full-blown nightmare. The Dark Stone City aside, random fissures appeared across the Range, sparing no country. Wherever they popped up, crevasses and pits formed, swallowing the nearby men and women. Panic followed immediately.

As if war, famine and death weren’t enough. Now the earth itself rose in rebellion, threatening to conquer the world. At the summit of despair, the Dark Stone Countries’ citizens no longer had any doubt:

“The apocalypse has come.”