Nine Venoms Sect Founder - Chapter 149: Plague Worshipping Cult (2)

The Flame Spirit Kingdom’s fall was but the first of the upheavals putting the Second Range’s cultivation world to a hopeless test. The Uncorrupted Crane Sect, the Armored Bull Army and many other dominant factions of the Second Range collapsed like crawling ants before a stampede of giants. Seers, Monstrous Beasts, Celestials, the mutants spared none, slaughtering their way deeper into the Second Range with an irresistible momentum. Only the Gods escaped destruction, instead turning into captives and slaves for the mutants’ leading abominations. And as the slaughter carried on, by feasting on the thousands of cultivators they put down, the creatures evolved. Physically, mentally, spiritually, each fallen city, province or country became a flag that warned neighboring factions of the mutants’ growth. Merely five days in, eight divine factions had fallen already. Entire kingdoms and sects gutted to the last disciple.

“Why…why is this happening?” Bundled in vines and naked from head to toe, a captive god whimpered. A third-level Ascending God and former top general of the Armored Bull Army, he’d experienced many battles and enjoyed countless praises. Specialized in raids, the Armored Bull Army followed a nomadic lifestyle, only stopping to plunder resources from enemy factions. The army shared everything—from slaves to wealth—based on merit, with the treasure house locked by all the generals’ blood. As far as this god was concerned, this was the fairest arrangement, and the primary reason why he remained loyal to his commander, even after his death.

Never did this general expect that he who enjoyed loot and plunder for centuries would now turn into a defenseless, nude slave dragged amidst lines of divine captives. With barely enough space to not butt into one another, the deities cast lifeless eyes at the ground, not daring to look ahead. The vines suppressed their cultivation bases to zero, preventing them from considering revolt. The lofty dignity they’d accumulated throughout their tens of thousands of years of lives had collapsed entirely. Some had it worse, piled on one another while the mutants dragged them through clay and concrete.

“Is this…the new Cataclysm? Has the Son of Heaven…returned?” It didn’t take long for such words to fill the divine slaves’ ranks. But as many expected the invading hordes to press on, in a twist none saw coming, they stopped, settled on the Celestial and Gods’ lands…then started farming.

Right, besides their emerald color, the mutants had one other thing in common: plants growing from their skin, fur or scales. Those plants each carried seeds the mutants now planted on former celestial lands.

Led by their “alpha,” each pack got to work, and started producing resources for the mutant armies. Needless to say, they put their divine slaves to work. But instead of using them to nurture the plantations, the mutants forced the restrained deities to build massive idols for them to pray to: idols of a sleeping youth none could identify.

Feeling that their celestial dignity couldn’t endure such an insult, some deities refused to work. But after several minutes of noxious whipping, they all fell in line, and with forced smiles, did their job. The news spread like wildfire, leaving the Second Range to reach the Third.

…

Unlike the First and Second Range, the Third didn’t have much strife or competition. The reason was simple, one faction lorded over all others: the Barbaric Demon Stronghold. The Stronghold only had one recruitment rule: celestials and monsters as disciples, humans as servants. Moreover, all celestials were forced to remain in their true form and embrace their Divine Nature until they reached the Heavenly God Realm.

Headed by the undisputed number one expert of the junior generation, Xerzan, the Barbaric Demon Stronghold promptly established itself as the preeminent force of the Third Range, and within several decades, destroyed its competition. In previous years, some belligerent factions still opposed Xerzan’s leadership, but following his meeting with Weeping Soul, the Stronghold Master shut down the last defiant forces, then secluded himself for weeks of cultivation orgy.

Satisfied at last, Xerzan walked out of his orgy chambers, leaving steamy and ecstatic bodies of various genders and races behind. Dressed in bandages of golden chains, the androgynous youth trotted toward his desk, sat, and crossed his barefooted legs over the mahogany table. “Haaaa, Weeping Soul, Weeping Soul, you don’t know what you’re missing. I have to pull you out of your shell before you die a 3,000 years old virgin. Now that’d be a crying shame,” Xerzan sighed while mystical energies swirled in his blue and amber double pupils.

Stretching out his hand, the Stronghold Master conjured a divination image of Weeping Soul’s location. But instead of the usual reverend sitting crossed-legged below a creepy tree, Xerzan saw nothing—his heart skipped a beat. At that time, a black puma sashayed in, keeping a scroll in suspension through his telekinetic powers.

“Stronghold Master, congratulations on another delightful breakthrough. I’ve prepared a supper with two feminized boys and one milf to let you blow off some more steam,” the black puma, an Ascending-God-level deacon of the Barbaric Demon Stronghold and Xerzan’s assistant, chortled.

In other circumstances, Xerzan would just give him a pat on the head. But in that instant, he couldn’t care less for depravity. “Where is Weeping Soul?” the Stronghold Master directly asked, taking his subordinate aback. Though he’d served under Xerzan for decades, the puma couldn’t imagine that his master put some lives above others. That lack of foresight sealed his fate. “The Soul Refining Hall’s master? Oh, he’s dead. The Truth Scrying Grotto sent us the news. They wanted you to investigate the circumstances of his failure and capture the candidate,�� the puma candidly replied.

Instantly, Xerzan’s eyes stretched to the limit. “How could you not say…anything?” Xerzan’s voice trembled with surging fury. But as if deaf to the change of tone, the puma shrugged. “It wasn’t a significant problem. With so many allies and sycophants, one more, one less, what does it matter? I couldn’t possibly interrupt your cultivation for something so trivial. Heck, the Second Range is being overrun by foreign mutants that will probably aim for our necks next, a much more sensitive matter, but I haven’t warned you either,” the puma proudly replied, believing that Xerzan would definitely praise and reward him for this.

*Smack*

The Stronghold Master’s response exceeded all his subordinate’s expectation. With one move, Xerzan beheaded the fool and rushed toward the second range.

…

Meanwhile, trapped in a coma, Harun drifted to yet another scenery, where two monks, male and female, appeared locked in a heated debate. But while the male’s purple double pupils bulged with wrath, the female’s golden eyes remained stoic.