Chapter 33: The Abyss and the Architect

Neville Hennessey floated in absolute, suffocating darkness.

There was no sound. There was no light. There was only the crushing weight of his own shattered pride.

This phenomenon was known as a Soul Blight.

It is a state of crisis and opportunity at the same time. It is a battle of mental will which various Masters reach, but Neville was not at that level yet.

What he was experiencing was something same and different at the same time.

If he did not overcome it, the festering darkness would trigger a violent and unstoppable berserk state, which will lead to madness.

His mana core would detonate from the inside out.

"You were quite amusing till you lasted, Golden boy!" a voice echoed in the void.

It was not a human voice. It sounded like a thousand venomous snakes hissing in perfect unison.

Neville tried to turn his head. His body was entirely paralyzed.

A pair of massive, burning crimson eyes opened in the darkness directly in front of him.

"You were promised glory," the entity whispered, its voice sliding into Neville’s mind like cold mud.

"You were promised the adoration of the masses. Yet, a defective spearman and a cowardly trickster stole it all from you. You were left alone. Your admirers left you. They are all gone. Gone forever!"

"Who are you?" Neville choked out. He spoke as if his throat was being rubbed on a sandpaper.

"I am the hand that reaches down when the Light abandons you," the entity replied.

The crimson eyes narrowed into a crescent-shaped, creepy smile.

"I offer a transaction, Neville Hennessey," the voice purred.

"Accept my blessing, and you shall receive power beyond the pathetic limits of your holy aura. You shall crush your enemies into dust. None shall stand against you. Accept this power and the World shall bow to their New King!"

Neville’s breathing hitched.

"And if I refuse?" Neville asked, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and desperate ambition.

"If you refuse, you shall find out," the entity said smoothly.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"The choice is yours, Golden Boy. Call my name when you are tired of losing."

SWOOSH!

The crimson eyes vanished.

Neville violently gasped for air. His eyes snapped open.

He was back in the sterile white Medical Ward. His hospital gown was completely soaked in cold sweat.

His chest heaved. His mind felt like it was being crushed by stomping Elelphants. The mental exhaustion was terrifying.

Neville slumped back against the pillows drifting into deep sleep.

---

Draven Mordis was walking down the quiet academy hallway.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The System screen forcibly materialized in his vision.

[ALERT: HIGH-TIER DIVINE INTERVENTION DETECTED.]

[An Unspeakable Entity has breached the planetary barrier.]

Draven stopped dead in his tracks. His dark eyes widened in genuine shock.

’The Evil God?’ Draven thought, his mind racing. ’That is impossible. The Evil God is not supposed to make a move on Aegon until the end of the second year!’

Ding!

[Correction: Target is not Aegon Logcheville.]

[Target is: Neville Hennesy.]

Draven stared at the floating text. A complicated frown formed on his face.

The plot was derailing much faster than he anticipated.

What was originally meant to happen to Aegon in the novel was now happening to Neville.

’This is bad,’ Draven analyzed coldly.

’Neville is a trash mob in character, but his raw power is very real. The Evil God must have sensed the increased Corruption in his Core. A Fallen hero would be the best catalyst for destroying the world that had abandoned him.’

If used correctly, the Hero’s holy aura could stop a lot of future calamities in advance.

’But a nuclear bomb in the hands of a fool is like a madman waging wars for oil,’ Draven mused, his eyes narrowing.

’There is no difference between them. They both just leave behind collateral damage.’

Neville was becoming a dangerously unpredictable variable.

And he was not the only one.

’The Cult of the Eternal Eclipse failed to get the Aegis Core,’ Draven thought.

’They need a spatial battery for their summons. They will definitely come up with a different, more desperate plan to get their sacrifices.’

The chessboard was changing. Draven needed to lock down the loose pieces.

’I should talk to Neville,’ Draven decided.

He did not like it.

But sometimes, we need to make such decisions for the greater good for the people.

It was not like Draven was not capable of handling the scenario himself using his Epic Sign-System. He was just trying to avoid any unnecessary trouble.

’If he cannot be fixed,’ Draven’s eyes turned pitch-black with killing intent.

’Then he cannot be saved from his fate. I will put him down myself.’

---

Far beyond the towering walls of Bastion Seven, the Wildlands were consumed by a raging storm.

Hidden deep beneath a jagged mountain range was a massive conference room.

The room was lit only by flickering, sickly green torches.

In the center of the room sat a massive, circular obsidian table.

There were nine high-backed chairs positioned evenly around the stone. One chair, far larger and more ornate than the rest, sat completely empty. It was the seat of the Pope.

Of the remaining eight chairs, only three were currently occupied.

The other five Elders of the Church of the Eternal Eclipse were busy managing calamities across the continent. This meeting was not about the total destruction of the Church, so their presence was not required.

But for the three Elders in charge of the Bastion 7 region, this was a severe crisis.

Elder Martha Mooders stood up. She wore a heavy crimson robe embroidered with black thorns. Her face was severely scarred, and her pale eyes gleamed with fanaticism.

"Thank you for answering the emergency call, Elder Mathews and Elder Briggins," Martha announced, her voice echoing in the dark cavern.

The two men sitting across from her nodded grimly in the green light.

"I shall not waste your time with formalities," Martha said sharply. "I will get straight to the point."

She slammed her withered hand down onto the obsidian table.

"Recently, our members have faced unacceptable difficulties in managing our regional headquarters," Martha snarled. "Our operations have resulted in massive, unexplained losses."

Elder Mathews leaned forward, his hands steepled together. "The failure of the forest ambush? The students survived."

"Worse," Martha corrected him. "Our hidden altar beneath Bastion Seven was completely annihilated. And just yesterday, our sleeper agent, Instructor Graves, was found decapitated inside the Academy vault."

Elder Briggins frowned deeply. "Did Graves fail to secure the Aegis Core?"

"We do not know if he secured it," Martha hissed, her eyes twitching with rage. "But the Core was not recovered by the Academy. It is completely missing."

The room fell dead silent. The implications were terrifying.

"Someone else took it," Mathews realized, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Exactly," Martha sneered. She pointed a long, bony finger at the center of the table.

"The Bastion forces think we are behind this," Martha declared furiously.

"But we believe another secret organization is operating in the shadows of Bastion Seven. They are stealing our prizes, sabotaging our operations, and blaming our Church for their crimes!"