Chapter 219: Blank Paper Stains Easily

The shrill hiss of water striking red-hot steel echoed through the heavens. Specks of white light appeared from the massive gash that split the God of Terror's shadow in two, slowly converging across the wound and steadily coating it.

Then came the second strike. The blinding white light surged across the sundered flesh, spreading rapidly over the god's shadowy form, breaking it down piece by piece.

The shadowy substance that made up the God of Terror's colossal body was riddled with pockmarks under the onslaught of that devastating brilliance.

In response, the god contorted grotesquely, recalling power from its divine domain. Divine energy condensed into black mist that patched up his disintegrating form.

The black mist—its divine essence—and the white radiance left behind by the Perfected One's strike collided in midair. Black smoke billowed upward. White light flickered and dimmed.

A rhythmic wingbeat could be heard across the battlefield as the Perfected One continued to hover in the air. The sound seemed to have been magnified; each beat rang out loud and clear, like the trumpet of a divine herald.

While the God of Terror struggled to fend off the residual power of the strike that had cleaved him from shoulder to hip, the Perfected One was already preparing her next attack.

Feathers began to fall from her holy wings with an eerie elegance. Each feather transformed into a radiant plume of light that drifted behind her. Then, slowly, they shifted orientation. The gleaming wingtips all turned toward the fractured shadow of the god below.

With the feathers gone, the wings' true form was revealed: a metaphysical construct of pure light, pulsing with brilliance and shifting between a searing intensity and a gentle glow.

These were no mere appendages, but rather concentrated masses of power. The sword that had earlier rent the heavens and split a god had drawn upon only a fragment of this strength.

The Perfected One gazed down with apathy at the God of Terror below, at the central plaza of the royal city now reduced to rubble, and at the gaping hole punched into the ceiling of the capital's shadowed twin beneath.

With a simple downward motion of her hand, the radiant feathers behind her began to fall in a flood of light, countless as the stars, a luminous rain that engulfed the God of Terror's domain.

Each feather had the strength of a full magician; tens of thousands fell in unison. A storm of light descended upon the heart of the capital.

A relentless barrage of explosions echoed across the city, an unbroken chain of devastation.

The moment the feathers collided with the God of Terror's power, its body, the buildings, the stonework, and the earth itself—everything was annihilated.

The feathers released an impossible amount of energy in a fixed radius, utterly consuming everything they touched. The God of Terror's avatar was unable to avoid the onslaught, nor the buildings that filled the heart of the capital.

"That thing doesn't give a damn about the people living here," Wang Yu muttered from the clocktower far removed from the battlefield, brows furrowed as he watched the radiant deluge devastate everything in its path.

"Not that I'm surprised. Just look at the way it acts—that Perfected One probably doesn't care about mortals in the slightest. It's lucky the abyss is right underneath the heart of the capital, or Avia might be in danger.

"Before it was inverted, its malice was directed at humanity. Now it's just indifferent. All it wants to do is erase the God of Terror, and it doesn't care how much damage it causes in the aftermath..."

The torrent of light reduced the royal city's central district to dust. The thick rock that separated the capital from its underground twin split open beneath the onslaught. Fissures spread outward; some sections gave way entirely.

Beneath the capital, the dome of the capital's shadow trembled violently. Massive stones fell like meteors, crashing down toward the city below.

"My god..."

"Please, hear our prayers!"

The gangsters who had been raptured by the Perfected One ignored the falling rocks. They knelt in prayer, "devout" even in the face of doom.

Boulders toppled the maze of subterranean structures far underground.

The faithful of the Perfected One were not spared. They were crushed into pulp, pierced by shrapnel, or left broken and dying in the dirt. A few managed to survive by luck or instinct—but this was only the start of the bombardment.

The capital's shadow was a city steeped in disorder, cobbled together underground in crude steampunk fashion. Pipes crisscrossed its length, ferrying alchemical fuels and volatile liquids to scattered workshops.

There were boilers, flammable gases, and explosives everywhere—and not a single proper safety measure. Incidents were expected and deaths chalked up to bad luck.

Under the rain of indiscriminate destruction, chaos erupted.

Boulders fell, crushing pipes. Liquids sprayed in every direction. Some ignited from the sparks produced by metal scraping against rock. Fire leapt across the streets, following the spilled fluids like hounds on a trail.

The boilers commonplace to alchemy workshops became crude bombs. Roofs collapsed from the bombardment, crushing craftsmen and craftsware alike. When the boilers blew, so too did everything around them.

Worse still were the storage depots. Before the war with Selwyn began, the capital's shadow had flooded the capital with vast numbers of cheap, low-quality alchemical bombs.

The royals and nobles sorted through them, buying only what they deemed passable. The rest—say, 40%—was left behind, too unstable even for warfare These were stockpiled in several massive warehouses, awaiting fools interested in gambling with their lives to salvage the materials for their own projects.

Naturally, those warehouses were secured about as well as shacks in a hurricane. As boulders punched through metal roofs and smashed into stacks of volatile bombs, firestorms erupted from multiple locations across the underground city. Chain reactions tore through the warehouses, shockwaves shredding their weak steel frames. Twisted supports and iron panels flew like shrapnel, ripping through adjacent structures.

Many of the bombs were duds, but not all. Enough ignited to rock the city to its core, the shockwaves echoing like cannon fire through the depths.

The city, already fragile and chaotic, collapsed like a toy tower. Under the Perfected One's onslaught, it crumbled, burned, and died.

The earth heaved. Soil and stone churned. A massive hand of rock erupted near the Church of Nightfall's encampment, spreading its stone fingers wide to shield the devout below from falling debris.

"We're right on the edge of the abyss—watch for any stray feathers! All spellcasters, summon what defenses you can!"

A young woman moved quickly, weaving wizardry and magic alike with the church's defenders to create a defensive dome. Since the Church of Nightfall was so near the edge of the abyss, there had to be safeguards in place for a stray feather or two.

The rock hand buckled. Whole sections were blown away as several stray feathers, angled from above, pierced through the ceiling and slammed down.

"What astounding strength..."

The young woman's face paled. As a magician and wizard herself, she understood far better than Wang Yu just how terrifying these radiant feathers were. Their destructive force was superficial. Within each was a structure of immense complexity, the key to their annihilating might.

"So this is the power of a god..." Avia's breath caught as she beheld the colossal hand of stone and soil descending from above.

"A mere sliver of her divine form contains the energy and internal structure of a fourth-tier spell. How feeble mortal strength seems in comparison..."

She could sense the auras coiled around that massive hand, emanations of the God of Terror and the Perfected One. Their overwhelming presence struck her with awe... and fear.

A chime rang out as a translucent barrier shimmered into existence above the spire of the Church of Nightfall.

Ripples flowed through the air, conjuring streams of water from nothingness. A dome-shaped barrier surged up and enclosed the Church's grounds. More wards and enchantments bloomed above the headquarters—totems of protection crafted by orc shamans, merfolk sorcerers, elven druids... the Church's non-human devout gathered, each offering their strength to defend the sanctuary of the Lady of the Night.

Black mist swirled. High above, the God of Terror's form grew faint and hazy, its divine essence scattered by the Perfected One's radiant strike. The impact had forced the shadowy god to reabsorb much of its power, shrinking both its towering form and its domain. All that remained of its divine kingdom was the plaza.

"The God of Terror is no match for her!"

"We'll be fine. The kingdom's trump cards can destroy the God of Terror."

"Whatever the cost, as long as we eliminate the God of Terror first... once the army returns from Aleisterre, we'll be able to fight back."

Across the royal capital, the Nightblades, the city guard, and the royal guards watched the titanic clash unfolding above the plaza between two supreme beings. Their confrontation would determine the fate of the city.

There was no doubt that the Perfected One held the upper hand. Not only had the God of Terror failed to inflict meaningful harm, it had even been forced into full retreat, barely able to defend itself against the Perfected One's relentless assault.

"What we're seeing isn't even true divinity," muttered Rudolf from the window. He was frantically scribbling on parchment with a mana-infused pen, his gaze fixed on the radiant figure in the sky.

"These are only remnants left behind by a true god. Even a sliver of the divine body left by the old pantheon far surpasses this... this patchwork creature that Selwyn stitched together. It may resemble a god, but it lacks faith, lacks devotion, and must gorge itself endlessly on terror to remain intact."

Clearly, his words were directed at Sieg, though both of them knew Sieg no longer considered him a friend. But Rudolf was intoxicated by what he saw. Such a rare and wondrous battle demanded a witness, someone to share his thoughts with.

Sieg remained silent. He had no intention of answering this madman despite the thoughts whirling through his head.

He had studied the God of Terror and knew better than to trust mere appearances. It had never been among the strongest. Its miracles had been rare, and its church a marginal cult at best.

But its resilience was another matter entirely.

Sieg had read of the god's fragments, relics left behind after its fall, scattered across the continent.

Each shard birthed a strange, toxic domain that required constant surveillance lest it grow stronger by absorbed terror.

After all, fear didn't die. It festered in the murky depths of sentient minds. And so long as that fear remained, the fragments of the God of Terror would persist. When the fear thickened, those fragments would feed and swell, expanding their domain.

Only one without fear could destroy them. But what mortal could truly be fearless? Even berserk orcs were only masking their dread in overwhelming rage. Deep-rooted fear would never truly fade.

And even if such a person did exist, it wouldn't matter. One man's courage could hardly extinguish fear from the hearts of others.

"And if even the shards of the God of Terror are this tenacious, then the god's divine descent itself... cannot be so easily undone."

A shadow of unease flickered in Sieg's gaze. He had seen the clash of powers. Even if he were a legend, even if he were a dragon, could he truly contend with either of these beings?

The air thrummed. High above, once more compressing its essence, the God of Terror raised its myriad unblinking eyes toward the Perfected One.

From its grotesque body erupted countless spiked black chains, shooting skyward toward its radiant foe. Thick and thin, tangled and writhing, the chains blackened the sky, a living net of fear.

The Perfected One did not flinch. As the chains neared it, it blurred and vanished, then reappeared in a flash of light, far from danger.

It had become pure energy and was able to traverse space in an instant.

The chains, guided by sentient malice, chased after it like serpents. Again, the Perfected One shimmered and vanished, her mobility rendering the God of Terror's attacks meaningless. The chains never once caught their mark—no. The Perfected One's eyes flicked about. Somehow, at some point, the chains had closed in from all sides.

There was nowhere left to flee.

The chains shrieked as they closed in on the Perfected One, bristling with barbs, their sharpened tips gleaming with otherworldly menace.

Thousands of chains struck at once, forming a sphere of steel around their prey. Their numbers alone could blot out the heavens. All converged on the Perfected One at the same moment.

But it was futile. Cracks splintered across the chains. Bathed in misty white radiance, the sphere of darkness crumbled.

And from within that halo of light emerged the Perfected One, its great, holy wings unfurled to shield its body. Each chain in the vicinity was scorched into oblivion.

Lowering its head, the Perfect One stared down at the God of Terror—not with anger, nor hatred, nor any human emotion, but with a stillness that screamed of silent judgment.

A killing intent, pure and absolute.

Sensing an unknowable threat, the God of Terror raised its twisted arms. Another barrage of chains surged upward.

It was magnificent—and pitiful. For all its fury, the God of Terror's methods remained the same: corrosion and decay, again and again.

The Perfected One crossed its wings, light flaring from its form. Its body spun, faster and faster, until it was a sphere of radiance.

Then, it dove.

It dove straight into the storm of black chains. To the Perfect One, they might as well have been mist. Nothing could stop it. It carved an unerring path toward the God of Terror.

No sound echoed in the physical world, but the blow landed true. A slender, luminous arm pierced through the god's chest. The malformed titan froze.

With its expression still unreadable, the Perfect One channeled boundless energy into the wound. Light spilled from the god's sundered torso, erupting in a flash so bright the sky itself went white.

And when the brilliance faded, the Perfected One alone remained, wings unfurled in silence.

"Is it over...?" Wang Yu, squinting through the aftermath, murmured to himself. All he could see above the plaza was the Perfected One.

The God of Terror was gone, its immense shadow wiped from existence. All that remained was the residual divine domain still enshrouding the square, rendered strangely transparent beneath the Perfected One's glow.

"No, something's wrong. Its divine domain is still intact. If the God of Terror really were gone, the domain would have vanished as well. This isn't right—something's off."

Wang Yu's doubts grew. He had once destroyed a fragment of the God of Terror, and when he did, the domain tied to it had faded. But the heart of the capital still remained closed off.

He wasn't alone in his concern. Sieg's expression had darkened. He too had witnessed the Perfected One obliterate the god's colossal form—but leaving its realm behind.

"Paper is easily stained," he muttered. "That divine body... it's merely a conduit. It doesn't require abyssal will. As long as there's a vessel strong enough to steer it—anyone will do."

The idea chilled him. The God of Terror might not be powerful, but its corruption...

The Perfected One continued to hover within the domain left behind by the God of Terror, unmoving. Its once-placid expression wavered for the first time.

The abyssal will currently animating that divine body had been inverted from its foul and chaotic origins. This inversion rendered it holy—immensely so—and powerful beyond reckoning. Yet it also meant that, like a newborn child, its mind was a blank slate: untainted, untouched... and all the more vulnerable to corruption.

By dint of its purity, it was flawless—but any being with the capacity to learn would eventually do so. Emotions would manifest.

And now, amidst its clash with the God of Terror, immersed in an ocean of fear, within the deepest reaches of the Perfected One's immaculate consciousness... a single, infinitesimal speck of black appeared.

A seed of fear.