A Tale of Forgotten Gods

Chapter 137: The Ambush

Taking a few steps back, Murphy glanced at the left cursed hand. The skin bubbled up with sickly, translucent pustules, a terrifying manifestation of a curse born out of the Authority over Flesh, which made him unable to help but curse internally. ’How could a Warden of Silence wield the biological manipulation of a wholly different Authority?’

The curse bubbled violently, threatening to reach to his shoulders and invade his heart. Right then, the Divine Serpent interfered and hissed urgently. ”Great Master, you must sever the connection of the curse immediately.”

”How?”

”Cut off the primary point of infection and bind it with a string of your cloth and throw it away quickly, then invoke the honorifics of the Lightless.”

Murphy narrowed his eyes, quickly shifting the gun into a sharp knife then with a precise slash, he chopped the finger of the cursed hand, keeping his expression serene even when the pain rushed in. Without another moment, he quickly tore a string from his trench coat and wrapped it around his finger, then threw it toward the center of the bell tower.

The moment the finger landed, it bloated at an unimaginable speed, bulging into a grotesque, pulsing mass of raw meat before exploding into a shower of black sludge.

Murphy quickly pressed his bleeding hand against his chest and chanted in the ancient language above the spirit world, which only belonged to the Lightless. ”The Lord Light that walks beyond the sun. The keeper of godless heaven. The last God of a dying world. The lost destiny of time. I call out to your great honor to embrace the darkness.”

The blood from Murphy’s finger stopped as a white mist curled around it, instantly cauterizing the wound and sealing away the corruption. Following his recent Descent time, his next Ordinal had been awakening, making his connection to the spirit world deeper even though it wasn’t that much.

In front of him, the mad priest, or what was left of him, had begun to collapse into the mysterious corrupted form. The iron mallet had fused into his right arm, stretching it out like a mutated limb. His face hollowed out as a cavity of writhing, blind worms emerged. As his torn priest robes fluttered, a slimy, red tentacles erupted from his torso, slamming into the stone pillars of the bell tower.

Crunch! Crunch!

The creature began to devour its own detached limbs, its spiritual radiation spiking to a degree that threatened to blind Murphy’s Apprentice’s Eyes. The spirit threads of the priest were no longer distinct lines; they had tangled into a chaotic orb that resembled a black sun.

He has completely lost control. Murphy realized as his pupils contracted. An Ordinal Eight shouldn’t possess that much raw spiritual pressure. There was a higher-level existence anchoring his state, forcing two incompatible traits to coexist.

But who...?

The air in the tower grew colder, filled with the smell of decay as the chaotic spiritual radiation began to distort the surrounding space and made the walls of the bell tower appear to warp and stretch.

Murphy knew that if he stayed here any longer, the mental corruption would force him to undergo an inspection by the local Midnight Wings or any other official organizations, which may expose his true identity.

The corrupted priest screamed a sound that resembled a chorus of choking, as if someone were hanging by a rope.

The red tentacles whipped through the air, shattering the wooden stairs and sealing off the exit.

Murphy took a deep breath, then adjusted the rim of his fedora. His hand slipped back into his coat pocket. To survive a corrupted being, one could not rely on brute force; one had to exploit the inherent flaws of madness.

His eyes glow moonlit, searching for the single, fragile thread that still connected the lunatic to the whispering entity in the fog.

In the deep end of the bell tower, he noticed something familiar. Those spirit threads were similar to the one he had seen in the underground basement of the Demonic Cult, although it was a different being, but they must have a root of a similar species.

’Tch, I have to kill the priest first.’

Just then he noticed the man’s lips moving, he was chanting for the flesh sacrifice curse again. His spirit threads thickened as a grey glow erupted from them; it was used at the maximum limit, and if it somehow managed to get him, then his flesh would melt instantly.

Without wasting another moment, Murphy surged toward the priest.

The slippery tentacles attempted to catch him, but he slid away, catching a tentacle before snapping it with his bare hands to remove it.

Within the next blink, Murphy was in midair and landed near the priest, who stumbled backward. Just the very next second, Murphy put the tip of his revolver into his mouth and pulled the trigger.

BAM!

The bullet pierced through his mouth, coming out of the other side. A bloodstain dropped on the ground, slowly turning into a crimson pool. Finally, he shifted the shape of the revolver into his Glaive before slashing down the corrupted form of the priest vertically.

As the both flesh fell on the either side, he took a few steps back and looked at the snapped ribbon which... glitched? As if the system caught an error, then it turned black and dissolved.

His expression turned vigilant as he looked at the shadows, but then he found himself feeling upside down.

The floor seemed like a ceiling, but it was all an illusion. Suddenly, from a decorative chandelier, rope dropped down.

Murphy’s mind shifted into a chaotic thought that pulled him toward the hangman’s rope.

In the shadows, the entity that hung upside down pulled the rope toward him.

He closed his eyes and held the rope for a few moments, then slowly he moved it toward him.

But before it could wrap around his neck, Murphy pulled the rope tightly as the decorative chandelier broke down and hit the ground with a loud clanking noise.

Murphy’s glowing eyes in the shadows looked at the Hanged Man, whose expression turned fearful. He stared at the being with an expression of ice and slowly walked forward as the wind fluttered his long coat.

Behind the curtain of shadows, the entity’s eyes widened, for a long time, a tainted fear reached them. Not a fear of death, nor was it a realization, maybe it could be that someone rejected the suicide even while looking at the hypnotic eyes of the being.

It had never seen it happen; finally, Murphy’s features were outlined by the moonlight that came out of the windows.

The Hanged Man stirred... that man... was looking at its eyes without a single change in his mind.

To an ordinary Ordinal, Ascended, staring directly into the eyes of a creature spawned from the depths of the Misfortune Forest, was a direct invitation to madness. The psychological cue to end one’s own life would have bypassed the conscious mind entirely, forcing the hands to tie the knot and the neck to seek the noose.

Yet, Murphy’s gaze, clear as the moonlight spilling through the shattered stained glass of the bell tower, remained cold as he stopped near him.

The white mist from his recent ritual was still curled around his bandaged hand. More importantly, the deeper connection to the spirit world he had obtained from his recent Descent time may have allowed his consciousness to anchor itself firmly against the external psychological forces.

To him, the hypnotic pull was just a malicious spiritual infection that could be deflected, isolated, and rejected pretty easily.

The upside-down entity clung to the rafters, its limbs jointed backward as its face went pale, which showed the elongated caricature of human pain.

Seeing its conceptual attack fade entirely, the creature let out a vibrating hiss, which was mixed with the grinding sound of the rope.

Of course, Murphy didn’t give it time to adjust its strategy; well knowing that it might escape, he simply wouldn’t allow it to roam freely.

Stepping over the remains of the fallen chandelier, he raised his right hand as the Glaive in his grip collapsed inward, components sliding and locking with clicks until it reformed into a barreled revolver.

Bang! Bang!

Two shots, one to its head and another to its heart. It couldn’t even address it before its body went numb.

Murphy almost prepared to clinch his victory, but before he could, a few men from behind the pillars pointed their guns toward him.

Murphy turned, but as soon as he did, he heard the shots.

BAM! BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!