While Lenny and the rough, unorganized crew of Domain dwellers faced the giant mass of negative spirits that stood before them, in some other parts of the world, others were also taking part in the cosmic effect that was the blood moon.
After all, it was a gift from the cosmos for all who could grasp it.
One such fellow in a city Lenny was most familiar with stood on the roof of his high building.
By his side were machines, all intricately arranged for one thing and one thing only, and that was to use the light of the blood moon.
The blood moon was a cosmic event.
It was rumored that if one was able to truly understand and harness its power, then the possibility of reaching the glorious rank of Evening Star or even becoming a god was a possibility.
Unfortunately, Momoa, the Great Demon, was far from that, and he only seeked to climb the ladder of power one step at a time.
At the moment, he was dressed like a gentleman in his evening red robes.
His big, broad wings were folded at his back, a sign that he was in a relaxing mood.
As his eyes gazed upon the blood moon, he could not help but sigh a little.
He had climbed through so much blood to get to his position, from being a lesser demon that was destined by fate to remain a cannon fodder to the position he now enjoyed.
So much blood he had swarm through that no matter how much he washed with the most fragrance of perfumes, the scent of death and blood still hovered about him.
He placed a hand in his robes, and from a pocket, he revealed a folded sheet of paper.
The paper looked rough and a bit torn at the edges.
It almost looked as if it would tear if handled roughly.
However, Momoa himself knew that neither fire from the underworld nor ice from the Sacred Tundra could damage this paper.
After all, it was not even made from wood but skin. Who or what it was was still a mystery, but it was definitely skin.
The rough edges were just a part of its natural look.
He looked at this paper with a kind of affection that not even the many children he had killed were entitled to.
Gently, he unfolded it.
The moment he did, the atmosphere around him seemed to suddenly plunge from the cool breeze to the chill aura of death.
Yes, this paper was it.
This paper was a page from the Most Holy Book of the Underworld. This paper was half a page from the Sacred Book of Death.
On it were letters written in the language of death.
But that was not all; these letters were actually moving on their own. It was as if they had life.
In fact, they were currently in a state of battle.
However, Momoa was not surprised by this. This half-page from the Sacred Book of Death has always been like this.
The words and letters were always in battle with one another, continually killing themselves.
Nevertheless, if one were to touch the words, they would discover that the paper was still paper.
In other words, what he was looking at was the battle that was happening within the paper.
Momoa placed a finger in his mouth and bit into it.
After which, he poured the blood from the injury onto the paper.
The moment he did, the letters battling immediately stopped as the blood spread on the paper, soaking them in its redness.
On their own, they suddenly formed words that Momoa could understand.
Yes, this book
This was the secret that had made him break the chains that surrounded his bloodline and made him a great demon.
It was his most prized possession. From the day he had it, it had never left his body.
He read the words that were formed and nodded accordingly.
Just then, someone walked up to his side, "What does it say, father?"
The moment she did, Momoa immediately folded the paper and placed it back.
This made her frown, and even though she had a veil to cover her face, he could still tell her expression.
"Am I still not allowed to even see you use it?"
"You'll have to forgive me, Vinegar, but it is not yet time." He stretched a hand for her and patted her on the shoulder.
Then he turned around to the machine devices.
He did not talk further about the piece of paper.
"Is the process ready?" He asked her.
She nodded. "Yes, it is. With these machines you instructed us to build, we can finally corrupt the angel wings and turn their power into our own."
The blood moon would not shine for long.
At most, it would be an hour and a few minutes before it disappeared.
However, within that short period of time, it would shoot out so much power that Momoa could even attempt something so impossible.
He was going to turn holy power into the purest form of darkline magic.
Any form of magic, whether holy or not, had different levels of purity.
This purity was either due to light or darkness.
Angels were the closest thing to the purest form of holy power.
On converting the power within the feathers to that of darkline magic, he would be getting purity in power of equivalent level.
The purer the power, the stronger it was, and the more valuable.
It was the same reason why Minnie wanted to feast on Lenny's flesh.
It was because she could see that Lenny had a purer source of holy power that was rated above her dark equivalent.
That was also the reason why she was sure that she would be able to advance if she ate him.
Here and now, Momoa is attempting the same.
He turned to the other demons behind him, "Let us begin the process."
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