256 Crack
The searing pain in Lumian’s left palm from the explosion nearly caused him to instinctively draw his pewter-black dirk, which had already been plunged into the core trunk of the Tree of Shadow.
Drawing upon his resilience and experience with similar injuries, he fought to control his body’s reflexive reactions.
As his mind cleared from the stimulation, he managed to shake off the two desires imposed by Susanna Mattise.
Pain and rationality entwined, engulfing his mind, followed by a terrifying torrent of scenes.
These were the accumulated experiences of the Tree of Shadow over the past millennium, countless fragments of desire that had nourished and formed its trunk. They represented the potential futures of this malevolent tree.
They converged in a mercury-colored illusory river, flooding Lumian’s thoughts like a deluge.
Not only were there an overwhelming number of scenes that could overpower any Low-Sequence Beyonder, but some scenes compelled Lumian to instinctively ignore or overlook them, unable to muster the courage to look or discern.
Just when he thought his intellect would be crushed by the immense torrent and reduced to a blank canvas, he realized that he had endured it. It was as if there existed an additional space capable of accommodating countless scenes beyond the limit.
Lumian wasted no time in choosing the fate he wished to exchange. Guided by his intuition for danger and spiritual instincts, he selected a scene:
A brownish-green root extended towards the depths of an ancient structure, devoured by an unseen flame that silently burned in the darkness, casting an eerie glow over the area.
With a crack, the tree root snapped and descended into the shadows. Purple flames surfaced, swiftly transforming into a color indistinguishable to the naked eye. In an instant, it dissipated, leaving no trace behind.
Lumian withdrew Fallen Mercury and exerted all his strength to pry open this fate, but it remained unresponsive.
Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!
Brownish-green tree trunks, not excessively thick, hurtled towards Lumian like javelins precisely thrown by a platoon of soldiers.
Each one possessed the potential to impale and skewer a target upon the gnarled tree roots.
In the ethereal canopy of the tree, Susanna Mattise’s emerald eyes widened as she attempted to employ various abilities related to desires—be it for sex, food, greed, or acting—but all in vain. Opting for the tree spirit’s powers, she aimed to deliver a physical blow.
Bound to the Tree of Shadow, the methods available to her were far more potent than those of her counterparts who relied on ordinary trees as companions.
Though she still doubted that the so-called Cursed Blade could harm the Tree of Shadow, Lumian’s confidence and performance left her somewhat uneasy. Subconsciously, she believed it wiser to disrupt whatever he was doing.
She would rather err on the side of believing it to be seriously harmful and take excessive precautions in advance than be careless and witness unforeseen changes and the possibility of failure.
The former would at most waste a certain amount of strength and energy, delaying the completion of the ritual a little. The latter might bring about changes she didn’t want to see and an outcome of failure.
Even if the probability was low, she had to take preventative measures. She couldn’t wait until it happened before attempting to rectify it.
The flesh robe enveloping Lumian’s body abruptly contracted, diminishing his size and evading the majority of the javelin-like tree trunks.
Two of them landed on Lumian’s left and right shoulders, leaving him unable to dodge or evade.
The flesh and blood constituting the robe acted as disciplined soldiers receiving an order. They surged towards the impending strike, constructing layers of blood-colored cushions.
With a resounding impact, the layers of flesh were pierced by the two brownish-green tree spears. More flesh surged forth, hurriedly filling the void.
Although Mr. K’s finger had transformed into a robe of flesh and blood to mitigate the damage, Lumian’s legs buckled under the force akin to that of a sledgehammer, causing him to tumble backward.
In that moment, he felt the fate of the brownish-green tree root, which had been burned by the invisible flames, loosen its grip.
The illusory power prying it loose didn’t solely belong to Lumian, but also to his left chest, emanating from an unknown source.
Gritting his teeth, Lumian utilized the momentum of his fall to laboriously stir up that fate. With great difficulty, he transformed it into a droplet of mercury and exchanged it with the fate of encountering the Montsouris ghost, stored within the pewter-black dirk.
With a crisp crack, fractures spread across Fallen Mercury, as if it struggled to bear the burden of fate. Some fractures were unnaturally long, others were delicate, and some ran straight through the blade.
With a thud, Lumian collapsed onto the coiled tree roots entrenched in the ground, freeing himself from the lingering forces of the brownish-green tree javelins.
His shoulder throbbed with pain, but he remained physically unharmed. The robe woven of flesh and blood began to disintegrate, trickling down, obstructing the pale-colored flower and the brownish-green crack as they unfurled their “mouths” in an attempt to devour Lumian. When he collapsed, he crushed them.
With a resounding boom, crimson flames erupted, consuming the malevolent entities. Seizing the opportunity, Lumian swiftly rolled over and maneuvered to a relatively safe position.
Only then did Lumian recall a crucial issue. Amidst dodging attacks from trees, branches, leaves, vines, roots, and flowers, and taking whiffs of the Mysticism Smelling Salts, he whispered amidst sneezes,
“Encountering the Montsouris ghost… Achoo! …doesn’t necessarily mean that the Montsouris ghost will attack immediately!”
If it took a while, what was the point of his previous efforts?
Disregarding the fact that the Montsouris ghost would assault the Tree of Shadow every month or two, even if it attacked every four to five minutes, Lumian found it despairing. When the time came, the preparations for the ritual would surely be complete. The sacrificial ceremony would have already commenced. Under the watchful eyes of the evil god, the Mother Tree of Desire, there was a high likelihood that the Montsouris ghost would choose to wait a while before returning, based on its previous patterns.
Termiboros’s majestic voice resonated within Lumian’s body and ears once again.
“It approaches. It is a destined fate.”
In the ethereal canopy of the tree, Susanna ceased her attacks on Lumian. Utilizing the Tree of Shadow, she remotely guided Charlotte in controlling the sacrifice while delving her consciousness into the brownish-green tree, searching for any potential issues resulting from the pewter-black dirk’s assault.
The sooner she discovered it, the sooner she could resolve it and propel the sacrificial ritual forward!
Upon hearing Termiboros’s words, Lumian couldn’t help but inquire, “Can the Montsouris ghost truly destroy the Tree of Shadow?”
Although both entities were malevolent, the giant tree that had been rooted in Trier’s soil for over a thousand years, nourished by countless desires, and linked to a hidden evil god, appeared loftier, more menacing, and more wicked.
Termiboros’s deep voice resounded, “No. However, it possesses the ability to influence the Tree of Shadow to some extent, creating an opportunity for you to escape.”
Just as Termiboros finished speaking, Lumian caught sight of a sudden black shadow beside him.
The figure stood slightly hunched, resembling an elderly man burdened by the weight of life.
The Montsouris ghost!
It had bypassed numerous restrictions and obstacles to arrive in the alternate space occupied by the Tree of Shadow.
With a single stride, the stooped figure reached the edge of the brownish-green trunk. Susanna and Charlotte noticed its presence.
They instinctively sensed a threat, yet they didn’t connect the black shadow to Trier’s legend of the Montsouris ghost.
Frantically, they stirred up the various desires of the Montsouris ghost, but their efforts were like stones cast into an unfathomable abyss. There was no response whatsoever.
For the first time, Lumian beheld the true appearance of the Montsouris ghost.
It was neither an elderly man nor even human. It more closely resembled a viscous black shadow taking on a human form, hunching its back.
The Montsouris ghost fixed its gaze upon the Tree of Shadow for two seconds before pressing itself against the brownish-green trunk.
In an instant, it transformed into a malevolent, pitch-black liquid that corroded the layers of tree bark.
A sizable pool of moist darkness spread across the surface of the massive tree trunk, steadily contaminating its surroundings and expanding its reach.
Within moments, the entire lower portion of the Tree of Shadow was overtaken by the black shadow, rendering Susanna Mattise and Charlotte Calvino’s attacks futile.
The next second, the oil-painting-like blue sky and white clouds, along with the ground intertwined with tree roots, trembled visibly as if experiencing a violent earthquake.
Faint illusory cracks appeared on the surface of the tree trunk, the ground, and even in the sky. Some of them slowly widened, revealing glimpses of the street beyond—a distorted microcosm of chaos influenced by branches, vines, and desire.
“Be prepared,” Termiboros’s grand voice echoed in Lumian’s ears.
Realizing that she couldn’t halt the Montsouris ghost and that the situation was rapidly deteriorating, Susanna Mattise wore a resentful expression and recited an incantation in ancient Hermes, “Son of the God who should never have been born, you are a cage for the imprisoning curse, an evil that erodes history. I implore your assistance.”
The instant Susanna Mattise finished speaking, the branches beneath the ethereal tree crown began to “secrete” a viscous, pitch-black liquid.
It bore a striking resemblance to the black liquid assumed by the Montsouris ghost, but there was a significant distinction. It possessed a greater degree of chaos, frenzy, and wickedness.
Almost simultaneously, pale-white, malformed skulls, yellowish eyeballs entwined with thick veins, scarlet tongues dripping with repulsive pus, and indescribably grotesque objects that induced madness by mere sight sprouted from the liquid secreted by the tree trunk.
…
In the untamed wilderness, where Madam Judgment and Lady Moon engaged in their fierce battle, Rue Anarchie and other locations lay scattered. The brownish-green tree swayed ominously, while tiny cracks that appeared to pierce the very fabric of reality spread across its surface and surroundings.
Suddenly, an illusory door materialized in the sky, layer upon layer.
From the midst of these doors emerged a lady clad in an orange dress, her appearance exuding a languid aura. Worms emitting resplendent starlight wriggled in and out of her visage, obscuring her true features from discernment.
With purposeful strides, the woman approached the brownish-green tree, extending her hands to grasp the sides of an invisible crack, as if intent on tearing it open!
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