Round 38: The Destroyed Catacombs

Milia wanted to scream, but Anton quickly covered her mouth and forced her to bend down.
This massacre marked the beginning of the conflict—the little imps screamed as they chased and fought each other. Their figures became hazy, emitting phosphorescent dust with the vibration of their wings. The elves also bent down, covering their bodies and faces with their cloaks, allowing the frenzied imps to fly above them.
The narrow wooden boat became uncontrolled and drifted downstream—only Forty-Seven sat calmly aboard, unharmed by the imps’ stings. Instead, whenever he grabbed or pinched one, it would sizzle and burn, like a fly falling onto a hot iron.
“How… how is this possible?” As they left that area, Milia was terrified, her face pale. “They’re killing each other!”
“That’s the effect of evil forces.” The river was now wide enough for two boats to sail side by side. Zalidan sat in the boat next to her, his expression grim. “The influence emanating from the Hellgate Fortress is growing stronger… These creatures living by the banks of the River of Little Imps are being corrupted by it, becoming increasingly violent… If nothing is done, they’ll eventually turn into evil beings that attack everything in sight…”
Zalidan looked up at the dense forest canopy above. “Ildris… do you also want us to become such unforgivable, degenerate creatures?”
Hearing Zalidan’s solemn words, Milia glanced at the dark figure behind her, her resolve hardening slightly.
The trees on both banks grew increasingly twisted, their colors turning darker, with more withered branches falling. Yet the canopy above remained dense and unbroken.
The boats passed around giant trees leaning over the water, on the verge of collapsing. After turning a corner, the murky, greenish river suddenly came to an end.
Ahead lay a tangle of rotten branches, blocking the flow like a dam. Several carcasses, unidentified as animals, were trapped there. Blackish foam seeped from the gaps between the branches, pouring into the river. The smell was nauseating—this must be the source of the river’s pollution.
Milia covered her nose in disgust. To her, the evil aura here was almost tangible. Anton also showed a shocked expression; he never expected the place to turn into this in just a few years.
A whistling figure flew past his head and landed on that filthy ground.
It was Forty-Seven.
His feet stepped on the rotten branches and soil, sinking only slightly—the ground beneath him wasn’t the muddy swamp he had imagined, but rather something resilient and elastic, like a demon’s skin.
He took a deep breath—Forty-Seven had no actual respiratory organs. A foul-smelling airflow rushed in through his teeth, passing through his tightly fitted gears and parts, then escaping through the gaps in his armor, causing the metal “flesh” to become unusually excited.
This was the aura of purgatory.

Forty-seven strode forward with confidence. Though he had never been here before, he knew exactly where the Hellgate Fortress mentioned by the Elven Warrior Leader was, as he instinctively sensed the source of this dark aura. The elves also jumped onto the shore and followed behind him, with Anton and Milia last.

Forty-seven led the way, while Zalidan and the others followed behind, watching him with slight tension.

The intense darkness, so thick it seemed to prevent even flowers from blooming, made even the Night Elves, who were best at hiding in the shadows, feel uncomfortable, let alone the two Holy Warriors. The holy light ignited by Milia was quickly drawn away by the surrounding darkness, forcing her to continuously pour in energy to maintain its brightness. Eventually, Anton stopped her futile efforts and, using his extensive experience, guided her to barely keep up with the elves.

Surprisingly, Forty-seven was unaffected at all. In this labyrinthine forest, he knew exactly which paths to take and where to turn, without needing to pause and decide. The closer he got to his destination, the stronger and more terrifying he seemed. When everyone stood before those ruined black ruins, Forty-seven’s silhouette appeared no different from that of a demon in their eyes.

“Is this it?” Forty-seven turned to Zalidan behind him. Though it was a question, there was little doubt in his tone. Dark red miasma swirled around him like thick smoke. Milia could barely hold back the urge to draw her sword; her knuckles turned white from gripping the hilt so tightly.

“Yes… it is here,” Zalidan said, instinctively stepping back. Even with his willpower, he could hardly resist the various negative energies emanating from that mass of smoke. “But we need to find the entrance… In the past, it was High Priest Eldrith who was in charge of patrolling this place.”

Forty-seven raised his head slightly, examining the ruins. Though they had been destroyed and abandoned for a long time, their former scale could still be seen through the broken walls and debris. Strange, twisted plants grew in the gravelly courtyards—species that seemed to have mutated under the influence of the abyss’s aura, growing abnormally lush, with no clear source of nourishment. Black, half-collapsed towers reached into the sky. Although there were no trees to block the view in this open area, the twin suns were still invisible. A gray mist covered the sky, making everyone feel as if they were in a lifeless twilight. The mist seemed to swirl slowly around the area, as if covering the abandoned Hellgate Fortress with a lid, casting the abyss’s shadows here.

Forty-seven stepped on a rotting piece of wood. The overloaded root snapped, and many large black beetles crawled out and scattered.

“Disgusting!” Milia watched a beetle scurry past her feet, forcing herself not to scream.

“I’ve found the entrance, Warrior Leader,” Kast said, nimbly climbing over a broken wall and landing in front of Zalidan to report.

Zalidan drew his long sword. “Let’s go!”

The underground entrance to the castle was located in a collapsed hall. Over the years, it had been kept relatively clean by the night elves. The statues of the evil gods and demon lords had been destroyed, replaced by a circular altar and two statues of night elf warriors clad in full armor—such attire being almost unheard of among the elves.

“There was once a very powerful evil priest who occupied this place and built Hellgate Keep…” Anton whispered to Milia, as she knew almost nothing about it. “We still don’t know what he worshipped, but most believe it was one of the most powerful demon lords from the abyss… The demons poured into the material world through the dimensional portal opened by this priest, bringing chaos and panic not only to the Sleeping Forest but to the entire south. Arrogant and domineering, he led his demons and armies corrupted by evil forces in an attempt to conquer the whole south—two great warriors, a nameless ranger, and the priest of the Magic Goddess—whom people called Lady Silverflame—disguised themselves as adventurers corrupted by evil forces, carrying two fragments of a powerful elven artifact, the Star-Moon Eye, and infiltrated Hellgate Keep to place them in their correct positions. The third fragment was held by the previous high priest of the night elves, who used it in an elven city to perform rituals, sacrificing lives to invoke the power of the Star-Moon Goddess to fight evil. Thus, countless rays of starlight descended from the sky, with stars falling and being guided to strike Hellgate Keep, completely purifying and destroying this evil place. The three warriors who sacrificed their lives to ensure the success of this plan deserve to be remembered and revered forever…”

“Aren’t they just cannon fodder who locate precision-guided bombs on the front line? I’ve done that too,” thought 47, listening to the words of the two holy warriors behind him. In his mind, there was never any such thing as justice or evil in war. To him, the difference between wars lay only in killing or being killed, in the living and the dead. Those who stood at the end were the victors and the righteous—whether it was mech warriors firing Gauss-ray machine guns on the front line, pilots dropping bombs from star battleships, or council members signing war documents. As long as they weren’t on 47’s side, they were just numbers in a statistics sheet, dust to be swept away… Who had the time to distinguish which side was right and which was wrong?

“Do you remember how much bread you’ve eaten?”

Zaridan stepped up to the altar, polished a flint, and lit it. A pale blue flame ignited on the altar—a trace of pure, sacred aura still emanated from the corroded and polluted altar, even giving the two tall elf statues a more majestic appearance.

Zaridan wiped his long sword vigorously. Blood flowed down the blade and dripped into the blue sacred flame.

Kastor and the other elf warriors gathered around the altar, praying in Elvish.

The huge, heavy altar emitted a grating sound of metal grinding as it slowly moved aside.

As usual, those plump black beetles scattered in all directions, while a large snake writhed its body and fled out of the hole beneath the altar, quickly hiding in the grass—like the guardian spirit of the cave—startling everyone.
Inside the dark cave, stairs descended step by step, seemingly leading to hell.
Kastor stepped forward, threw a torch into the hole, and watched it roll down the stairs, illuminating a small area before burning for a long time.
“Let’s go down.”
Zaridan nodded and stepped in. Following him was Forty-Seven, who accidentally bumped his head as he entered the cave. Then the elves entered one after another, with the holy warriors at the back.
After a long staircase, they arrived in a vast, unusual hall—the walls and floor were made of huge, rough bricks and stones. Nearly half of the hall was blocked by collapsed rocks and mud, with some areas stained black. If one got close enough to smell, they could detect the lingering stench of decay and blood.
When Milia entered the hall, she suddenly felt a sense of disorientation; for a moment, it seemed as though countless angry spirits were rushing at her, forcing her to take a step back. A bright light emanated from her body, dispelling the darkness around.
Forty-Seven turned and glared at her. For some reason, he found this holy light even more glaring—as if it were disturbing him.
The group continued deeper into the hall—twisting corridors and complex rooms seemed endless. The darker and more oppressive the atmosphere became as they went deeper.
Finally, a large, tightly closed iron door appeared before them.
The door and the half-hidden obelisks around it were covered with twisted symbols and dense cracks. Even though the evil forces attached to them had been destroyed by the power of the Star and Moon, their eerie shapes alone were enough to make people feel nauseous.
“This is where the evil priest once opened the portal to another world…” Zaridan looked around. “Last time I was here, it was completely blocked… It seems Eldris is already prepared. If I can’t stop her in time, the ritual will begin soon.”
Kastor pulled at the thick iron ring held in the mouth of the iron demon on the door, but the rusted door didn’t budge.
“If only Oso were here…” Zaridan also tried pulling it, finding it extremely difficult.
A hand wrapped in black-red smoke grasped the iron ring, as if it had become part of the door. Dust fell as the rusted door began to loosen under the extraordinary force. The iron ring couldn’t bear the weight and gradually stretched and deformed. Forty-Seven then used his other hand to pry at the gap in the door. His feet sank into the ground, shattering the bricks and stones beneath him. Others had to step back. Forty-Seven kept applying force; his armor seemed to bulge like muscles. With several loud noises, somewhere between dull and sharp, he managed to pull open half of the door, which was three or four feet thick. Everyone was stunned—only then did they realize that between the two doors and between the doors and the stone walls, there were iron bars thicker than thighs used for locking!

Zaridan and Anton exchanged a glance unconsciously. Bringing this construct here might have been a terrible idea.
Forty-seven stood alone at the door, with darkness pouring out from within the half-open iron door—this darkness wasn’t merely due to the absence of light; it seemed to engulf Forty-seven like a living entity as the door opened, then lash out at everyone. The wave of darkness surging from inside made everyone feel as though they had fallen into eternal darkness, both in space and time.
After the darkness passed, the flames of the torches in the elves’ hands went out, as if that darkness had been a tidal wave that drowned everything. Only the white holy light in Milia’s hands continued to flicker stubbornly, like a glimmer of light in hell.
Darkness came fast and left just as quickly.
This comparison might not be appropriate, but the raging darkness just now seemed like a curtain being lifted, revealing the scene inside the door bathed in a fading red light.
It was more of a plaza than a hall. There was no source of light, and the ceiling was so high it resembled the sky. Looking up gave one a dizzying sensation, making one doubt whether this was still underground. It seemed they had arrived in a space formed by some unnatural force, intertwined with the real world. The walls and floor were shaped as if rock had melted and then cooled and crystallized again, retaining their original rugged, flowing patterns. Twisted, strange statues and pillars covered in runes were submerged beneath them. The color gradually deepened from snow-white at the ceiling to nearly ink-black on the uneven floor—this blackness was so repulsive at first glance that it made one feel nauseous, for it was a carpet of blood ash formed by the forced destruction of countless demons by the overwhelming power of moonlight!
Everyone was stunned, able to vaguely imagine the terrifying power of that destruction from these grim ruins—what kind of divine power was this?
Forty-seven stepped onto the black ground first. Perhaps it was an illusion, but for a moment, the entire ground seemed like a trembling carpet or a turbulent ocean in a storm, surging with sharp screams and roars, trying to swallow everything… But in an instant, it was back to being a cold, black surface, with Forty-seven standing alone on it like a stalagmite.
He turned to look at Zaridan and Anton. “What are you waiting for?”
The red in his eyes was now almost black.
Anton instinctively gripped his sword hilt. He finally realized fully how much Forty-seven had changed. The environment of the Hellgate Fortress hadn’t made this construct stronger—it had unleashed the evil that had long been suppressed within him.
Without waiting for their reply, Forty-seven continued walking forward—toward the lowest point in the center of the hall.
Anton was now certain what he had seen earlier wasn’t an illusion. The blackness within the stone layers moved slowly but clearly, seeping through the cracks and gathering in pits and fissures, slowly flowing around the construct to form a black vortex.
Suddenly, the red light flared brightly.
“Demons…” Milia whispered, her lips trembling. The elves also drew their swords, ready for battle—under such circumstances, all their prepared plans and words were useless.

Zaridan stepped forward, holding a sword in one hand and raising a sky-blue gem high in the other. It was as if a small patch of blue sky had opened up in the blood-red hell, and the gem in Zaridan’s hand emitted a pure, radiant light. A series of complex and incomprehensible elven syllables flowed from his lips—
“O ancient guardians, please descend from this light! Use the flesh of the wicked as an offering to seal the source of evil and drive away the darkness from here!”
The last sentence was spoken in the common language. As Zaridan’s resounding voice echoed, the ceiling of the hall grew brighter—not with the scorching heat of twin suns, but with a cool, pale blue glow, as if a moonlit forest hung above it. The black-red stone walls seemed to boil, cursing and resisting this light out of anger and fear. Eventually, the light converged into a single beam that shot straight at 47, diluting the miasma around him as well.
A shadow descended with that light. At first, it was just a faintly blue humanoid shape, but as it fell rapidly, it became as clear as a real person within seconds. Behind it were luminous wings edged in blue, resembling a moonlit sky. Its eyes emitted white light, just like Zaridan’s and the others’, differing only in intensity. Its face, nose, and other features were blurred; beneath its helmet, only its eyes were visible, along with skin as dark as night. The silver-blue armor and the twin-headed great sword it wielded emitted such intense light that it was almost unbearable to look at.
That was the pride of the night elves—the Star-Moon Guardian, a being formed only when the souls of the strongest night elf warriors merged with moonlight after their deaths!
47’s great sword and chain shackles gleamed simultaneously, and the clash of their weapons echoed throughout the hall. The Star-Moon Guardian took off, dodging the flame projectiles fired from 47’s transformed hand-cannons. With a swipe of its sword, a torrent of flames formed into a rushing river that instantly swallowed 47’s figure. But 47 rushed out of the light, smoking, and chased after the Star-Moon Guardian, grabbing its throat and pushing it against the stone wall. When the Guardian hit the wall, the black-red substance there dispersed along with flying stones and dust, letting out shrill cries as it tried to avoid the Guardian’s light. The Guardian seized 47’s wrist, preventing his black great sword from cutting toward its neck. After a brief struggle, itthrewed 47’s hand off, bent its legs, and kicked him back to the ground. As it soared higher, its twin-headed sword transformed into a giant bow as light flowed across it. It drew the bowstring—and along with the taut string appeared a blindingly bright arrow. When it struck 47, it caused a massive explosion. Another arrow immediately formed on the string…
The others watched this breathtaking battle unfold, utterly unable to intervene.