Round Thirteen: Divine Remains

The female mage was thrown backward as if struck by a punch, her back of the head hitting the inner wall of the ice dome with a thud.
“Sister Moriel!” Kairo was shocked by this sudden turn of events. Setting aside their personal bond, if the merciless destroyer Number 47 learned that his protected one had inexplicably fainted in Kairo’s shelter, it was highly likely he would lose his temper—judging from the massive, ominous shadows seeping through the barely transparent ice shell and the sudden bursts of flames and roars, such a possibility was very real.
Moriel indeed felt dizzy and her ears were ringing, probably due to the separation between her mind and body. One hand rested on her head, while the other gripped the cold ice behind her. The cool chill seeped into her body through her palms, gradually washing away the confusion and absurdity brought on by the long dream.
That dream had indeed lasted far too long. The landscape inside the semicircular ice dome was a gray, dim haze, with various bizarre images flashing before her eyes—nothing could be seen clearly. Her nasal membranes detected the pungent smell of gunpowder, causing her to sneeze, almost making her think again that she was still at the siege of the Lich Fortress in Sel City. Kairo’s urgent calls woke her from the delusional vision. She shook her head, realizing that the slightly warm smoke was coming from cracks in the ice wall.
“I’m… I’m fine,” Moriel said, taking quick breaths of air still tinged with smoke. Though she should not need to breathe in the Star Realm, “I seem to have had a very long dream… What happened?”
A smile appeared on Kairo’s little face. “You’re awake, Sister Moriel! Oh my, just now…”
Inside, there was commotion, but somehow it became quiet outside. Soon, several dull knocks caused snowflakes to fall inside the ice dome, interrupting their plans to continue discussing their respective experiences. Kairo carefully peeked outside through the crack before lifting the ice barrier. Petal-shaped ice shields unfolded one after another, floating around her—damaged yet still beautiful, rotating slowly.
The swarm of shadow monsters that had attacked frantically amidst the roar of steel was gone. They vanished just as silently as they had arrived, like darkness dissipating in the morning sun—no creatures, no limbs, no flesh, no blood remained, only devastation. Of course, aside from the scratches of varying depths on the ground and rocks, most of the debris, scorched earth, and burning craters were created by Number 47.
His fiery red eyes scanned left and right, looking for anything left to kill. Then he turned toward Moriel and Kairo, his entire body spewing black smoke and flames as various strange, unknown-purpose steel mechanisms were bolted to him like exposed internal organs. Abyssal blood-red electric flames flickered between metal pipes, transforming him from a highly anthropomorphic future warrior into a monster driven by cylinder pistons and internal combustion.

Morrill looked up at him as if admiring a terrifying iron wall—now this guy’s shoulder width was almost equal to his height.
“So, you were attacked too?” The female mage, smelling the scent of gunpowder coming from 47’s body, became much clearer-headed, and her mind gradually calmed down.
“A minor skirmish.” The destruction machine on the steel warrior’s arm rotated and transformed, with residual heat from the particle flamethrower still burning at the muzzle, turning the refined gold barrel red like coals in a furnace. “Why do you ask? What happened to you just now?”
Morrill tried hard to recall. Only fragmented pieces remained of the life in her dreams, most of which involved battles and murders—includingIsabella’s beautiful face distorted in terror, and pale flames bursting from the lich’s dark eye sockets…
“I was fighting my own illusions.” The female mage felt somewhat relieved. If she had ultimately chosen to defeat Victor in her dreams and seize his place, sitting on the cold throne of the Red Robe Mage, would she then be trapped in those dreams forever, with nothing left to pursue? The decoder she had summoned earlier had reminded her to stick to her true self—now it seemed not without reason, though it clearly had also ignored many things. She would settle accounts with it later. As for goals… Truth be told, 47’s theories sometimes seemed quite practical.
At this thought, a beautiful curve appeared on Morrill’s lips.
“Hey!” 47 raised his hand in front of her again and waved it twice. Though Morrill knew he wouldn’t hurt her, she still stepped back—seeing an iron claw larger than a fire giant’s hand swaying above her head would make anyone nervous.
“That’s enough. I’m fine.” The female mage quickly returned to normal. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Good idea. I’m not really interested in guerrilla warfare…” Although 47 started transforming while habitually talking nonsense, this time the surroundings changed even faster than he did.
Grayish-black rocks rapidly reshaped themselves, as if molded from clay. The ground rose or sank, and smooth giant bricks appeared out of thin air, building towering stone walls and high arching domes, creating labyrinthine, dark corridors.
“What the hell is this? Some kind of transformation capsule?” Dragon 47 raised his head, larger than that of a horse, and spread his steel wings upward, almost touching the ceiling. Intense static electricity crackled between his scales and spikes, causing Kayro’s golden hair to flutter.
Morrill also watched in astonishment. Ever since arriving on this island, everything had been bizarre and illogical—absurd dreams, strange attacks, and now a magnificent and mysterious palace?!

As if on some command, lights began to appear one after another between the pillars. It was not the light of natural flames, nor was it like ordinary magic. The greenish glow was cold and intense; those small, spherical light sources were not attached to the walls but instead floated silently in midair a few inches away from the abstract murals, rotating on their own… In just a short while, murals had actually been carved into the stones!

Strange halos surrounded the light points. Curiously, even though blocked by stone walls and corners, she could still see them clearly twinkling everywhere, stretching into the darkness far away, like countless nodes on a vast net or thousands of eyes of ghosts waiting quietly.

Morril suddenly felt extreme pain. It was as if a hundred rats had crawled deep into her skull, scratching and biting wildly while emitting frantic, chaotic screams. Waves of memories surged into her mind—chaotic yet vivid. Thoughts, emotions, every stream of consciousness came like boulders rolling down mountains, irresistible. Kings, heroes, praises, prayers, wars, mourns, sacrifices… She understood. Along with the unbearable agony, an epiphany arose—the third question unanswered by the decipherer now had an answer. This island was not an ordinary rock that had accidentally drifted from the material world, despite what almost all material travelers and most beings of other planes believed. In fact, it had once been a god—or more precisely, a remnant of a god who had vanished from the multiverse. Thoughts, beliefs, emotions, and energy constituted a god’s essence; when, for some reason, he could no longer maintain these under a strong will—what ordinary people would call “death,” though not entirely accurate—the god’s domain withered, and the god himself fell into a long, painful slumber, sinking into the endless silver void of the star realms, forgotten by the multiverse, drifting there forever. What the female mage had experienced before and now were all effects of psychic energy created by the divine power residing on the island of the god’s corpse. Calling it a dreamland was also incorrect, because the god’s thoughts were so profound and powerful that the landscapes he created were real, beyond the ability of mortals to distinguish.

Kairo noticed Morril’s abnormal state and hurried over to support her. “What’s wrong, Sister Morril?”

Si Siqi stepped forward, her refined gold claws sinking deep into the ground as if it were rotten soil. Her enormous iron wings drooped down, covering their figures like curtains. Kairo could see nothing, only feeling the heat from the wings and the female mage’s weak, rapid breathing beside her.

“No…” Morril whispered.

In the deep darkness, Morril could only infer what Si Siqi was doing through sound. After a moment of silence, she heard a storm-like inhalation—a surge of air rushing past her like waves, as if all the air around her was sucked away in an instant, gathering into his monstrous, gaping mouth.

What followed was the sound of rocks cracking and boiling. Intense light and heat erupted violently, even penetrating the steel-like wings and dispelling the darkness within them. Yet this did nothing to help Moriel observe what was outside, as the scorching heat made it impossible for her to keep her eyes open. If they hadn’t been sheltered by the dragon’s wing barrier, she and Kayro would likely have been roasted to death by now.

Forty-Seven’s breath attack didn’t last long. But when he spread his wings again, both women were shocked by what they saw. Before them lay a vast area of terrifying destruction—almost miraculous in its scale. The walls exposed directly to the dragon’s breath had been reduced to ashes, and the hard rock ground had melted under the intense heat. Fiery magma mixed with carbon-black debris from the collapsed ceiling to form semi-solid rivers of scorching heat. Burning columns sank slowly across these rivers, like pieces of bread floating in water.

The pale green lights in the area affected by the breath attack had disappeared, but the sky wasn’t visible above the ruins. In the distance, the remaining pillars continued to rise in a grotesque manner—bent and twisted, covered in shadows, stretching upward into the dark heavens beyond even the reach of the lava’s glow.

“No, stop…” Moriel clenched her fist and struck Forty-Seven’s steel forelimb twice to prevent him from gathering strength for another breath attack. “It’s useless. We’re trapped inside a dead god. Any violent destruction will only awaken more dormant divine powers and cause even greater trouble.”

“Then come on up, girls.” The dragon lowered his body so that Moriel and Kayro could climb up. “Humans or gods, I have no interest in playing hide-and-seek inside a corpse.”

Forty-Seven flew over the scorched land he had created—behind him, black-red magma flowed, swallowing the shadows of buildings like blood spurting from a wound.

“It seems this divine corpse is in its worst state of activity.” Once she had a general understanding of the situation, the female mage could use spells like “Understanding Legends” to obtain more information. “I can’t believe the dreams formed from its memories are so vivid and vast… Could an entity with such extraordinary power end up as just an empty shell in the cosmos?”

“I feel like a rat crawling around in a vent.” Forty-Seven suddenly changed direction mid-climb and flew into another winding, dark tunnel. “How long have we been going? Even the Tower of Babel should be at the end by now.”

“Can you be a little patient?” As they entered the tunnel, the dragon’s wings flapped, creating swirling gusts of wind that howled through the jagged rocks, sounding like the cries of thousands of ghosts. Moriel had to raise her voice. “Dead gods don’t act purposefully! As long as we’re no longer deceived by their illusions, it’s only a matter of time before we escape the maze they’ve created!”

“Hmph, speaking of mazes…” Forty-Seven grunted angrily. “I still remember you throwing me into some damned bird place—hold on tight!”

He suddenly flipped and glided, allowing a meteoric fireball shot from the corner to hit his side and explode. Intense flames burst forth like a waterfall plunging into an abyss, spreading beyond the span of his wings, instantly turning that large section of the tunnel into something almost as hot as a burning oven.
“That’s a stupid way to greet someone,” said Forty-Seven as he returned, his massive wings easily dispersing the flames. “It’s rude not to return the gesture… Hm?”
The attacker in the darkness seemed to hold some attraction for him. The dragon dived at him, its wings covered in rows of sharp spines sweeping against the cave walls, effortlessly cutting into the rock. Broken stalactites crashed down with a loud noise, and a disheveled figure scrambled out, dodging the rain of falling debris.
“Devils! Devils! Don’t even think about getting close to me!” he cursed as he retreated, tripping over a rock and falling on his butt, yet still muttering and gesturing, trying to cast another spell. “You’re no match for me!”
Morril recognized the man’s intentions and slowly recited the corresponding counter-spell.
“Damn it! Damn it! Why does the Goddess of Magic even allow cunning devils to use spells?” He reached into his clothes again. “Fortunately, I’m prepared for this…”
“Enough! You’d better sober up!” Forty-Seven lowered his head and blew a gust of hot air from his nostrils, scorching him enough to make him give up on searching for items to fight back. He covered his face and screamed, “If I lose patience, you’ll be begging a devil to take you away in no time! Where are the others?”
Morril now recognized this guy too. He was also part of Gith’s adventuring party—a fairly skilled mage. But now he looked like he had epilepsy, trembling uncontrollably and speaking incoherently.
“Devils, demons—” The mage had no intention of communicating with them. He grabbed a handful of dust from the ground and began chanting nervously, seemingly unaware that Forty-Seven could tear him to pieces with just one slap under these circumstances, nor did he see that Forty-Seven was already ready to do so.
“Wait!” Morril fired a magic missile to interrupt his spell again. “Don’t let him move around!”
A terrifying black claw covered the mage. Forty-Seven grabbed him along with rocks and dirt, wrapping them into a fragile mass of flesh—still mostly intact for now. The mage screamed and kept coughing.
Morril first muttered a spell. When she spoke again, her voice carried a penetrating power that reached the mage’s ears, calming him a bit. “How did you end up here? Where are the others?”
“The others? I don’t know!” Despite the effects of magic, the mage’s response remained panicked and nervous. “I don’t know where they went! I don’t know where I am! I don’t know!”
“Be quiet.” Morril intensified the spell’s power. She felt the chaotic and noisy thoughts emanating from this mage, almost indistinguishable from those of a madman, and needed to filter them heavily to extract any useful information. “So, where are the Gith soldiers? When did you get separated from them?”

“The Gith? Gith!” the mage shouted loudly, his voice filled with obvious anger. If not for Forty-Seven’s iron grip, he would have been dancing with excitement. “They’re liars! They deceived us! They lured us to this island to use us as shields!”
“Shields?” Moriel pressed. “What shields? Explain clearly!”
“Shields! Shields to die for them!” the mage howled, spitting wildly. “There are enemies on the island that they can’t handle, so they make us draw their attention! Then they can do whatever they want! We die!”
“And who are these enemies? Have you seen them?” As Moriel tried to dig deeper, the mage stopped cooperating entirely, even the mind-reading spells failed.
“Enemies! Enemies!” The mage’s eyes were glazed, as if trapped in a nightmare from which he could never wake. “Demons! Demons! You can’t do anything to me! I am the great mage Bryant—”
His head suddenly exploded.
The force of the explosion was immense, like a rock struck by the “Stone Blast” spell. Bones and flesh mixed with red and white pulp sprayed everywhere, covering even Forty-Seven. One intact eyeball even bounced high into the air, seeming to roll around for a moment before falling onto the blood-soaked, filthy ground with a soft thud.
Kairo screamed in fright and quickly turned away.
“It wasn’t me. Look, his body is still healthy,” Forty-Seven said, lifting the mage’s headless corpse with his claw to prove his innocence. Blood continued to flow from the severed carotid artery, and a neck stump with pieces of flesh dangling slung limply.
“Enough, stop being disgusting,” Moriel said, frowning and turning away. “If what I saw in this mage’s mind is true, we’re in trouble…”
“Not just ‘trouble’,” Forty-Seven replied, tossing the mage’s remains aside and staring intently into the depths of the tunnel. “It doesn’t matter. You said that trouble always attracts more trouble.”