The Creator answered the prayer.
...
There are so many people in this world who believe in Him. Even if the gods have the ability to receive and respond to every prayer, they do not need to bear the obligation to care about the joys and sorrows of all believers.
Their mercy is more evident in certain specific groups, but it may also be a broader concept.
Just as Russell was to the god of steam and machinery in the past, just as humanity and even the broader group of people who worship life are to the Creator.
Now, as a strange glove murmurs intermittently the name of a revered being, its barren mind filled with thoughts of "salvation," the Creator's attention, perpetually trapped in madness and torment, is easily captured.
The Shadow Ruler's army had long since breached the Highlands Kingdom's border defenses and was now locked in a tug-of-war with the loose coalition forces of the Northern Continent in the complex hilly terrain.
Unlike the other gods who still reign supreme in the celestial realm, the true creator also became part of the war, or rather, He became a pawn in His own hands.
An extremely important piece.
The special nature of the "Tri-Headed Church" allows Him to appear in three locations simultaneously.
The black inverted cross stands atop the highest peak on the front lines of the battlefield, casting a heavy shadow over the surrounding area. Everywhere it radiates becomes a chessboard of war, and it itself is the most powerful "Queen" on the battlefield, rampaging wildly with the status of a god, venting the aftereffects of its madness.
The aging, true Creator wearily waved his hand, and the "Red of War" banner marched forward relentlessly in the direction His fingertips fell.
The slightly hunched, black-armored giant sat leaning against the cross, tilting his head as he tried to glean a few useful pieces of information from the storm of curses that resembled blades.
He endured the ants, known for their hatred, devouring His reason, casting aside the remaining whispers and temptations of His spirit, and finally saw a few points of light that He had marked.
The one belonging to Klein Moretti appeared extremely weak, while another unfamiliar glimmer of light was struggling to expand beside Klein's point of light, trying to attract his attention.
Without the need for the true creator to make excessive judgments, the pitch-black ocean of consciousness automatically parted its path, and the flickering light spots, in the instant they were no longer restrained, expanded to an exaggerated range, only obscured by various murky colors, making them difficult to see clearly.
The dark blue and ugly reddish-purple hues are mixed together, encroaching on each other's interiors and constantly vying for the largest area to occupy in the picture.
Both are dangerous, and both can be considered to be contaminations approaching the highest level, but in the eyes of the true Creator, they are still too weak.
It was so weak that it was unimaginable to Him.
The barrier that shrouded the Rothschild Islands successfully concealed the true Creator's view of the interior, and the contamination of the "Mother Tree of Desire" also confused His spiritual rhythm during each divination.
However, the key to the underground "sacred ark" of the archipelago branch, which exists within Klein's spirit body, still stubbornly shines with the spiritual light of the Creator.
The Triad Church, which serves as the core of the Ark of the Covenant, is also one of them.
In an instant, the true creator, located beneath the city of Aarons, and the aged figure sitting dejectedly on the battlefield, made the same decision.
The triangle that had been maintaining the stability of the underground "Ark" structure of the archipelago suddenly dissolved, and the lifeless "Tri-Headed Church" came back to life.
Its three heads, symbolizing different stages of life, float in turn, all looking upwards.
The sealed object, which carried a portion of the true Creator's spirituality, became a temporary vessel for divine descent. The "wriggling hunger" that had been intermittently and repeatedly chanting the name of the deity on the scorched earth suddenly froze and remained motionless.
Its shadow deviated from the human skin glove; the palm-shaped shadow was extended and lengthened, with the five fingers developing towards the five parts of the person, while the palm part became thicker and thicker, turning into the chest and abdomen.
A hooded figure, dressed similarly to many of the "shepherds" in the real Church of the Creator, with a physical form, came to the side of the "wriggling hunger".
The "Elder of Filthy Words" has the ability to extract any part of a sentence and generalize from it, or to achieve a similar distorted effect.
Under the deliberate guidance of the true Creator, the prayer object of "wriggling hunger" was directed from His true form, which was far away in the southern continent, directly to the "Three-Headed Church," which was only a few kilometers away.
The shepherd, made of shadows, stared at the blood on the ground. It stretched out its hand, and "wriggling hunger" jumped onto its hand naturally, covering the shadow's illusory yet real left hand.
Just as "creeping hunger" was part of this shadow, or at least it once was.
The shadow crouched down, its bloodless fingertips tracing the curves of the black armor, casting a reflection in Klein's eyes that transported him back to the unremarkable, peaceful town of a few months earlier.
When I first came into this world, there was someone who did the same thing.
The shadow seemed to overlap with Mr. A, whom Klein hadn't seen for a long time.
This time, however, Klein understood that he no longer had the right to clear his mind, shirk responsibility, and get a good night's sleep after escaping danger, only to lazily open his eyes and chat or joke with his companions once everything was over and the crisis was resolved.
This time, no captain will come to save him, and the shadow in front of him can't take on all the trouble without most people knowing, just like Mr. A did when he stopped Ince Zangwell.
Now he can only rely on himself.
Hot, fresh blood overflowed from the shadow's fingertips, rushing into Klein's veins and carrying new life throughout his broken limbs and bones.
The terrifying corpse puppet with the face of Señor rampaged wildly, each rumble and tremor of the ground demonstrating its danger and brutality.
The monster roared, its blood-red eyes fixed on the figure struggling to rise from the ground.
It watched as the disheveled black emperor pounced on the scepter stuck in the ground. Even with its mind devoid of reason and driven only by animalistic instincts, it instantly understood the consequences once the scepter was returned to its place.
In order to live up to the expectations of its creator, layers of purplish-black, hairy, carapace-like keratinized hard material squeezed out from the surface of the monster's body, making its body even taller and giving it a more direct sense of oppression.
Having undergone yet another evolution, the monster, possessing characteristics of both "werewolf" and "demon," roared, its surging spirituality tearing through the air to form waves of energy, materializing the trajectory of the wailing vengeful spirits.
Unfortunately, Klein was a step faster than the monster. Just like in the naval battle on the Blood Tree, he thrust his sword into Señor's chest before Señor could react.
The black-clad emperor leaned against his slender scepter, looking like an old man nearing the end of his life.
He shakily raised his only weapon, his lips slightly parted beneath the shadows on his face.
It wasn't some obscure or difficult spell; it was just a single word, a simple ancient Elvish word.
"storm."
Suddenly, a blinding silver-white burst erupted from the top of the scepter, accompanied by barely audible elven chants that drew the attention of every powerful spirit creature and extraordinary being on the battlefield.
They instinctively listened intently, hoping to understand the meaning of the fleeting word, only to realize in their panic that it was not a simple means of communication, but a command.
A powerful hurricane was born silently in the middle of the jungle. This short-lived natural giant walked on the scorched earth, with strong air currents as its arms and the eye of the storm as its feet.
With a simple wave of its arm, it grabbed the monster with the face of Señor while reaching out to the spirit world, dragging a portion of the illusory, symbolic realm into its own body.
The barrier between reality and the spirit world has been further broken down.
The existence of the mysterious cyan-black barrier prevented the effects of the storm affecting both the spirit world and reality from spreading further. However, within the barrier, the basic rules of the spirit world temporarily malfunctioned and could no longer be executed smoothly.
The hurricane, accompanied by eerie scenery, continuously collected debris and vegetation from the ground, growing larger and more destructive than ever before, before gradually approaching the location of the Tree of Flesh and Blood.
Sensing the approaching danger, the tree of flesh and blood softened its hard, brown bark in an instant, transforming it into a soft, sticky state resembling flesh and blood.
The wrinkles and folds that were originally like a physiological structure unique to females have actually acquired the ability to produce offspring.
The Tree of Flesh and Blood spread its countless thorn-like tentacles toward Bayam behind it, the tentacles invading the city's streets and houses, abandoning the process of selection, turning every object it touched into nutrients to be decomposed.
Aquaman, who was battling with the "ancient scholars," witnessed this scene.
Arne Courtman's fury resounded throughout Blue Mountain Island, even frightening his enemy, who had inexplicably lost his ability to teleport and could only barely evade attacks with the help of flames.
But his anger was useless; no matter how many thunderbolts he sent toward the Tree of Flesh, they would not be as powerful as the hurricane in the center of the other battlefield.
He could only fight even harder in the deadly battle, and in the hard-won respite he could catch his breath, he could only watch helplessly as civilians and subordinates were grabbed by the tentacles of the tree monster, stuffed into its folds, and then crawled out of the reproductive cavities on the tree trunk, bloodied and battling, as "demons" to join the battlefield against Trensost.
Klein was also watching this horrific scene.
The torment and pain remain; they will not disappear with a single act of help from the Creator.
His actions completely contradicted his promise to Taylor Franz. Summoning a hurricane was already the limit, and if this powerful weapon of war, which came from nature, was to continue operating, a greater price would have to be paid.
He needs to constantly and continuously wield the power of "natural disasters" and bear the backlash from divinity and pollution.
Klein was confident in his endurance, but his body seemed to be nearing its limit.
If no miracle occurs, and a friendly angel descends, he may not even survive until the moment the Tree of Flesh is destroyed.
Perhaps after obtaining the "Cataclysmic Disaster," I should hand the scepter over to Tristan. He is more experienced, more capable, and more qualified than I am to wield this sealed artifact...
Normally, using a Level 1 sealed artifact is already a rather dangerous attempt and an unimaginable burden for a regular Sequence 5, let alone Level 0.
There are precedents in the records of various churches of using level zero seals by intermediate-sequence extraordinary beings.
Even the coldest strokes and words in the records and reports cannot conceal the identity played by the extraordinary individuals in such extreme circumstances.
Fuel, or rather, a self-forging "furnace".
Klein, burdened by the weight of a "furnace," swallowed hard, his body trembling under the strain.
I'm such a fool, completely fooled, like a donkey with a carrot tied to its head, endlessly squeezing itself dry for a bait it can never reach...
Can I beat that thing?
The hurricane seemed to be weakening. Klein, supporting himself with his scepter, struggled to sit up and try to look out at the white wall of air and the flesh-and-blood tree behind the spirit world scenery.
The tree was so enormous that it had grown to be as majestic as the surrounding mountain peaks in just a few minutes since it appeared, and it seemed to be still growing.
Klein suspected that if no one stopped it, given time, the tree's size and height would eventually turn it into a second abyss.
Although he had never seen the true face of the abyss, he did not know where this association came from.
When he saw the Tree of Flesh, he naturally thought of Roselle's description of the abyss in his diary.
I can't beat that guy...
Klein, at his wit's end, lowered his head, his spiritual intuition sketching out his broken soul and equally broken body.
The outline of his spiritual threads was becoming more ethereal, turning into the same thing as the broken threads around him.
The fragments of memory found in the mausoleum...
If I truly did reach the top of a sequence, just as the "mystery" wanted to tell me, as the unidentified voice said, and as Zhou Mingrui once did, then I have nothing to fear from a mere tree I planted casually...
I could easily punch the "demon," kick the pollution, end the disaster effortlessly, become the savior of the Rothschild Islands, and enjoy the worship and praise of the natives with a clear conscience...
But I'm not...
Yes, I started this war, and I share the same name, even the same identity, and perhaps the same soul and essence as that "mysterious god," but ultimately, I am not Him...
Compared to the lofty and supreme ruler of the gray fog, I have never possessed the ability to move mountains and fill seas or create miracles, because I lack divinity. I am just an ordinary person, a mortal who, just a year ago, was struggling to make a living and for the future, a common person you could see anywhere in the city, an ordinary person who accomplishes nothing.
On Earth, in the world I grew up in, I was pressured by reality and my boss, having to try my best to please customers and worry about the health of my elderly parents.
Once I got here, I had to live in constant fear, afraid that my true identity would be discovered and I would be sent underground to have my frontal lobe removed, turning me into a mentally challenged research and containment object.
I must do everything in my power, as if walking on thin ice, to advance on the path that "mystery" has arranged for me and complete the task He has given me.
Klein was angry, and despairingly realized that probably no one would care about his anger.
Seeing that the hurricane might disintegrate at any moment due to insufficient spiritual supply, and the Tree of Flesh and Blood regained the upper hand, turning the entire island into a private garden, he wished he could put down his scepter, run up to the gray fog, grab the collar of the "God of Mystery" whose existence was unknown, and question the guy who supposedly shared the same name as him.
We're all one person, so why are you torturing me?
I can't do it... I don't have the ability to be a savior... The liberation war in Rothschild started because of me, so what if I pushed it?
I originally thought that all I needed to do was act as a facilitator, and the rest would be your responsibility, or at least the responsibility of your angels, or the responsibility of the important people...
But you left all the trouble to me without saying a word. The few demigods who happened to be in the same place as me didn't have the ability to handle it, and I couldn't rely on them...
If I were divine, I certainly wouldn't do that. What's the difference between shifting the burden to others and being a selfish scumbag or a beast?
If I possessed divinity...
If I were divine… Klein stared wide-eyed at the scepter in his hand, looking rather terrifying.
The "victim" lying in the mud at his feet sensed the expanding madness of the idea. The headless doll struggled to turn over, its short limbs digging into the soil, desperately trying to escape.
Unfortunately, before its efforts could be rewarded, the madman Klein had already seized it.
The hand covered in black steel squeezed the "victim's" outer shell, making a creaking friction sound.
Klein stared at the sealed artifact in his hand as if it were a treasure, or a tempting poison.
Yes, I can't do that now. I just need to have divinity...
The delusional ramblings of madness echoed in his mind, the mocking, unknown voice paused for a moment, then burst into a grating, ear-piercing laugh.
Chaos became the dominant theme in Klein's thoughts. At this moment, he seemed to have become a fellow being of the Tree of Flesh and Blood, more like a monster than a human.
This naive larva, just emerging from its comfort zone and leaving its warm home, is like the first fish that crawled onto the shore millions of years ago, trying to learn to walk with its newly grown legs and explore a new possibility for survival.
Klein grabbed the "victim" as if it were a worthless stone and hurled it at the bone scepter.
Driven to desperation, he disregarded the value of the two sealed artifacts, recklessly squandering them, roaring in frustration as he repeatedly pounded the already battered "victim," making him even more wretched.
As he manipulated the scepter to release the status and aura belonging to the "angels," he searched for the largest crack in the "suffering" to touch the lightning pulsating on the surface of the scepter.
The actions of Amon, the "Angel of Time," and His battles inspired Klein's actions at this moment.
Sealed artifacts are not indestructible. The Church's Extraordinary Ones hold this in high esteem, mistakenly believing that even if the function of a sealed artifact is damaged, its Extraordinary characteristics will not be released. This lie has been seen through by Klein.
He already knew that he could forcibly strip away the properties of the sealed artifact.
He witnessed it once when he died for the first time.
The blazing sun of "Eternal Sun" annihilated 2-105, and the black-rimmed glasses evaporated, but the "Master of Puppets" characteristic hidden within them followed the law of aggregation, slipped into his pendulum, and became a new seal.
He later used the characteristics in 2-105 to become the "Master of Mysteries," and it was Zarathustra, being an angel, who helped him with his position.
There are no angels here, but there are things of the same rank as angels. Klein believes that if he goes all out, he may be able to replicate the phenomenon of destroying the sealed object and extracting its unique characteristics.
That was exactly what he wanted!
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
With each arrhythmic collision of solid objects, the "victim" cried out incessantly, pitifully begging its owner to stop.
The prayers grew fainter and fainter until finally, the lifeless sealed object, like many dying creatures, could no longer utter a sound.
Another fierce blow, and with a crack, the cracks on the surface of the "victim" burst forth with changing colors, shattering into fragments that scattered in all directions.
The chaotic dance of light particles collided at high speed, quickly coalescing into a single entity—a semi-transparent cloak-shaped object—floating on the remains of the "victim." The divine patterns etched on its surface flowed silently with light, yet also infiltrated Klein's remaining sanity with deadly force.
If Klein hadn't grasped the "Scepter of Calamity,"