"Raymond..." Dusk's brow furrowed as the Parchment dissolved into etheric ash.
The scroll's revelations left no doubt - this entity had orchestrated his abduction between worlds. As for its proposed "bargain", a derisive snort escaped him.
If Raymond possessed such benevolence, why drag a mortal through cosmic membranes? If truly omnipotent, why seek aid from flesh-bound vermin? The heavens don't rain mercy, only bait.
Trusting faceless entities reeked of suicidal stupidity. Survival required calculated pragmatism, not eldritch gambles.
Dismissing the parchment's whispers, he let tension bleed from his shoulders.
Biological urgency soon reclaimed dominance.
His breathing hitched. Muscles corded.
Nara remained oblivious at first, golden head bobbing diligently until the telltale pulse against her tongue.
"Ah—!" Her gasp became an involuntary swallow. Crimson bloomed across her cheeks as realization struck.
"My Lord..." No reproach colored her gaze - only liquid heat. A pink tongue captured stray droplets as translucent robes pooled around her hips. Dawn gilded her marble curves, transforming the altar into a tableau of forbidden allure.
Dusk's chuckle rumbled darkly. Calloused hands gripped pliant thighs, lifting her onto the sacrificial slab. No preamble. No tenderness.
Her choked gasp echoed through vaulted ceilings as he sheathed himself in velvet heat. Nara's initial wince melted into sinuous undulations, hips arching to match his rhythm.
Holy Maidens indeed receive specialized training, he mused, abandoning restraint.
Sunlight fractured through stained glass, casting prismatic shadows over their profane union. The divine statue watched impassively as Nara's moans crescendoed, fingernails scoring hieroglyphs into sacred stone.
Desecration reached its zenith when her back arched like a drawn bowstring.
"Ahn—!" The keening cry tore from her throat as Dusk's final thrusts turned feral.
Collapsing onto cold marble, Nara trembled like a shattered doll. Milky thighs glistened with evidence of their sacrilege. The so-called Holy Maiden now resembled a defiled offering - which, in brutal honesty, she was.
Dusk let out a long breath, feeling refreshed and clear-headed.
He had to admit, the Holy Maiden's taste wasn't bad at all…
Glancing at the young girl lying beside him, her delicate pale body covered in sweat, he picked up her sheer robe and gently draped it over her to preserve a bit of modesty. His tone was indifferent as he spoke, "You're the Holy Maiden Nara, right? You performed well. From now on, stay by my side—you'll be well rewarded."
Nara's cheeks were still flushed, and upon hearing his words, her tired eyes lit up with joy. In a weak voice, she murmured, "To serve my Lord… is my greatest honor…"
Dusk nodded with a blank expression, though inwardly he couldn't help but mock this group of cultists. These maniacs actually treat getting slept with as an honor. Then again, if they were sane, they wouldn't be in a cult in the first place…
Suddenly, a thought came to him, and he said, "My powers haven't fully recovered, and I'm not familiar with the current landscape of the continent or the state of the divine orders. Tell me everything you know."
Other than what he'd read from the Parchment—that this place was called the Godforsaken Continent—Dusk knew almost nothing. Gathering information now would save him from slipping up later when pretending to be all-knowing.
Nara didn't think too much about it. After all, the gods had been cut off from the Godforsaken Continent for many years.
After a brief moment of recollection, she began, "It's been thirty thousand years since the end of the Dark Era. The entire continent is now divided among three empires: the Clinton Empire, the Crimson Empire, and the Diris Empire.
"And the place we're currently in is Talros Town, located in the northern frontier of the Clinton Empire…"
Hearing the name Talros Town, a flicker of thought flashed through Dusk's eyes.
So this is the place mentioned in the Parchment… That Raymond guy really had some skill…
He didn't interrupt and motioned for Nara to continue.
As she spoke on slowly and steadily,
It didn't take long for Dusk to form a rough understanding of the Godforsaken Continent and his own circumstances.
The Godforsaken Continent was once called the Continent of Divine Grace, ruled by countless gods of varying power and status. It was also home to many races—dragons, elves, dwarves, orcs—while humans were merely one among them.
However, a cataclysm that erupted thirty thousand years ago nearly wiped out all the gods and most of the other races, leaving only humans and a few scattered others as the last remnants of civilization.
The surviving humans used the leftover divine power and spiritual essence to develop various supernatural professions—Mages, Knights, Wizards, Healers, and the like—eventually rising to dominance over this forsaken world.
The deeply rooted religious culture across the Godforsaken Continent stemmed from the fact that all extraordinary powers originated from the gods.
The Cult of the End, to which they belonged, was one of the continent's well-known sects.
Though, to be fair, not exactly known for anything good, nor was it considered particularly legitimate…
When she mentioned the Cult of the End, Nara's tone could barely contain her pride and reverence. "Although our divine order has grown weaker over the years due to suppression from the major holy churches, since the Holy Empire's collapse, you, my Lord, are the first god in ten thousand years to answer your followers and descend upon the world!"
"With our Lord among us, I believe the Cult of the End will surely become the strongest sect on the Godforsaken Continent!"
Even I wouldn't go that far… where the hell is all that confidence coming from…
Dusk's mouth twitched slightly, but he didn't have the heart to shatter the girl's fantasy.
He changed the subject. "What exactly is a Tiered Sealing Relic?"
Nara looked surprised. "My Lord knows about the Tiered Sealing Relics?"
Dusk replied calmly, "Is that strange?"
Nara thought for a moment. Given her Lord's divine status, it really wasn't all that strange.
She explained, "The Tiered Sealing Relics were originally divine artifacts containing the remnants of godly power. But due to the corruption caused by the cataclysm, these artifacts became uncontrollable taboo objects—hence they're now known as sealing relics.
"The 'tier' refers to their rank. The lower the number, the more powerful the relic. The sealing relic our cult possesses, the 'Scepter of the End,' is a Tier-3 relic. It's currently in the hands of Archbishop Fursa.
"With his strength, if he were to unleash the power of the relic, he could wipe out all life in an entire province in an instant."
Dusk couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath. That was just a Tier-3 relic? And it could do that kind of damage? He didn't even want to imagine what the top-tier ones were capable of.
The Scepter of the End… Dusk quietly committed the name to memory. He figured once Fursa returned, he'd see if there was a way to swindle it out of him. In a cult like this, you'd better have something up your sleeve—or there was no such thing as feeling safe.
Creeeak—!
Right then, the heavy wooden doors of the church swung open slowly. In walked a short figure draped in black robes—Fursa—grinning from ear to ear.
Behind him trailed three more robed individuals, all different heights, all clad in the same dark garb.
As soon as they saw Dusk, they dropped to their knees without a word and cried out in unison, "We greet our Lord!!"
By all logic, these people were Bishops of the Cult of the End. They shouldn't be groveling so shamelessly. But then again, thinking about it… they were cultists. Who the hell in a cult cares about dignity?
Fursa stepped forward and said, "My Lord, these are three of the four current Bishops of the Cult of the End—Castor, Derrick, and Quito. Together, we manage all the affairs of the church.
"There's one more Bishop, named Witt. He oversees Black-Mist City and cannot be here to greet you in person. I ask your forgiveness, my Lord."
Black-Mist City lay on the northern border of the Clinton Empire. It was a stronghold under the Cult of the End's control, and also served as their main headquarters.
Since it was uncomfortably close to the Cult of the Dawn, the two factions were constantly at war. That made it necessary to have a Bishop stationed there at all times—otherwise, they'd be overrun in the blink of an eye.
They'd probably been waiting outside for a while now, so Dusk wasn't surprised. He silently draped the pale moon-colored robe over his shoulders, said nothing, and simply stood atop the altar, overlooking them with calm indifference.
His gaze swept across them like they were four pieces of trash—domineering, cold, and commanding.
Though his power wasn't anything special right now, Dusk was confident that his acting skills were top-tier.
Sure enough, it didn't take long before sweat began to bead on the foreheads of the kneeling figures. Nervousness flickered in their eyes as they silently racked their brains, unable to figure out what exactly they had done to displease this divine being.
Fursa subtly glanced at Nara, hoping for a clue. But she, too, kept her head bowed, looking equally lost and uncertain. That only made his own panic worse.
"I never expected that in just a few tens of thousands of years, the Cult of the End would fall to such disgrace. You've truly let me down."
Dusk stepped down slowly from the altar and walked toward Fursa. His tone was calm, yet his words carried an overwhelming authority.
Castor, Derrick, and Quito immediately stiffened. Their heads dropped even lower, almost touching the floor. Archbishop Fursa, could only grit his teeth and speak through clenched fear: "It is all due to our incompetence. I beg the Lord for forgiveness!"
"You should be thankful that I currently have no better options," Dusk said coldly, his gaze cast downward without the slightest hint of emotion. "Otherwise, none of you would even be worthy to stand in my presence."
His voice echoed through the silent cathedral, each word heavy with oppressive force. The weight in the air was suffocating. No one dared to breathe.
Sweat streamed freely down Fursa's forehead, like a dam had broken.
Even a Transcendent Tier powerhouse, before the true might of a god, was no more than a child—life and death hanging by the thinnest of threads.
So despite the fact that the man before him showed no trace of supernatural power, and his presence was weaker than even an ordinary mortal's, Fursa felt as though two great mountains were pressing down on his shoulders. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from his chest.
This… this is the pressure of a god?
So powerful!