The moment he saw Karil Lohals with his own eyes, there was only one thought in the mind of the angel from Baal.

Calm down—he admonished himself—to calm down, St. Giles, to calm down.

But he couldn't do it, and calmness was a luxury. The manic image blasted into his mind, as irresistible as a torpedo on board.

The pale skin and the bones beneath it were still in his sight, but St. Giles couldn't stop there, he inevitably saw more.

The deck beneath his feet turned into a shattered glacier, and magma erupted from beneath the glacier in defiance of common sense, surrounded not by darkness, but by a void deeper than darkness.

Countless voices whispered in it, reading words that could not be understood and should not be understood. St. Giles felt the cold for the first time in a long time, and he stood in place with his fists clenched, urging his sanity and trying to get himself back.

But it only took a moment for the horrific scene to change.

The wind was blowing, and the white ashes were whistling in the storm, like a blizzard. The souls howled and screamed, and countless worlds burned and collapsed behind their illusory faces.

The stars burned, the stars died, and the laughter was endless. Twisted monsters leaped out of the void, scattering in all directions, excitedly thirsting for blood.

Fear.

St. Giles' hands began to tremble - of course he was afraid, why wasn't he? Even the primordial has something to fear.

However, he was not struck down by this fear.

The Bal trembled, but stood firmly.

This is not true. He said to himself. It's part of the illusion, it's my cursed talent at work, it's not real

After a few seconds, he flapped his wings resolutely, and the muscles in his back stretched. In the midst of a bleak snowstorm, he tried to take off.

He had to do it, he had to go back to the real world. If he stays here, God knows what else he'll see?

God knows. Will the things he sees catch him?

The blizzard tore at his body, and the ashes turned into something sharper than a knife in the wind. He flies, falls, flies again, falls again. until the whole body is covered with scales and wounds, and the skin is open and the flesh is open.

An almost crushing pain welled up from the depths of the soul, wave after wave. The stream is endless, and it hits persistently. After the thousandth fall, St. Giles knelt on top of the shattered glacier.

Blood was spilled, and he trembled and looked up at the sky, intending to observe the movement of the blizzard, but suddenly felt a sense of fall. In the next second, he began to fall downward, towards something darker than the darkness.

The wings were bound by the wind and could not spread, they could only curl up on its shoulders, their feathers vibrating and falling along the way. St. Giles stared at them in bewilderment, his mind tormented to the point where he could not think.

He didn't resist anymore, and a second after the thought was born, he fell heavily to the bottom of the abyss. When he opened his eyes again, what he saw changed again.

Now, all he could see was darkness.

St. Giles barely got to his feet and tried to walk forward, his body—or rather, what little sanity he had left—no longer supported him. So he had to crawl instead.

With blood-stained wings, he crawled naked in the darkness, leaving behind a winding path of blood. It was quiet at first, without any sound. However, as he progressed, the world gradually 'owned' a voice.

The sound of swords entering the body, the crackling of flames, the screams of monsters, and the solemn chorus of thousands of dead. It seems to be wailing in unison, but it is extremely sacred.

and, a low, icy roar.

"Recite a song for me." He said. "To celebrate this moment of vengeance."

Unconsciously, St. Giles crawled in that direction, and the temperature around him began to shift, towards colder, harsher temperatures. The chorus began to grow more and more violent, almost deafening, rumbling, majestic and full of hatred.

Listening to it, St. Giles felt a deep exhaustion, and he knew that he had gone too far. If he continues, he won't find his way back. But

I have to see. I had to see that.

St. Giles muttered to himself – testimonial.

He stepped forward again, as if breaking through some kind of boundary, and suddenly there was a sharp explosion in his ears. A tearing sensation came suddenly, and St. Giles' eyes widened.

He knew that his survival instinct was at work in this moment—it was screaming and pulling him back, not allowing its master to get lost in the illusion.

But having come this far, should we give up?

He forced himself to look up, and at this very moment, at this last moment, he finally saw it.

A skeleton, a tall skeleton draped in pitch-black fury and wrapped in the aura of the cold forest, is holding a sword of golden flames, fighting countless twisted monsters in the darkness.

He wasn't alone, and as much as he looked, he wasn't alone.

On his back, there was another skeleton.

It was golden, and the burnt flesh dripped, dripping blood from the bones, and it was still breathing, but it was in pain. Staring at it, time was actually slowed down at this moment. St. Giles opened his mouth and felt a throbbing.

He was about to say something, but he saw two tears falling from the golden bones' eyes.

- As if struck by lightning, at this moment, St. Giles suddenly understood something that he should not have understood.

The skeleton wasn't weeping over what had happened to him.

He's for

"Go back, Wu'er." The bones said, the sound like the last breath of a dying man. "That's not the way you're supposed to go, go back."

It barely raised its right hand, and the light flickered between its fingers, and it was this light that showed St. Giles a way home.

The angel shuddered, felt two hot streaks fall from his eyes, and he turned around, painfully and resolutely obeying his father's command.

——

Horus pondered anxiously, not knowing what to do. His anxiety was palpable, but he didn't need to hide himself at the moment, he was standing and pacing back and forth in a conference room, and he was the only one here.

Whether it was the guards brought by Carlil Lohals, or Azcaron, Farkus Kebo, they all stayed outside, and Horust ordered this.

The room, which he had carefully chosen from his memory, had a back room in which St. Giles and Carlil Lohals were conversing.

Horus, of course, wanted to know what they were talking about, but he couldn't hear them at all. At the moment, the only thing he can do is wait.

However, he will soon not be waiting alone. Ten minutes later, the door to the conference room was pushed open. Horus, who had thought that some of the guards had disobeyed his orders, turned his head to see a giant dressed in black.

He was thin, his long hair darker than ink, his skin as white as snowflakes or ashes, and his eyes as black as black.

Inevitably, he reminded Horus of Caryl Lohals. It's just that this person's skin color is more like a 'human'.

At first glance, Horus knew his identity.

"Corax?" The Kosonian laughed with a mixed expression, a mixture of surprise and welcome, as well as embarrassment at the expression he had just made. At the same time, there is also a point of confusion about the current situation. "Corus Koraks?"

The man he called Koraks nodded slowly and softly, "You are. . . Horus Lupecar? He didn't lie to me, you are very recognizable. ”

Horus was slightly stunned, and before he could speak, Corax had already walked in. He turned around and closed the door softly. The black clothes were wide, but they could not hide his strength.

Horus could see through his robes his brother's muscles and his bony back. The strange contrast struck him down - he had to admit that Corax reminded him of some animals.

Corus Colacs' first impression on him was more like some kind of . Birds?

Horus was amused by his absurd perception, and he didn't know what was wrong with him. Perhaps he was infected by the strange behavior of St. Giles, but how could he have thought of comparing Corax to a bird?

Horus stepped forward, intending to be more intimate, but realized something else just as his arm was about to put his arm on Corax's shoulder—not everyone likes intimacy.

So, he switched to another etiquette.

Corax looked down at his outstretched right hand.

"What does that mean?" He asked softly. "I don't quite understand."

"It's a courtesy, Koraks, from Terra. All you need to do is put your hand out, yes, that's it."

Horus patiently instructed his brother and shook Corax's hand. This time, the temperature he felt was fairly normal. It also made him secretly relieved, even though he didn't really know why he was doing it.

"So, you're done talking to your father? I thought you would have been talking a little longer. Horus asked. He chose to speak first, after all, judging by the appearance of Corax, he didn't look like a very talkative person.

Horus didn't want to make the atmosphere awkward, and he happened to need dialogue to get through this difficult waiting time.

"Yes." Corax nodded. "He seemed to have something to do, so he temporarily stopped talking to me."

"It's not very common, brother." Horus frowned. "Fathers don't usually do that."

"Ahh

“.”

Horus pursed his lips, realizing that his unconversational guess about Corax might be true. As a last resort, he had to start another topic on his own.

"Do you know the names of the rest of us. I don't know? Okay, so I'll introduce you to them first."

The update is complete, and it will continue tomorrow.

(End of chapter)