The moment Lynch touched the statuette, he seemed to return to the memory of the Red Moon at the end of the First Age, overlooking the scarred earth and witnessing the arrival of destruction.
The magnificent temples collapsed, vibrant life withered away in masses, and glorious civilizations crumbled. At the very end of it all, the red mist representing the Dreamlands arose from nowhere, gradually filling the entire world.
It was as if dreams had bled into reality, and the Dreamlands had merged with the waking world.
Countless bizarre and twisted figures emerged from the pervasive red mist. Indescribable, terrifying entities stepped out of the haze to ravage the world, driving everything toward the final end.
Sorrow, pain, pity, reluctance...
All sorts of emotions rose in Lynch's mind, faint yet overwhelmingly intense.
A crimson full moon rose immediately, casting mysterious moonlight across the entire planet. Beneath that light, the red mist quietly receded, and the strange entities within stopped in their tracks, baring their claws.
A will emanated from the crimson moon, feeling profoundly lonely upon a planet saturated with destruction and death.
Power is equivalent to obligation; to enjoy the authority of faith is to bear the responsibility of protection. Our world, our children, we must protect them. We must prevent this world from spiraling toward destruction, and we will pay any price to do so, even if it means substituting ourselves.
Amidst that solitary call, the blood-colored mist surged back, growing even thicker, slowly obscuring the moonlight. The grotesqueries in the fog writhed, leaped, and cheered, as if celebrating a victory.
Yes, at any cost.
Before the moonlight faded, the same will suddenly echoed back from the distance, one after another... for a moment, countless supreme wills gathered together, coalescing into a single voice.
Destruction is about to arrive, and even if it means sacrificing ourselves, we must protect this world.
As the voice reverberated through the world, one after another, points of light representing divine kingdoms lit up around the planet. The points connected in a ring around the globe, and their flames flared in unison, colliding with the omnipresent red mist.
Lynch knew he was glimpsing the great catastrophe at the end of the First Age, and in that moment, his face was already streaming with tears.
"Wow, Uncle Lynch, you wouldn't be crying from the pain, would you? Hahahaha, you're even worse than me."
The sudden, childish voice interrupted Lynch's profound emotional state. He snapped out of his epiphany in a daze and sighed softly.
For the past sixteen days, he had studied this Red Moon memory—which was brimming with divine authority—many times, and he had seen the same images repeatedly.
Time was short and opportunities were rare. He was eager to charge directly into the second rank and activate his second authority: Death.
The critical issue was that the supreme will he had absorbed from the cat god Bastet last time was completely spent. His soul manifestation was currently empty, and he had no cards left to play. This left him feeling deeply unsettled, which was why he was desperate to rank up and use the upgrade to activate a new divine authority to replenish what he had lost and regain control of his situation.
Yet, strangely, every time he read the memory, he felt as if he were suddenly unable to push forward, only to be interrupted by various sudden events: birds flying into the room, the abrupt chirping of cicadas, a thunderclap, or a sudden, fleeting downpour.
It seemed today it was the brat peeking at the door.
It felt as if something was deliberately preventing him. Lynch had asked Lady Luna, and her neighborly response was that it was a normal reaction; his insight into the Red Moon's divine authority was simply insufficient.
It wasn't that his grasp of the Concealment authority was lacking, but that his understanding of the divine authority as a whole was insufficient to break through.
This troubled Lynch quite a bit. It was infuriating to have obtained a divine authority only to be unable to use it immediately. However, thinking of the poor souls in stories from his homeland who failed their breakthroughs and were struck by lightning, he felt a bit more balanced.
Hmm, it must be the world's laws playing tricks; I can't blame this child.
Setting aside his inner turmoil, Lynch smiled and beckoned to little Martha. As she leaned in, he suddenly grabbed the little one by her collar, pressed her onto the bed, and expertly delivered three smacks to her bottom.
"Let's see if you'll cry from pain. Let's see if I'm worse than you. I'll show you 'hahahaha'."
"Cunning adult!" Little Martha shrieked as she was ambushed. Struggling free, she puffed up her cheeks in anger and kicked the air toward Lynch. "Why did you hit me again?"
"You appeared in the wrong place at the wrong time and said the wrong thing. Of course, there's the most important point: my hands were itching."
Lynch shook his hands; his mood, soured by the failed upgrade, felt much better now. Indeed, the best way to change one's mindset was to build one's happiness upon another's misery.
"Aren't you supposed to be at school today? Why are you loafing around at home?"
"Tomorrow I'm going to raise a green cactus. I'll show you itching hands—all you do is bully people." Little Martha didn't actually feel much pain, and after a few air kicks, her anger dissipated. She habitually leaned in, picked up a pen, and doodled a few things, giggling, "I have so many things to tell Maya, and Mom saw I was well behaved these past few days, so she helped me ask for a day off."
Lynch realized the little one was trying to find a way out for the younger children in Crown District, and she likely really didn't plan on robbing anyone anymore. Seeing that the brat who had been so infuriating half a month ago had truly changed—it seemed she hadn't been beaten for nothing—Lynch felt a sense of relief and couldn't help but ruffle the little thing's bright golden hair.
The little one's eyes lit up. She hopped in place and pushed her head against Lynch's hand, urging him to ruffle harder. Then, she happily ran to the window to open it for some fresh air. "Calculating the time, Aunt Natalie should be here soon. Mom asked me to ask you what you want for lunch."
The natural, domestic exchange warmed Lynch's heart. He said lazily, "You call reporter Maya 'sister' and Natalie 'aunt.' Be careful, or she'll beat you if she finds out."
The little one subconsciously covered her bottom. "Auntie isn't like you. Hmm, how about I call her 'sister' too?"
"Yes, that's right."
"It's not right at all. Auntie is Mom's friend. If I dared to call her 'sister,' Mom would be the one to beat me. Don't think I can't figure that out, you cunning adult, trying to trick me again." The little one chattered on, poking her head out the window to take a deep breath. "There's actually no fog this morning; the air outside is so good. You cunning guy, let me help you to the window to soak up some sun; you're about to go moldy... Huh?"
"What is it?"
"There's a strange person standing downstairs, and it looks like they're watching this way."
Lynch's heart tightened. Although a top-tier powerhouse with level eight authority had just left, and theoretically no one should be foolish enough to come looking for trouble, no world was ever short of people looking to die. Lynch steeled himself, hoisted his broken leg, rolled off the bed, and hopped toward the window.
"Ah, Uncle Lynch, what are you doing?"
Little Martha was also startled. She braced Lynch with her body and helped him stand at the window.
Lynch spotted the person Martha mentioned immediately: a man in a formal cloak standing in the shadows, looking up toward the window. Upon seeing Lynch and little Martha appear, the cloaked figure raised his right hand, extended his thumb and index finger into the shape of a pistol, aimed it at Lynch from afar, and wore a chilling smile. His lips moved, and he made a 'bang' sound.
In that instant, an immense pressure rushed toward them, as if facing some primal beast. Death seemed imminent.
Not only Lynch, but little Martha's face also turned deathly pale, and she seemed unable to catch her breath. Yet, the passersby downstairs looked as calm as usual, as if they didn't see anyone standing there at all.
How could he attack an ordinary person? How could a child withstand this?
Lynch fought the urge to hide and braced himself against the pressure, pulling little Martha behind him to concentrate all the force on himself. For a moment, he felt his heart hammering against his ribs and his breathing turned shallow.
He didn't know why he did it; it was merely an instinctive action. This person was clearly here for him. As the target, he had a duty to protect the ordinary people around him. Perhaps this was the responsibility that came with the power of an transcendent.
The moment he realized this, Lynch felt his chest pocket grow hot. The Red Moon memory drifted automatically above his head, and then the phantom of his soul manifestation rose from behind him.
Rate on N.U.
