Clockwork Bride

Page 297

"Your martial arts are quite strong, Peacock's daughter. If I only use a single dose of God-level power, I might not be able to defeat you. If I were to recall the undead tide that just spread out, it would play right into your hands. So now I'm deploying my new daughter, using two God-level combat units to besiege you."

With a single move, Kallen was successfully injured, and Smoke Mirror's smile grew even wider.

“Even a single supreme god might not be able to defeat you, but with two gods attacking at once, Daughter of the Peacock, you are doomed to lose.”

To be honest, Smoke Mirror might be right. With just one main god, Kallen could use her martial arts and fighting spirit to hold them off. Even if she forced Smoke Mirror to use twice the power of a main god to retract the necromantic tsunami, Kallen should still be able to manage, and it would even buy her time for Hayden to cause trouble from behind. Now, with two main gods at single power attacking her, Kallen is simply on the defensive; it's not worth it.

However, Kallen was never one to back down. She leaped off one section of the city wall, creating distance, and flashed to another. While catching her breath, she retorted, "Smoke Mirror, throughout my journey, I've found that my greatest strength lies in dealing with enemies stronger than myself. Back in the God Clan era, I could defeat a true god, and of course, I can defeat you now!"

That being said, Karen still really hopes Hayden can unplug the Smoke Mirror's network cable from the Underworld as soon as possible. Hayden is good at doing these things from behind, it shouldn't take long, right?

--------------------------

Let's turn our attention back to Hayden. Karen had high expectations for him, but what is the actual situation now?

To be honest, the situation is not very optimistic.

Hayden's original plan was to use four hundred ordinary people to form a pseudo-collective consciousness, invade the collective consciousness of South Americans through the principles of sympathetic magic, and then hack into the artificial underworld.

Of course, there are risks involved. Everyone knows that when Pania jumped into the depths of collective consciousness and grappled with the underworld, even gods could have been killed. That's why Hayden specifically asked Am to select four hundred people from the guerrillas who could be mentally aligned with her. When everyone is united, their strength will naturally be great enough to survive the shockwave.

...As soon as Hayden opened the door to psychic abilities and led everyone's minds into the realm of collective consciousness, he saw only darkness within that realm.

The realm of collective consciousness is inherently like a vast ocean. Although the "quality" of the collective consciousness in different places will certainly vary depending on the cultural consensus field, it is at least water.

But what about now? A dense, oppressive darkness shrouds the collective consciousness of South America, like a reservoir stained with copious amounts of black ink, turning it into a viscous, nauseating mess. The endless darkness brings terror, devastation, and despair, threatening to reduce everything to nothingness.

The darkness of destruction and death has tainted the collective consciousness of all South Americans.

"...How could this be?" Even Hayden was shocked for a moment. "I know that the Smoke Mirror's consumption of large numbers of living people would pollute the collective consciousness, but it should have only consumed part of the capital. How could it have polluted the entire area!?"

"Are you really a classical magician?" Mikkert's consciousness, suspended in the clouds, at the core of the consciousness realm, weakly uttered a complaint from the underworld sun: "The capital city holds special value in magical terms. The capital and all its inhabitants have been devoured, the core of politics and spirit, the symbols of royal and divine power, all transformed into the undead… Mr. Hayden, do you think this won't affect the overall consciousness?"

Hayden was speechless. This was indeed very serious. In ancient times, it would have been considered the fall of a nation.

Following behind him, Isami reached out and tried to touch the corrupted sea of ​​collective consciousness. The sticky, black substance made her shudder: "These thoughts... are terrifying."

Fear, despair, resentment, grief... what she felt within these South American collective consciousnesses was truly difficult to describe with beautiful words.

Why does this happen?

"Thinking about it carefully, it's understandable. Since the Smoke Mirror is the embodiment of the collective life of South America, just as I am an aggregate of the souls of the dead," Micket muttered idly in the Underworld Sun, "Look at the Smoke Mirror's vile character, how can you expect the current collective consciousness of South America to be anything but lovely? I'd like to see how you solve problems with this filthy collective consciousness."

"Well, this is indeed a bit of a hassle."

Hayden rubbed his temples, but then turned to look at Isham and the four hundred guerrillas behind her.

"I originally planned to use the current collective consciousness to leverage the hacked necromancer core from the past, but it seems that's not going to work..."

“It’s alright. We still have four hundred warriors with unwavering will and pure hearts,” Am said, sounding both confident and encouraging to those behind him. “If it doesn’t work now, it didn’t work in the past, then we represent the future! Let’s use the collective consciousness of four hundred people pursuing the future as leverage to shake up the consciousness fields of the present and the past. Humanity will surpass each generation, continuing to reproduce and progress. Tomorrow will be better, and we will create the future together!”

Her words further ignited the guerrillas' morale, eliciting cheers from the soldiers. The soldiers, who had initially been somewhat fearful and hesitant, once again mustered their courage.

Hayden was actually quite uncertain, but things had come to this point, and it seemed there was no turning back.

"Alright, everyone! Focus your consciousness! Gather your dreams and expectations for the future! Concentrate them on Amu, and then launch them into the artificial underworld!"

So Hayden had no choice but to wave his hand and issue the order.

"I will encode your will into the core 'knot' formed by the artificial underworld and use it to summon spirits! The artificial underworld in South America is essentially a giant aggregate of the dead. Once we can hack into it, the Smoke Mirror will lose most of its power!"

The soldiers, who had not given up hope, also looked up at Hayden intently, listening to his instructions.

Without hesitation, the operation began. And this might be the last hope for all life on the entire South American continent.

The four hundred warriors once again formed the large formation they had used in their previous duel. Not for any other reason than to strengthen their collective spirit. Amu stood at the very front of the formation, taking a deep breath.

Then—from her will and dreams, a dazzling light shone forth.

The light shone on the underworld sun at the very center of the consciousness realm, and for a moment, even the black knot of death was illuminated with brilliance, reflecting the light of the soul.

"This is our light! Feel it, Miktikashiva!"

Am shouted loudly, raising all her willpower and light to the maximum, and releasing it towards the artificial underworld.

Then, something incredible happened.

The black underworld sun, as if it were avoiding light, suddenly began to shake violently, and then it spewed thick necromantic mud at Amu and the others!

Fear, cold, and darkness collided in an instant, while the radiant hope for the future resisted the darkness of the past. Those hopes, joys, and the desire to live truly prevented the underworld tsunami from easily drowning out the light.

At the very front of the line, Am reached out her hand towards the light. That spiritual light of 400+1 was like a full moon illuminating the dark night.

"Light! Give me more, stronger light! Our future can begin here!"

But even in resisting the light of this dark sun, there is still a flaw, a crack.

This doesn't feel right.

Suddenly, the light emanating from Amu began to weaken.

"Huh!? Why!?"

Her cries for help were useless. The light faded from the realm of collective consciousness, replaced by a fierce onslaught of darkness.

"Crap."

In the nick of time, Hayden raised his staff, like Gandalf, to stand between the darkness and Amun-them. Unfortunately, this didn't work very well.

The tsunami of the dead has engulfed them.

362: Calling for the Future from the Edge of Darkness

"So, doing it this way definitely won't work."

Miktikashiva doesn't need to enter the artificial underworld to see what's happening in the collective consciousness realm. Because, essentially, her true form is always attached to that spiritual realm. So now, she can observe Hayden and his group's misfortune from the underworld sun while simultaneously offering her own commentary in the physical world.

“Think about it, Mr. Hayden. If every ghost stays in Hell after death, how big would Hell be? It might even be bigger and more numerous than the human world. The number of the dead gathered in its core might even be more than the number of living people today.”

Considering that the Aztec gods had practiced this blood sacrifice custom for thousands of years, and that every elderly person had to undergo a blood sacrifice, the number of dead people must have been far greater than the number of living people today.

“If you could somehow arouse the consciousness of all living people in South America, leading them all toward the core with a powerful vision of the future, perhaps you could even shake the underworld. But clearly…”

At this point, Mickett sighed softly, then his tone became tinged with sarcasm.

“Isham as it is now is not enough to represent the future of Aztland. Do you understand what I mean, Mr. Hayden?”

She actually said something remarkably similar to Karen's.

Despite the looming destruction, the survivors in South America are still unable to unite in their hopes for the future. This is quite normal. After all, when survival itself requires all their strength, imagining the future becomes a luxury.

Anyway, Hayden now somewhat understands what Mickett means. Unfortunately, he was sealed in his consciousness by the necromantic tsunami and couldn't even make a complete mental communication; he could only make gurgling, waterlogged sounds.

It's not like Gundam, how could you really let a little girl represent the future of the entire faction?

Seeing that Hayden couldn't speak, Mickett realized she'd made a fool of herself. She stared blankly for a while, then turned to the only thing still moving in the large room: "Ms. Angela, shouldn't you be protecting Hayden? He doesn't look too good right now."

"Isn't this a bad sign?"

Angela turned her head and glanced at it. Although she wasn't in the realm of consciousness, for some reason she seemed to be able to see what was happening in another phase: "It's not that serious. He'll just be submerged by the tide of the artificial underworld for a while. Master won't even be injured. His resistance to death energy has already been raised to the highest level."

The superlative degree. Hearing this word from Angela, its meaning was far from ordinary. Mickett was stunned for a moment, unsure how to refute it.

However, even if Hayden was practically immortal, the others would truly perish if they were submerged in the Netherworld tsunami. Therefore, Micket looked back towards the realm of consciousness, focusing on the situation with Isamim.

Although Hayden managed to create a protective barrier at the last moment, the realm of consciousness is different from the physical world, filled with many mysteries of the mind.

As the saying goes, besides the sun, the human heart is also something that cannot be looked at directly. Similarly, even if the underworld sun, formed from the souls of the dead, protects everyone with a protective shield, it will still cause psychological oppression when it is crushed by a tsunami of the dead.

Being oppressed by the mind in the realm of consciousness, even if one is not actually swallowed by the sea of ​​the dead, will still make it difficult to breathe and will also suffocate one's life, only it will come more slowly and more painfully.

Micket watched from the underworld sun, watching the four hundred guerrillas and Isham struggle desperately. Although Hayden had temporarily erected a protective barrier around each of them, they were still in agony, like ants whose nest had been flooded. It was a death of spiritual exhaustion, a frantic struggle like a beast starving, a lifeless death like plants cut off from their lifeline, finally withering away.

When these light membranes are broken through by the black waves of the dead, everyone except Hayden will be cursed and corrupted by the sorrow, hatred, disgust, jealousy, resentment and all the filth in the artificial underworld, and finally tormented into dead spirits, or something no different from the dead.

The countless sacrifices accumulated over millennia, the blood sacrifices of hundreds of billions, perhaps even more, the cornerstone of society—their curses cannot be easily washed away by young people. It is a knot born from resentment and hatred unimaginable to the living. The boundless rage of those betrayed by their own gods and nations can curse everything in the world.

Micket herself, as the core of these undead, didn't really care much about the lives of the guerrillas. But when she saw Amu struggling and tossing in the undead tsunami, she couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable.

“Ms. Angela, are you really not going to do anything?” Mickett asked. “Hayden may be immortal, but he still likes Isham quite a bit. If she really dies, Hayden won’t be happy.”

Angela tilted her head: "That's true. But one thing at a time, Remiel's previous words were also not wrong. This country has accumulated thousands of years of sins for its current prosperity. They chose to build a city on a volcano, and now the volcano has erupted. They have to bear the consequences of thousands of years of exploitation and oppression."

Although Angela's emerald green eyes were still directed towards Hayden, whether she was actually looking at him was unknown. From Micket's perspective, Angela's eyes seemed to be gazing at a very distant place—focused on the far reaches of infinity.

“Micteticahiva, it is the spirits that make you up who are seeking revenge against the South American society that killed and sacrificed them; it is your own spirits seeking justice. Because these blood-sacrificed spirits have been tormented for thousands of years in your artificial underworld, weeping and cursing for millennia. The ancestors of this country are taking revenge on their descendants. This is their world, their story, their own choice. I am not going against their free will.”

"Besides, Master should learn from this. He promised me last time that he would never use psychic magic again, but this time he just pulled it out on a whim when faced with an emergency. The final battle is fast approaching. He must learn not to break his promise to me, or he might lose in the end."

These words stunned Micket: "...You weren't like this before?"

Angela smiled slightly in response: "Because I spoke with Remiel. Even the corrupted winds of life can awaken some inspiration in me—but let's not discuss that now, let's get back to the topic at hand—Mikettica Shiva, I will never personally save these people. My master will not die, but the vast majority of people on this continent will die because of it, and Isham will be no exception. My master is not yet able to save her, nor can she defeat all the death in Aztlan. At least not now."

"Today, the people of this land must first begin to save themselves."

Her tone was gentle, but her words were cruel.

So Mickett's face tightened without him even realizing it: "These kids who haven't even grown their hair yet have no right to save themselves. They have to fight against the artificial underworld of all of Aztland—and their enemy is me!"

A few seconds later, she realized one of the reasons for her disappointment: she had prepared herself to be the "final boss," and the person she had originally hoped would defeat her was actually Hayden. As a god conjured from an artificial underworld, she was destined to be controlled and manipulated by Smoke Mirror with reins no matter what. Rather than being Smoke Mirror's puppet forever, she might as well be killed by Hayden.

Mickett had hoped that Hayden would eradicate herself, and all her ego attached to the collective consciousness. If, as an undead, she had ever harbored any affection for Hayden, then she hoped that the one who would completely destroy her was someone she loved. This thought was not surprising.

But now, Angela says that Hayden is still unable to defeat Aztlan's death, unable to defeat the artificial underworld, and unable to defeat her, Miktti Kashiva. This naturally makes Miktti very unhappy.

A few hundred little brats could never overcome the accumulated resentment of the dead over thousands of years. In a few minutes, they would all be defeated and killed, corrupted into new undead, and degraded into something Mikert disliked completely.

That is herself.

"Isn't it clear to you, Miktikashiva?"

However, Angela looked at her, and as she looked, she suddenly chuckled softly: "You don't want Isham to become another version of yourself, but you also know that the expectations for the new era cannot be placed entirely on her. The light towards the future cannot penetrate the darkness in people's hearts now, because the present comes from the past, and the future also comes from the past—now, ask yourself. What do you want to do?"

Micket paused for about a second.

Then, effortlessly, the answer came to her mind: "But... I can't defy the Smoke Mirror. It holds my reins."

“Yes, you can. As long as you’re willing to give up first,” Angela said calmly. “If you let go first, He won’t be able to hold on anymore. The key is whether you want to maintain the status quo and continue being the goddess of the underworld after Smoke Mirror escapes to Proxima Centauri—or are you willing to give up everything now and start a new chapter for another version of yourself that you don’t really like?”

Mickett shook his head, somewhat annoyed. "It sounds like I had no choice at all. You've arranged everything so perfectly, making us dance in the palm of your hand, Outer God's messenger."

“That’s not the case at all,” Angela replied calmly, but Micket seemed to detect a solemn smile in her voice. “I care about your choices. Because without choices, nothing has any meaning.”

"Choose for yourself, Miktikashiva."

To be honest, Micket was actually a little annoyed. Angela was too mysterious and clearly stood on a different level. Being looked at like that by her was easy to hurt one's self-esteem.

Then she looked away, abruptly ending her eye contact with Angela, and turned her gaze to the realm of consciousness—the guerrillas, and Isamim, still struggling in the tsunami of the dead. But Isamim's resistance was growing weaker and weaker, her eyes were gradually becoming empty, and all resistance was futile; the curse had crept into her soul.

In that instant, many things seemed to become unimportant, except for that sliver of hope.

--------------------------

Within the realm of collective consciousness, Isamim was struggling desperately in the undercurrents, but to no avail. The necromantic tsunami was not a place for swimming; no matter how she reached out, she could not grasp anything, and the undead would only slip through her fingers.

So Isham fell into the abyss of darkness, falling and sinking, farther, faster, and deeper than a block of iron falling into water, downward, downward, downward. At the same time, the undead of the artificial underworld seized upon her exposed vulnerability and began to devour her, consuming the light bit by bit.

Numerous curses also entangled her, gradually turning her consciousness black. Hayden's makeshift protective barrier wouldn't last much longer.

"Ah... Ahhh... Ahhhhhh!"

Am screamed in agony. It was as if she were sinking into black quicksand, everything was sealed in darkness, and even her senses were fading away.

What will become of her?

Before that—is she still alive? Or is she already dead, leaving only a lingering shadow of fear?

she does not know.

(Aa ...

Isham could only let out a silent wail in the dark sea of ​​consciousness.

The dead, accumulated over a thousand years, surrounded her, finding some solace in witnessing her suffering.

They couldn't harm Hayden's soul; they could only drown it and discard it. The other 400+1 living people trapped here screamed in mad pain, screams that would send chills down anyone's spine. But to the undead, this was the beautiful music that gave them a little pleasure.

Until a voice rang out from the sun of the underworld, silencing them:

[What's there to be happy about? Bullying a living, breathing child?]

The surging of the undead ceased abruptly. After a moment, some of the dead spoke to their god, to the core they had solidified: "...Because it felt good?"

They are the undead, and most of them are the undead sacrificed through blood sacrifice. They are imprisoned in this dark, artificial underworld, squeezed into a dead knot, becoming a dark sun. Naturally, they harbor infinite hatred for living beings, because the lives and livelihoods of these living people are actually built upon their sacrifice and death.

They deserved it.