Bernadette suddenly recalled a handful of organizations that worshipped the Primordial Moon — in their teachings, the Primordial Moon was said to hold power over "breeding" as well. So — had it been the Primordial Moon that corrupted Dad, all along?
Rather than rushing to deal with the fetus in her belly, Bernadette let her eyes deepen once more, using her prophecy ability to scout out her best course of action going forward.
"Hope of survival lies within the mausoleum."
She activated the "Sage's" ability at once, letting her body turn illusory, dissolving into stream after stream of sprawling knowledge.
In an instant, she became a pure being of information.
The fetus in her belly, unable to follow her into that state, dropped to the ground with a wet plop — but rather than dying, it lashed out at Bernadette in furious, desperate defiance.
Bernadette raised a hand and summoned a Spear of Longinus, skewering the infant straight through like a gourd. It shattered with a crack, scattering into fragments, dissolving into nothing.
Then, Bernadette's information-stream form passed through the mausoleum's massive stone doors, entering the "Black Emperor's" tomb, reforming her original body the moment she was inside, immediately layering on the "Emperor's New Clothes," cautiously surveying her surroundings.
The interior of the "Black Emperor's" mausoleum stood empty — nothing but deep black walls and a raised platform at its center.
Atop that platform sat a chair built for a giant, its entire frame seemingly wrought from iron, its surface etched with elaborate, twisted, otherworldly patterns, its backrest extending upward into the shape of a crown.
In that chair sat a black silhouette, head bowed, body slumped lifelessly against the seat, radiating not the faintest trace of life — like nothing more than a person's shadow.
Dad!
Intis's own Caesar. Emperor Roselle!
He sat there, head bowed, showing not the slightest reaction to Bernadette's arrival.
"Dad..."
Bernadette's eyes burned instantly with heat. She stepped forward without thinking, the word slipping out almost as a whisper.
But suddenly, she found her body completely unable to move, as though bound in place by invisible shackles. Then, a pair of illusory, sacred white wings unfurled naturally from her back, as if passively resisting something.
The next instant, white feathers began drifting free from those angelic wings, one after another, growing into deformed, spindly, fuzzy limbs suspended in midair, while the gaps left between layered feathers split open, one after another, revealing what looked like countless eyes.
The mutated feathers let out a bright, crisp burst of laughter, the sound of giggling echoing through the mausoleum.
They had all come alive, transforming into miniature "feather-people."
Then it spread — Bernadette's own eyes, her arms, her shoulders, her eyelashes, her hair, her ears — each part of her gained its own independent life, becoming its own living entity.
Left unchecked, Bernadette would be torn apart by these newborn "lives."
Just as she resolved to pull "Pale Death" from the Secret Door, meaning to counter this "new life" with its own power of "death," the slumped figure atop the platform's chair suddenly raised its head.
A pair of eyes opened within the shadow, carrying madness, fury, cold detachment, and a bone-deep exhaustion all at once. He seemed to stare, dazed, at Bernadette for a few seconds, then raised a hand.
In an instant, the space around Bernadette shattered under a terrifying force of distortion, and the newborn "organs" were snuffed out just as quickly, stillness returning.
But before Bernadette could even catch her breath, that black shadow suddenly appeared right up against her, seeping into her like some thick, corrosive liquid.
An ice-cold hand closed around Bernadette's throat, as if about to snap it in the very next instant.
"Dad."
Bernadette stared at the shadow now pressed against her, and cried out, loud.
But the shadow's grip didn't ease at all. It rapidly began eroding Bernadette's consciousness — suffocation, dizziness, agony crashing over her all at once. Bernadette bit down hard on the tip of her tongue, seizing the last flicker of clarity, forcing her mouth open, and shouted, in clear, precise Chinese: "Dad!!! It's me!"
The black shadow's movement froze instantly, locking rigid in place, and then, in a panic, it released its grip on Bernadette's throat, staggering back several steps. A dry, hoarse voice echoed through that hidden space: "Bernadette..."
The voice carried a note of hesitation, of confusion, of someone seeking confirmation, as if reaching across from some other world entirely. That pair of eyes began to tremble. "It really is Bernadette. It's my little angel."
"Dad!"
Bernadette surged forward, overwhelmed — but the black shadow, Roselle, quickly retreated. "No! Don't come closer, my consciousness—"
He leapt backward, returning to the chair atop the platform. "My consciousness could turn chaotic at any moment."
Roselle felt as though he'd been asleep for an unimaginably long time, just now waking from some chaotic, terrifying nightmare — everything around him felt unreal, insubstantial, like a fleeting mirage.
But the figure not far off kept reminding him, again and again, that this was real — his daughter really had found her way here.
Roselle gazed at his beloved daughter from a distance — the very daughter who'd first given him a true sense of belonging to this world — and, forcing back the pain, resisting the corruption's pull on his mind, said, gentle: "I've finally seen you again, my little angel."
Bernadette's eyes flushed red instantly, and she took a step forward.
"Dad, you... right now, are you..."
"Not good. Very not good. I've been corrupted. I'm becoming less and less myself, bit by bit."
Roselle shook his head. "If someone hadn't helped conceal part of this corruption for me, I wouldn't even be capable of this brief a conversation with you."
He paused, then added, "But even so — our time is extremely limited."
"Dad, how can I help you?"
"There's no way."
Roselle said, "What's eroding me is one of the strongest beings in this entire world. Unless it chooses to withdraw the corruption itself, there's almost no way for me to break free."
That was the Mother Goddess of Depravity — one of the three Pillars of this world. Perhaps she couldn't match "God" or "the Lord of Mysteries" in raw standing, but in sheer vitality, she far outstripped either of them.
In truth, only a fully realized Lord of Mysteries working together with a fully realized God would stand even the faintest chance of taking her down.
"Then — then how did you end up like this?"
Roselle froze for a moment, as if sifting through memory. "I've forgotten. Was it my first bout of curiosity about the moon? My first exploration of this island? My first conversation with Mr. Door? Somewhere along the way, without me ever noticing, she corrupted me — quietly, seamlessly."
"By the time I realized it, it was already far too late."
Bernadette bit her lip. "So — so that's why you engineered that assassination..."
"More or less. I wanted to use the Black Emperor's resurrection to shake off the corruption. Unfortunately, I failed."
Roselle gave a bitter smile. "And this is where it left me. One moment of carelessness, and I'll become her puppet — a foot soldier for her invasion of this world."
Looking back, Roselle had always believed himself the protagonist of this world. Only now did he realize — perhaps, from the very beginning, he'd been nothing more than a tragedy waiting to happen.
Bernadette asked, "Who is this 'she' you keep referring to, Dad?" Something suddenly struck her. "Is this connected to the rumored apocalypse? I'm a Sequence 2 Angel now — I have the right to know."
To be continued…+
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