Little Tyrant Doesn't Want to Meet with a Bad End Chapter 665.2: Beneath the Abyss (2)

At the city's core stood a colossal, sacred white edifice, a monument designed in the fashion of ancient divine temples dedicated to Sia. A millennium prior, individuals journeying from across the vast Ancient Austine Empire would make a pilgrimage to the Capital Cathedral, seeking spiritual solace. It was a hallowed ground where collective faith and enduring hope converged.

For the first time in one thousand years, the Capital Cathedral received visitors. Regrettably, Roel and his companions were unwelcome guests.

Within the cathedral's towering walls, Roel's gaze fell upon an elder, his form as gaunt and withered as a skeletal remnant.

The ancient man was adorned in resplendent vestments and grasped a majestic scepter, an artifact that defied the passage of a thousand years, showing no signs of decay. Upon his head rested a sacred diadem, an emblem exclusively bestowed upon the highest echelons of the clergy.

Nora's eyes, the color of sapphires, widened considerably at the sight of the holy crown. A palpable solemnity settled upon Roel and the others as well. These unmistakable markers revealed the elder's identity before his transformation into a Fallen.

This venerable figure was none other than the pope of the Genesis Goddess Church during the Second Epoch.

A surge of heightened awareness washed over Roel and his allies. Their vigilance intensified, and preparations to channel their mana commenced.

The turbid irises of the emaciated pontiff ignited with a sinister crimson luminescence, as if roused from an eon-long slumber. He surveyed the nave below, a posture reminiscent of his divine pronouncements a thousand years prior, expecting his devoted flock. Instead, he was met only by the discerning gazes of trespassers.

His hollowed features contorted into a mask of fury. Raising his scepter high, he brought it down with immense force upon the ground.

A profound resonance accompanied the impact, sending ripples of peculiar mana pulsating throughout the imperial capital.

Simultaneously, all Fallen entities engaged in combat within the city fell into an unnerving silence. Creatures of shadow, previously lurking unseen, opened their eyes, their gazes converging towards the city's heart as if receiving a divine decree. After a brief, tense pause, potent auras erupted from various sectors of the metropolis.

Concurrently, the dessicated frame of the pope began to distend. It was only then that the assembled group perceived his true, horrifying form. His upper body retained a semblance of humanity, but his lower half had morphed into a mass of root-like appendages, firmly anchored to the floor. These were not mere roots, but rather pulsating tendrils of blood and corrupted flesh.

Hoarse, guttural growls emanated from the surrounding areas as thousands of Fallen beings rapidly converged upon the Capital Cathedral.

Recognizing the gravity of the confrontation, Roel's contingent finally unleashed their full might.

With an elegant sweep of her hand, Lilian conjured a phalanx of heavily armored knights clad in azure, who immediately advanced to intercept the encroaching host.

Nora unfurled her luminous wings, ascending into the heavens to assume her mantle as the Angel Sovereign.

Charlotte transmuted her Golden Soul into a vaporous state, dispersing it into the ambient atmosphere. The intention was to ignite the Golden Soul upon the Fallen's inhalation, reducing them to infinitesimal fragments.

Meanwhile, Alicia and Wilhelmina orchestrated the assault by the remaining squads, targeting the emaciated pontiff directly. Over thirty high transcendents simultaneously unleashed a barrage of diverse spells, bombarding the pope with overwhelming force.

Alas, under the influence of the sacred crown, their formidable attacks dissipated in mid-air, nullified before they could ever reach their intended target.

In retribution, the pope's scepter began to radiate an arcane luminescence. All available mana within the confines of the Capital Cathedral was drawn into his being, causing his fleshy tendrils to expand with alarming rapidity, engulfing the very sky.

Roel's golden irises blazed with quiet intensity as he faced this formidable adversary. The surrounding mana, mirroring the pope's absorption, began to flow towards his own form.

Before Roel could initiate his action, Alicia raised a hand, her voice clear, "Lord Brother, permit us to handle him."

"Indeed, Roel. Your sole responsibility is to proceed forward. Entrust all else to our care," Wilhelmina added, her gaze resolute.

A chilling, silvery light enveloped Alicia, while Wilhelmina, for the first time since the battle's inception, placed her hand upon the hilt of her sword.

Simultaneously, every exposed flesh tendril, illuminated by the moon's glow, detonated. A silver inferno bloomed, engulfing the vicinity around the pope. Even the divine crown and scepter atop his head could not completely contain the ferocity of the flames.

At the same moment, Wilhelmina drew her blade. For a fleeting instant, the resonance of every sword within the imperial capital ceased. A singular line seemed to cleave the very fabric of existence. The monstrous pope, thrashing violently within the silver inferno, abruptly stilled, then violently exploded outwards.

"Now!"

"Lord Brother, you must hurry and depart!"

The exclamations from Alicia and Wilhelmina were simultaneous. Roel surged forward like an arrow released from its bow, vaulting directly over the pope's still-recovering form.

"Grar!"

Amidst the swirling silver inferno, the pope emitted an enraged shriek upon perceiving Roel's successful breach of his defenses. However, Alicia and Wilhelmina swiftly intervened, their movements suppressing the entity and rendering it incapable of any further action.

Leaving the maelstrom behind, Roel plunged into the deepest recesses of the Capital Cathedral.

…

Such was the historical depiction of the Capital Cathedral, a testament to its grandeur that captivated the imagination of countless historians, even those who had never personally witnessed its magnificence.

Stepping into the Capital Cathedral as the first human in a millennium, Roel found the given description woefully inadequate to capture its majestic and mystical aura.

Upon entering the inner sanctum, all sound ceased abruptly, as if Roel had been transported to an entirely different realm. He was greeted by a panorama so magnificent it could easily be mistaken for the heavens themselves.

The opulence within the Capital Cathedral remained undiminished by the passage of a thousand years. Exquisite tapestries and grand paintings seemed to defy time, their colors as vivid and striking as the day they were created.

Tragically, this hallowed place had devolved into a den of depravity after a millennium under the Savior’s maddening influence. Even its breathtaking artistry couldn't overshadow the suffocating corruption that permeated the air, driving those who dared to admire its epic murals to the brink of insanity.

For a fleeting moment, Roel staggered, overwhelmed by the intense aura of madness, but his golden eyes flared, effortlessly dispelling its insidious effects. He took a moment to attune himself to the surrounding mana, confirming his objective before he gracefully glided down the corridor.

He paid no heed to the stunning artwork adorning the walls as he proceeded.

Before long, his path led him to a stone archway.

This gate stood in stark contrast to the rest of the Cathedral, unadorned and appearing as an ancient relic from ages past. Its entrance gaped open, revealing a chamber plunged into a darkness so profound its shadows seemed almost tangible.

The ceiling overhead was adorned with luminous Sia murals, while the space below appeared to be an abyss of unfathomable depth. At the precipice of this chasm, two distinct energies could be perceived.

One emanated a faint golden luminescence, akin to a protective barrier. The other was a swirling vortex of darkness, steeped in an aura of depravity and madness. These two energies were inextricably bound.

The soft golden glow mirrored the celestial Sia murals above, creating a profound sense of familiarity within Roel. He surmised this was the very seal his ancestor had established to contain the Abyss, now on the brink of collapse as the Savior’s awakening neared.

Roel gazed into the Abyss’s maw, lost in contemplation.

Precisely as Carolyn had predicted, the seal that had once trapped her within the Abyss had weakened to the point where it no longer posed an impediment. Members of the Kingmaker Clan, along with those imbued with the Savior’s power, could now traverse this threshold freely.

Once he ventured into the Abyss, Roel would be on his own. None of his companions could offer aid, which was the very reason Alicia and the others had not accompanied him.

It felt akin to staring into the face of damnation, yet Roel experienced neither fear nor hesitation. He drew a deep breath and plunged downward.

This was not his inaugural descent into the Abyss, though he never imagined he would one day willingly enter its depths. The journey was far from pleasant, his surroundings saturated with a dense miasma of depravity and madness.

His Crown Origin Attribute pulsed faintly, as he projected his mana in a determined effort to locate his quarry. His persistent search eventually yielded results, and he detected a faint trace of Paul’s mana signature.

His rate of descent gradually diminished.

Passing through another layer of oppressive black fog, a structure materialized before him. It was a legendary subterranean altar, a marvel of cooperation meticulously constructed by various races in the ancient era. Situated upon a level expanse of land, the altar remained pristine despite the countless years.

This was the very location where the Kingmaker Clan had sealed the Savior, and within it lay Sia’s Scepter.

Having pinpointed his objective, Roel swiftly made his way toward the altar. He bypassed the main entrance, opting instead to enter through the skylight and proceeded directly towards the altar’s core.

There, just as he had anticipated, a figure came into view. It was a middle-aged man, his hair as black as night, his face set in an expression of utter impassivity. Though not of imposing height, he possessed an aura of authority that few in the world could match. He was clad in the regal attire of the Austine Empire.

This was Lukas Ackermann, the traitor who had betrayed humankind.

And he stood before an ancient, resplendent scepter.