My God domain is the endless abyss Chapter 80: Experiments

While the angel Adeline remained lost in the recent dream she had experienced,

Cillian was immersed in a series of experiments. Encircled by demons and peculiar organic apparatuses, he leveraged his comprehension of the brain worm’s structure to devise unique trials that specifically targeted the Void Swarm.

His primary objective was to validate one of his most audacious hypotheses: that the hive mind controlling the Void Swarm resided not within a central consciousness, but intrinsically within the swarm’s very genetic code.

This cunning lifeform had already achieved a semblance of immortality by embedding itself into the Zerg’s genetic sequence.

A piercing shriek reverberated through the damp chamber.

"Squeak!"

Subsequently, a violent detonation occurred.

A captured Void Zerg, securely bound and restrained, disintegrated within the thick, black, toxic swamp concocted by Mirethane. Prior to its explosion, the creature had only made contact with the poison for a mere second. In that fleeting moment, a Stage Four Voidling was utterly annihilated. The effect was instantaneous.

Cillian observed the outcome with serene contentment. The poisonous marsh, brought forth by Mirethane’s divine authority, was functioning as anticipated. He shifted slightly, meticulously recording the data that materialized in luminous runes beside him.

"Proceed. Bring forth the subsequent Zergling."

Shortly thereafter, another organism was brought forward. This particular specimen was a standard Void combat entity, a beetle-like Zerg whose strength surpassed that of a Stage Seven warrior. While not the most formidable variant, in numerous worlds, it would be regarded as an elite creature.

Once ensnared in position, Cillian inclined his head towards Mirethane. The imposing devil lifted a hand, unleashing a deluge of dark swamp that surged forth, engulfing the Voidling entirely.

"Squeak!" The Voidling cried out. Within mere seconds, it too exploded. This time, it endured for a slightly longer duration, less than five seconds.

Cillian watched, his expression unaltered, calmly documenting the results.

Surrounding him, innumerable data streams flickered and proliferated. They meticulously displayed the precise survival times of various Zerg types when subjected to Mirethane’s poison. The shortest duration was mere milliseconds; the longest extended to only ten seconds. Upon completion of the records, Cillian archived the data and issued a new directive.

"Remove all remaining restraints from the Zerg."

The demons complied, and the chains fell away, unleashing a whirlwind of activity throughout the laboratory.

Myriad void Zergs of diverse forms, some resembling armored scarabs, others grotesque fusions, broke free from their containment and surged directly towards Mirethane.

The demon reacted with practiced ease, spreading an expanse of toxic swamp across the entirety of the area.

The ensuing reaction was cataclysmic. One after another, the Voidlings detonated. The laboratory was assaulted by the percussive sound of countless bodies rupturing. The air crackled and popped like legumes frying in oil, while viscous, verdant blood cascaded across the darkened terrain. Amidst it all, Cillian observed in quietude, yet behind his gaze, a singular realization began to surface.

He had stumbled upon something profoundly disturbing.

The Zerg’s capacity for adaptation was not natural; it was unnerving, as if it manifested from nothingness.

He noted that these Voidlings, even in their final moments, were somehow transmitting a degree of resistance to those that followed.

The newly tested creatures endured for a fraction longer than their predecessors, despite having never previously encountered the toxin. This was an alteration that defied all logical explanation.

Their genes were undergoing self-modification in real-time, acquiring knowledge through the demise of others.

Cillian stared, a tremor of apprehension running through him, unable to dismiss the spectacle before him. According to every established biological principle, adaptation should manifest through hereditary inheritance, with offspring gaining resistance across successive generations.

Yet here, the mere death of their brethren seemed to bestow immediate fortitude upon the living. It was as if the very genes of the Zerg possessed sentience.

At that precise moment, the brain worm, positioned behind Cillian, communicated through its grotesque mouthparts, mimicking the dialect of the Abyss.

"Exalted Lord of the Abyss, my words were true. Your conjecture has been substantiated. The nexus of the Zerg indeed resides within their genetic sequence. However, this very gene sequence is imbued with life; it possesses its own awareness."

Its multifaceted eyes flickered as it continued.

"Your prior hypothesis that the Hive Will permeates the genetic structure of each Zerg has now been confirmed by you."

Cillian drew a slow breath, closing his eyes momentarily.

"Indeed. And yet… this… transcends my comprehension." His tone softened perceptibly. "It appears the knowledge I once possessed has become a constraint upon my perception. My arrogance was profound."

The brain worm, attempting to replicate the ‘flattery techniques’ that Damon had once imparted, executed an awkward bow.

"Nay, nay, my lord, you are the preeminent being I have ever encountered. Your wisdom eclipses that of any higher being I have encountered."

Cillian arched an eyebrow. "Oh? How many higher beings have crossed your path?"

The brain worm hesitated. "Only one. And that’s you."

Standing nearby, Damon let out a quiet sigh. While the Zerg possessed the capacity for endless evolution, they were utterly hopeless when it came to flattery.

Cillian gave a light chuckle, waving a dismissive hand. "Forget it." His amusement vanished as he turned his attention back to the data shimmering before him.

The stark reality was undeniable: the Void Swarm was a threat that could scarcely be eradicated. Their inherent adaptability made them the ultimate survivors. What a predicament, the heavenly army was embroiled in a war they were destined to lose, and now they were sealed within this trap as well.

He slowly exhaled, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "Now that this is confirmed, there are two immediate objectives we must pursue."

His voice took on a graver tone. "Firstly, we will sow maximum chaos within the Heavenly Army, diminishing their strength as much as possible. Secondly, I will make one final, decisive attempt before we initiate our retreat."

His fingers gently closed around a luminous sphere, pulsing with an inner rhythm like a living heart. "An attempt to weaponize the low-dimensional idealistic plane. Only with this will I possess the capability to confront that angel directly."

Cillian's expression grew somber as he raised the sphere, a Unique Dimension, its internal luminescence casting faint reflections across his sallow eyes. In the distance, the ominous sound of Paradise's assault continued to reverberate through the heavens.

"The moment has arrived," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "Let the angels above tremble in fear."

⸻———x——————

"Has this individual truly lost his mind?"

On the far reaches of the immense battlefield, a mid-level god, who had also been unwillingly drawn into the newly formed multiverse by the Zerg's onslaught, peered into the distance. His focus was locked onto the world known as the Endless Abyss, a deep suspicion coloring his voice as he spoke his thoughts aloud.

"Has he truly grown so foolish as to willingly serve his own executioner? That imbecile... does he still fail to comprehend that the damned angel will never grant us any respite?"

The deity let out a scornful sneer, observing Cillian's demonic legions fighting under the Heavenly Army's banner, serving effectively as little more than expendable cannon fodder. Yet, as his eyes scrutinized the battlefield's arrangement more meticulously, a peculiar aspect of Cillian's forces drew his attention. Their formation was remarkably precise, and they did not appear to be exerting their full effort. They were not merely engaging in combat; it seemed they were meticulously preparing for something significant.

"Wait..." His eyes narrowed in concentration. "This arrangement... could it be?"

This particular god was known as Tagore. His divine realm was characterized as a pure, high-order magical world, a domain governed by structured energy and intricate laws.

Though it appeared unassuming on the surface, Tagore had, in fact, uncovered several exceptionally rare magical principles within the Misty Realm some time ago. Through their integration, his domain had expanded toward the theoretical zenith of magical potential.

Once his followers successfully breached these theoretical barriers, he too could transcend the limitations of a mere mid-level deity. He could accumulate additional divine fire and ascend towards the ranks of the higher gods. While he lacked genuine divinity and an official godhood title, he understood these were merely impediments until one's power became overwhelmingly undeniable. When that pivotal day arrived, the Sequence gods themselves would eagerly offer him a subordinate position.

His only requirement was adequate time.

However, the Zerg invasion had irrevocably shattered all his meticulous plans.

When the swarm descended upon his world, Tagore, much like countless lesser gods, found no recourse but to retreat into his divine realm and attempt a futile resistance.

Yet, the instant his forces clashed with the Zerg, the crushing realization dawned upon him: resistance was utterly meaningless. Without the protection of divine status, he was inexorably bound to the gravitational pull of this nascent multiverse. His realm was doomed to eventual collapse, and his armies were destined to be overwhelmed.

A profound sense of despair had taken root.

Then, the angel of punishment made its appearance.

Initially, Tagore experienced a surge of relief. Salvation, it seemed, had arrived. Peter's descent into the multiverse instilled within him a renewed hope that perhaps Heaven would intervene to obliterate the swarm.

For a fleeting moment, Tagore even harbored the belief that survival might be attainable. But that fragile illusion was summarily shattered when he attempted to access the outer realms using his own divine fire and advanced magical technology.

He discovered, to his dismay, that Peter had meticulously sealed off every single channel of information.

Every connection to the greater cosmos had been decisively severed.

The angel had effectively imprisoned them.

Unlike the lesser gods, who remained blissfully ignorant of the truth, Tagore instantly grasped the grim reality. The angels were not present to offer them salvation.

He watched with growing alarm as Paradise unleashed some of its most formidable trump cards, including divine armaments and heavenly seals that should never have been deployed in any conflict of lesser significance.

The very moment those formidable weapons were unveiled, Tagore understood with chilling certainty: none of them would be permitted to leave this place alive. No witness could possibly be allowed to carry such critical knowledge beyond this battlefield. The intricate political machinations of the Heavenly Sequence gods mandated absolute secrecy above all else.

They were all inexorably destined to perish.

The conviction solidified as winged celestial envoys, bathed in holy radiance and introducing themselves as "messengers," descended to propose "cooperation." Their very demeanor, the coldness in their eyes, and their disingenuous benevolence all served to confirm his deepest dread.

They, along with everyone else, were already marked for demise.

Tagore rejected such a predetermined fate. He had not endured countless epochs striving for godhood, nor had he mastered arcane laws, only to perish as a pawn in some celestial experiment.

Thus, he resolved upon a course of action.

Once the Zerg threat was extinguished, he vowed to redirect his remaining might against Heavens Mountain itself.

To launch an assault on the heavens, especially under the watchful gaze of an angel, was the epitome of rashness. Even Tagore acknowledged this folly, yet he had reached a point where such concerns no longer held sway.

And now, observing Cillian's infernal legions executing their maneuvers across the ravaged battlefield, a profound realization struck him.

A slow, knowing smile began to spread across his features.

"So... I am not the sole harbinger of madness," he murmured to himself. "This one, however, surpasses me in audacity. To plot such schemes directly under the eyes of angels."

——————x——————

Meanwhile, within the darkest depths of the Endless Abyss.

"Damn it all... how could this possibly be?"

Within the confines of one of his meticulously crafted experimental worlds, Cillian gazed at a quivering orb of flesh cradled in his palm. His countenance was contorted in sheer horror. In the entirety of his existence since transmigration, this was the first instance he had ever experienced genuine terror.

This dread was spawned by the very substance clutched within his grasp.

The amorphous mass writhed with ferocious intensity within the grip of his divine fire, demonstrating an unnerving capacity for regeneration that matched its constant destruction. Through the incandescent veil of flame, one could almost perceive its silent screams, though no audible sound breached the inferno. Were it not for the restraining power of the divine fire, this monstrous entity would have already consumed half of the Abyss itself—not merely half of the plane, but a full half of the Abyss.

"Great Lord of the Abyss," the parasitic brain worm whimpered, its form trembling as it sought refuge behind Damon. "I implore you, destroy this abomination without delay! This creature spells the doom of all existence! Even the Zerg may succumb to its vile corruption!"

Damon, typically unyielding, felt his mental resolve falter in the face of the palpable aura radiating from the flesh. He swallowed with difficulty. "My Lord... are you absolutely certain of your ability to contain it?"

This marked the first occasion Damon had ever dared to question Cillian's judgment.

Cillian, however, managed to compose his features into a semblance of calm. "Whether I can truly control it remains uncertain," he confessed. "But for the present moment, it harbors a deep-seated fear of my divine fire. As long as this phobia persists, I can maintain its containment."

A shadow fell across his gaze. "Yet, should we release it once more... it shall undoubtedly break free. And once unleashed, no force we possess will be capable of halting its destructive path."

He fixed his gaze upon the writhing monstrosity, the divine flames casting an erratic, flickering luminescence upon his face.

"This entity..." he uttered softly, his voice barely a murmur, as if speaking only to himself. "I am uncertain if it can even still be regarded as a mere weapon."