Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability - Chapter 388

388 An Unquiet Night
As the frenzied and violent aura surged out of the thin gray fog, 6 Rue des Blouses Blanches trembled slightly, as if in shock.

In the various rooms of the building, the bodies of those who were already sound asleep involuntarily trembled, plunging into a blood-red nightmare. Those who were still awake looked around in surprise and confusion, as if they had been transported back to a time when barricades were everywhere and gunshots echoed through the air.

On a bed in a quiet room diagonally below Franca’s apartment, a man whose eyes had been tightly shut, seemingly asleep, suddenly snapped awake. He gazed up warily and fearfully at the source of the terrifying aura.

At the same time, beneath Église Saint-Robert, within the market district’s Inquisition’s office,

Angoulême de François, who was on night duty, leaped to his feet and prepared to rush to the area where mystical items were sealed. He hoped to enhance his ability to handle accidents and disasters in a short period.

In other rooms, Imre, Valentine, and the others also sensed the violent aura that seemed to shake all of Trier. Some trembled, while others turned pale.

This was even more terrifying than the Tree of Shadow disaster.

However, they didn’t stand still. Some dashed out of the room to rendezvous with Angoulême, while others raised their arms and hastily prayed to the Sun before sprinting toward the Église Saint-Robert above.

Quartier de la Cathédrale Commémorative, 11 Rue des Fontaines.

Gardner Martin, who had been stroking his full-body armor, furrowed his brow and cast a puzzled glance toward the southeastern region.

He felt something calling to him, causing his blood to boil.

Deep underground in Trier, Olson, the starved bear-like man who had been lugging a small brown suitcase, suddenly perked up his ears to listen for any nearby movements.

The distant sounds of killings and shouts faintly reached him.
The Supervisor of the Iron and Blood Cross Order’s eyes flashed with ferocity and madness. He extended his right hand and pressed it against his neck.

An indiscernible thread emerged, emitting fiery blood.

In the island district at the center of the Srenzo River, the Eternal Blazing Sun Church’s Saint Viève cathedral was already shrouded in darkness. Only the nearby bell tower remained lit, but at that moment, the slumbering cathedral suddenly bathed in brilliant sunlight.

Sunlight flooded the onion-like domes, illuminating every stained glass window.

To the north of Trier, in the heart of the cathedral district, towering iron-black chimneys loomed above the God of Steam and Machinery’s patriarchal cathedral.

Rumbling sounds echoed as the massive steam engine installed within the cathedral roared to life. Vast amounts of pale-white fog billowed forth from the forest-like chimneys, enshrouding the night sky.

In Quartier Éraste, a small town very close to the Sacred Heart Cloister, a golden retriever and the lady beside it turned and gazed into the distance of Trier’s metropolis.

Within Red Swan Castle, Count Poufer, already lying on his bed, opened his eyes.

He sensed the entire ancient castle become extremely oppressive, and nightmarish roars and screams echoed from deep underground.

At that moment, the Beyonders in the market district and powerful figures elsewhere in Trier were distracted by the undisguised and flamboyant aura of madness.

Hidden in a room diagonally below Franca’s apartment, Loki had just reacted to the violent and terrifying aura. Before he could summon back the Wraith that had possessed Lumian and use it to escape through the spirit world with him out of caution, the surrounding darkness instantly intensified, swallowing the crimson moonlight and bringing an extreme calmness to the area.

He couldn’t resist closing his eyes; he wasn’t even aware of it. He tumbled backward onto the bed and fell into a deep slumber.

Lumian’s thoughts returned to normal. He channeled his anger, pouring all his pent-up emotions into the crimson flames.

“Go to hell!”

With a low growl, he took a left step forward, his eyes protruding with red vessels while twisting his waist and swinging his right fist with all his might.

With a muffled explosion, the flames on Lumian’s body coalesced on the surface of his fist, naturally condensing into a blazing white fireball.

The blazing white fireball shot from Lumian’s right fist, following a predetermined path, and crashed into the wall beside the apartment.

The voice he had just heard emanated from behind the wall!

Boom!

A large hole tore through the wall, revealing a man standing in the corridor.

He had brown hair, brown eyes, and a gaunt face. He was the marionette Loki had employed that evening.

He was the one who had been speaking!

Before Lumian could realize that he hadn’t found the real Loki, darkness surged over him like a tidal wave, engulfing him.

Having already vented his anger and flames, Lumian’s heart quickly calmed. He subconsciously closed his eyes and slowly sank to the ground.

His contorted face began to relax, and his body and soul found peace.

He no longer showed any signs of losing control.

Dressed in a black widow-like dress and a veiled bonnet, Hela emerged from the darkness.

Being the closest to the apartment while searching for traces of the battle between Loki and Lumian, she was undoubtedly the first to arrive.

Without hesitation, she made Lumian, Franca, Loki, and the two marionettes vanish.

Her figure faded, and the dense darkness rapidly dissipated.

Apart from the collapsed wall, no evidence remained at the scene.

Two seconds later, the apartment was suddenly bathed in sunlight.

…

In an uninhabited mine beneath Trier.

Lumian, Franca, and company swiftly materialized.

They were all in a deep slumber, except for Hela. Her pale face remained conscious as she stood to the side.

The vice president of the Curly-Haired Baboons Research Society no longer had the dry, withered hair she’d had before. It had transformed into smooth strands, now bearing the color of the night.

She pulled out a flask filled with liquor and downed a third of its contents before fixing her gaze on Lumian.

Hela’s forehead began to crack silently, emitting an eerie, ancient glow that manifested into an indescribable, ancient bronze door.

The door swayed and creaked, revealing a narrow gap. Beyond it lay endless darkness, filled with countless dense, indescribable eyes seemingly lurking within.

Under the influence of this deathly aura, the Wraith attached to Lumian flew out without resistance.

In an instant, it landed on the ground, and Hela raised her right hand, pressing it against its forehead. The ancient bronze door vanished, and the dim light receded into the crack.

Hela shifted her attention to the still-slumbering Loki.

The leader of the April Fool’s had an ordinary face, blending into the crowd like any other resident of Rue des Blouses Blanches.

Hela stared at him for a brief moment before her eyes lost focus.

In Loki’s dream.

Hela appeared, clad in a black widow-like attire, in front of an ancient castle shrouded in a thin gray fog.

The castle’s massive doors stood wide open, eerily silent like the entrance to a cemetery.

Hela glanced up at the pitch-black castle with its numerous spires and thin form before stepping through the door. She passed through the dimly lit atrium, and proceeded into the hall, where peculiar chandeliers with unknown light sources hung.

Numerous guests filled the hall, their expressions frozen like wax statues, unmoving.

Surrounded by dozens or even hundreds of wax statues was a gray platform with three stone steps. In the middle of the platform was an ancient dark-red chair.

A man in his late twenties occupied the seat.

He wore a silk top hat and a black tailcoat, with dark-gray eyes and short, brown hair. Under his high nose bridge, the subtle curl of his mouth hid a non-obvious smile.

Pressing down on the armrests on both sides, the man relaxed and leaned back in his chair.

“Who are you?” His voice echoed through the ancient castle, as if questioning Hela.

Hela walked past the crowd suspected to be wax statues and arrived in front of the man.

Her cold voice remained impassive as she inquired, “Loki, don’t you recognize me?”

Loki’s grin intensified.

“Hela, you’ve come after all…”

Seizing the opportunity presented by his dream state, Hela confronted him directly.

“Why did you harm a member of the Research Society?”

Loki’s gaze shifted upwards, and he let out a laugh.

“The only purpose those fools serve is to amuse us.

“You must know that the apocalypse is imminent, just a few years away. They’re all destined to die, sooner or later. It’s better for them to sacrifice themselves now to provide us with entertainment.”

Hela fell silent, and a chilling silence enveloped the dream, the air growing colder. Decaying, pale-white hands extended from the stone floor and surrounding walls.

After a few moments, Hela spoke again.

“Why did you harm Muggle?”

Loki’s laughter ceased abruptly, replaced by a smirk as he looked at Hela.

“Because…”

His expression shifted suddenly, and Hela sensed imminent danger within the dream.

“Because the Celestial Worthy of Heaven and Earth for Blessings…”

Loki’s voice faded rapidly, and the entire dream began to crumble under Hela’s will. The ancient castle disintegrated into fragments, vanishing into an eerie, yet pure darkness.

Back in the real world, deep within the uninhabited mine beneath Trier, Hela opened her eyes. Countless tiny creatures wriggled beneath her pale-white skin.

In an instant, her form shifted and reassembled, no longer exhibiting the eerie abnormalities she had displayed earlier.

Loki’s body had disintegrated into a pool of flesh and blood, with grotesque maggots crawling in and out of it. Hela observed silently, but no Beyonder characteristics emerged from the remains.

…

Within the pitch-black castle enveloped in a thin fog, a dark-red coffin lay in a sinister chamber.

Suddenly, a pale-white hand emerged from the coffin, gripping its wooden edge.