Chapter 1122: Choice At the bronze table, in the seat belonging to The Chariot. Please continue reading on ΒOXΝʘVEL.ϹΟM . Light surged and solidified into Lumian’s figure, bearing three heads. He looked toward the head of the mottled bronze table and said, “Mr. Fool, I’ve obtained the remaining Conqueror Beyonder characteristics from Red Angel Medici. I’d like to go to Morora as soon as possible.” Mr. Fool gently nodded and replied, “You may go anytime. I will provide the necessary assistance.” Lumian understood that the help Mr. Fool referred to wasn’t about entering Morora but rather offering necessary aid in handling 0-01. Considering Mr. Fool was already maintaining the outer barrier in the astral world, reinforcing the Celestial Worthy’s seal, and hiding the protected zones to sustain human society-tasks nearly impossible without the three Mysteries pathways’ ability to divide attention – Lumian carefully added. “I’ll do my best to handle it myself, but for that, I’ll need to visit the Forsaken Land of the Gods first. “When the time comes, unexpected events may occur, so I’ll need you to keep an eye on things in advance.” “No problem,” Veiled in gray fog, Mr. Fool calmly assured him. … On the peaks of the Forsaken Land of the Gods’s endless mountains. Lumian’s figure swiftly materialized, facing a man with silver hair cascading down His shoulders, clad in a linen robe, His features soft and graceful. “Angel of Fate Ouroboros?” the central head of Lumian spoke. The man, his expression gentle and tone indifferent, replied, “What do you want?” He did not deny being Ouroboros, the Angel of Fate, the King of Angels from ancient times. (vitag.Init = window.vitag.Init || []).push(function(){viAPItag.display("vi_765923973")}) “I want to meet Grisha Adam, or Adam Grisha.” Lumian said with a smile. The Angel of Fate Ouroboros stepped aside, revealing a massive cross behind Him. However, it was empty, devoid of any divine presence. “The Lord was, is, and ever shall be,” Ouroboros declared devoutly. “If you cannot see Him, that is your own problem.” Unaffected by the Angel of Fate’s response, Lumian stared at the enormous cross and burst into laughter. “I bring a hope for saving the world. Will you meet with me or not? “As the most skilled Telepathist, you should know I’m not lying.” From beneath the massive cross surged an ocean that seemed to encompass every color, engulfing the entire mountain range except for where Lumian and Ouroboros stood. On this chaotic “sea,” a humanoid figure walked on the black void-like surface, seemingly connecting heaven and earth. The figure retained a human visage, His lower face covered with a fine golden beard. His golden eyes were as pure as those of a newborn, but His body was no longer tangible, entirely composed of light and shadow. Ꞧ𝐀 Trailing behind Him was a long black shadow, distinct from Him, bearing five heads. Behind His head rose a radiant golden sun. “I see Him,” Lumian turned his head and smiled at Ouroboros. Then, he expanded his form into a towering steel giant wreathed in violet flames, smiling radiantly at Grisha Adam. “Before I share that hope, I’d like to punch you.” Grisha Adam’s baby-clear golden eyes remained unmoved. His majestic voice answered, “Okay.” Lumian’s expression turned cold. He teleported directly in front of Grisha Adam, clenched his left fist, and with violet flames blazing, struck the deity’s right cheek with full force. With a resounding explosion, Grisha Adam’s head tilted to the side, His cheek caved in, His mouth split, and His flesh torn. Lumian’s right fist followed, its burning violet flames engulfing Grisha Adam’s left cheek. Boom! Golden blood splattered, skull fragments shattered. and scorched marks spread everywhere. When Lumian had teleported in front of the deity, the Angel of Fate Ouroboros bowed His head, devoutly and humbly praying repeatedly. Retracting his fists, Lumian floated midair and arrogantly declared, “That punch was from Medici.” He then gazed into Grisha Adam’s eyes and mockingly added, “Don’t get mad. This is a necessary sacrifice.” Grisha Adam’s golden eyes remained pure-without anger, resentment, mockery, or rebuke. They were so clear they reflected Lumian’s image. The flames on His face continued to burn, His wounds unhealed. Lumian’s smile gradually faded. After a few seconds of eye contact, he smirked and said, “That hope is…” He raised his right hand, pressing it against the peculiar dark-gold mask in the center of his left-side head, “I will remove this.” Grisha Adam gazed at him warmly, neither questioning nor rushing him. Lumian continued, as if talking to himself, “This face should have originally belonged to the Creator, but after losing the balance and regaining balance via the addition of Mother’s powers, it became the resurrection cornerstone for that Primordial God Almighty. “If I remove the Celestial Worthy’s mask, something very interesting will happen.” With a lighthearted tone, Lumian said to Grisha Adam, “The Primordial God Almighty’s consciousness is competing with you for control of the Chaos Sea and this body. At this moment, if another resurrection opportunity suddenly appears, what will He choose? “If He diverts His focus to influence this head and face, symbolically, it would mean abandoning the contest with you. Your disadvantage would instantly reverse, giving you the upper hand. Perhaps then, we’ll gain a new pillar-a pillar standing with us to face the apocalypse, greatly increasing our chances of survival. “If the Primordial God Almighty refuses to retreat or give up, the revival of this head and face will stagnate. Yet, their unique qualities will remain intact, and I can accomplish much with them. Hope for saving this world will arise from that-heh heh, well, maybe. Just maybe.” Looking into Grisha Adam’s golden eyes again, Lumian grinned, “I look forward to the Primordial God Almighty’s decision.” Without hesitation or delay, he pressed against the mask and pulled it off. From the mask’s depths emerged a door of light tinged with faint bluish-black hues. It quickly detached and disappeared into the grayish-white fog that had unknowingly spread across the sky. In the next moment, Lumian removed the peculiar dark-gold mask. Beneath it was a vortex-like face-no eyes, nose, or mouth, no bones-composed entirely of a chaotic liquid embodying every color. Lumian eagerly observed the face, waiting for further changes. However, the chaotic vortex remained motionless, showing no sign of forming a normal face. The faces of Tudor and Cheek on either side of this head contorted slightly, as if experiencing some form of pain. Lumian clicked his tongue and said, “What a pity…” He made no effort to conceal his disappointment, turned around, and returned to the Angel of Fate’s side. Behind him, the giant radiant figure sank slowly, its shadow with five heads and the golden sun disappearing into the Chaos Sea. Above him, the grayish-white fog in the sky gradually dissipated into nothingness. Lumian tossed the dark-gold mask into the air and caught it repeatedly, sighing as he looked at Ouroboros. “Why don’t you pursue the President of the Life School of Thought?” Lumian’s own face and the vortex-face simultaneously turned to Ouroboros. With a gentle expression and indifferent tone, Angel of Fate Ouroboros replied, “The opportunity has passed. “What remains now is waiting and choosing.” Lumian chuckled twice and asked no further. Cheek’s beautiful eyes, lovelier than sapphires, reflected a layered, ethereal, shadowy world. Lumian’s figure vanished, flamboyantly traversing through the special mirrored world to the City of Exiles, Morora. Here, the seals indeed opened a gap for him. Lumian’s feet landed on Morora’s disaster-scarred streets. Among the potholes and ruins, he walked step by step toward the entrance of the underground mausoleum. His gaze swept casually, noticing how the grotesque residents of Morora tried to avoid him in terror upon seeing his three heads. However, they could not act on their thoughts. They were mesmerized by the maternal radiance emanating from Demoness of Apocalypse Cheek’s stunningly beautiful face. Others, under the gaze of Blood Emperor Alista Tudor, lowered their heads and knelt, completely submissive. Some stared fixedly at the vortex face. Bang! Bang! Bang! Some burst into flames, others turned into mirrors. some grew dense fish scales, while others’ skin cracked open, sprouting countless cold, emotionless eyes. They had gone mad, lost control, merely from gazing upon the vortex face. Don’t look directly at God! Amid the outburst of violent, frenzied, and destructive emotions, Lumian walked step by step into the underground mausoleum. He arrived at a dark wasteland and stood before a mountain of corpses. He raised his head, looking at the flagpole, iron-black with scorched marks and numerous dangerous blood- red spots. 0-01, Salinger’s Blood Banner! Lumian smiled and “humbly” said, “Boss, I’ve come to see you.” As soon as he finished speaking, bright red blood seeped from his brow, forming a blood-colored banner. He had completed his prayer, beseeching power from the Origins of Disaster, the Calamity of Destruction. He had become the priest of war and apocalypse, the embodiment of destruction and chaos.