Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability Chapter 226 - 226 Sculpture

Chapter 226 - 226 Sculpture

226 Sculpture

Lumian’s left hand trembled, revealing the sun pattern that emitted a colorful glow.

The living room, once chilly, suddenly warmed up, but the frost on the ground remained stubbornly frozen. Only the pale, distorted faces turned away, unable to bear witness to what was about to unfold.

Harman, decapitated and drenched in blood, charged at Lumian, heedless of the revolver pointed his way, driven by a sinister desire to “embrace” his intended victim by force.

The drawing of the sun caused his body to tremble, and blood dripped from him onto the ground.

Instinctively, Lumian knew he couldn’t engage in a direct confrontation with this “corpse.” He used his light brown jacket to s.h.i.+eld himself, pus.h.i.+ng back against Harman’s relentless a.s.sault.

The jacket quickly turned blood-red, showing signs of wear.

At that moment, “Black Scorpion” Roger had been absent for a couple of seconds, and Franca finally found an opportunity to act.

A dense black flame materialized in her palm, which she hurled at the zombified Harman.

The black flames struck the blood-stained corpse with the force of a cannonball, causing it to burst into silent flames that ignited the hidden spirituality within the blood and remains.

Harman began to melt, much like Castina, resembling a candle tossed in a blazing fire.

Just then, “Black Scorpion” Roger emerged from a corner, his face pale, cradling a sculpture of equal height in his arms.

The sculpture portrayed a woman with gentle features, her long dress intricately detailed and lifelike.

After exerting great effort to place the sculpture on the ground, Roger melded with the writhing, distorted faces around him, evading Lumian’s shots and Franca’s black flames with impeccable timing.

In the next instant, he reappeared beneath the ceiling chandelier, cursing rapidly.

“You’re dead meat!”

“I’ll turn you into fertilizer!”

“Son of a b.i.t.c.h, daring to intrude upon my Undying Lands!”

“I’ll take every last one of your lives!”

“I want you to have 20 children!”

“Black Scorpion” Roger constantly changed positions as he spat out these words. He swiftly moved and leaped, skillfully dodging Lumian’s unfolded drawing and Franca’s array of witchcraft spells, primarily comprised of black flames and frost.

Each word, seemingly stemming from Intisian, pierced Lumian and Franca’s minds like an arrow. They felt dizzy and their blood resonated with the onslaught.

In the corner, the female sculpture activated, its surface blazing with brilliant flames.

Lumian’s head throbbed as if struck by an ethereal hammer. Bright red blood streamed uncontrollably from his nostrils.

Franca herself endured similar injuries. She suspected that “Black Scorpion” Roger was employing a curse-like incantation. Moreover, the female sculpture’s augmentation had greatly fortified his physical and spiritual presence. Franca couldn’t endure more than a few uttered words.

As “Black Scorpion” Roger had left the sculpture unprotected, Franca believed that a direct attack might result in even more dreadful consequences, likely taking the form of a curse.

Suppressing her boiling blood, dizziness, and bodily pain, she raised her bra.s.s revolver and fired at “Black Scorpion” Roger, seizing the chance to leap towards the sculpture.

The iron-black bullet shattered a contorted face, leaving marks on the wall, but it failed to harm Roger.

Once Franca landed, she swiftly circled around the sculpture. She didn’t squeeze the trigger of her bra.s.s revolver again, nor did she thrust with her blade. While evading the slender figures summoned by “Black Scorpion” Roger, she encased the sculpture in layers of frost.

Meanwhile, Lumian, who had been the focal point of Roger’s attention, found himself in imminent peril.

A piercing cry resounded as illusory black flames kindled upon Lumian’s body.

It drained his life force with alarming speed, causing his physical strength to wane.

Without hesitation, Lumian discarded the peculiar sun drawing and lunged towards the sofa, reaching into his pocket with his left hand.

Beside the overturned coffee table, “Black Scorpion” Roger emerged from the icy seal, brandis.h.i.+ng a pitch-black, malevolent scythe that stood half the height of a man. He cleaved through the furniture before him, rending it in two.

Lumian alighted on the sofa, his left hand withdrawing from his pocket, clutching a slender and slightly pale finger.

In the face of Roger’s scythe, Lumian, already weakened, barely managed to evade the strike by s.h.i.+fting his body.

Simultaneously, he tossed the severed finger into the air.

It was Mr. K’s finger!

Amidst the sound of tearing leather and fabric, the divan was sundered by the wicked scythe. The pale-white finger expanded and detonated like a bomb.

It metamorphosed into a shower of flesh and blood droplets that cascaded onto Lumian, extinguis.h.i.+ng the fading black flames.

The flesh absorbed the surrounding blood and dissolved corpses, swiftly coalescing and draping Lumian in a cloak of blood-red hue.

The profound weakness that had plagued Lumian dissipated. He sprang up, launching a counteroffensive against “Black Scorpion” Roger.

Witnessing this, Roger avoided a direct confrontation. He retreated into the fractured ice and merged with one of the distorted faces.

Franca, who had already encased the sculpture in frost, suddenly felt an intense chill.

The restless spirits in the living room seemed incensed. They surged from all directions, extending their arms and gaping mouths, enveloping Franca.

With a resounding crack, yet another mirror shattered.

Franca’s form materialized on the other side of the ice. She raised her hand, causing black flames to surge around the sculpture, setting ablaze the indistinct souls and blood-hued shadows.

“Black Scorpion” Roger peered out from a nearby wall and unleashed another curse, “d.a.m.n b.i.t.c.h!”

As he weakened his targets, he swiftly s.h.i.+fted positions with the aid of the tormented faces. Sometimes, he targeted Lumian, and other times, he a.s.sailed Franca. He relied on the power of the Undying Lands and the sculpture to single-handedly suppress the two foes.

At intervals, vile black flames ignited over Lumian’s form, sapping his life force and diminis.h.i.+ng his strength. Yet, each time, they were counteracted by the robe forged from flesh and blood. Franca evaded the combined a.s.saults of Evil Word, Blood Spirit, Weak Black Flame, and Life Burning time and again, employing the technique of Mirror Subst.i.tution.

Time slipped away swiftly. Noticing that Ciel’s robe of flesh and blood teetered on the brink of disintegration, while the mirror and ice that Franca had brought with her neared depletion, “Black Scorpion” Roger poked his head through the ceiling, a malicious chuckle escaping his lips.

“You fools!

“Do you truly believe you can withstand the might of the Undying Lands?

“I fear no consequence, even if the entire leaders.h.i.+p of the Savoie Mob were to enter this domain!

“Go to h.e.l.l!”

His cutting words pierced Lumian and Franca’s ears and minds, causing their bodies to tremble as if they could bear no more.

Observing this, “Black Scorpion” Roger, who had already s.h.i.+fted to the adjacent wall, revealed a sinister smile, br.i.m.m.i.n.g with antic.i.p.ation.

Suddenly, his vision darkened, and a surge of intense emotions overwhelmed his heart.

Disbelief, shock, confusion, and panic.

In the subsequent moment, he lost consciousness.

Thud!

The boss of the Poison Spur Mob materialized from the wall, collapsed onto the floor, and slipped into unconsciousness.

The fate exchange had finally concluded, as Fallen Mercury swapped the unconscious fate of the dying tramp with “Black Scorpion” Roger’s!

It happened swiftly, much faster than the exchange involving Margot.

This was because the tramp was an ordinary person, and when Fallen Mercury selected “Black Scorpion” Roger’s fate, it chose the least significant one, unrelated to any Beyonder matters.

Lumian’s gaze fixated on “Black Scorpion” Roger, clad in aqua-blue pajamas. Supported by his blood-colored robe, Lumian traversed the transparent and distorted faces, enduring the bone-chilling cold and stiffness. Finally, he reached his motionless target. Retrieving the metal canister containing the sedative, Lumian unscrewed the cap and squatted down.

He directed the sedative obtained from Rentas toward “Black Scorpion” Roger’s nose, gently fanning the gas with his hand, ensuring its entry into the enemy’s breath.

With that done, Lumian lifted “Black Scorpion” Roger and made his way out of the living room, guarded by Franca.

The valets and maids had long since fled.

As “Black Scorpion” Roger departed the living room, the bluish-white faces swiftly faded away, and everything returned to normal.

Witnessing this, Lumian dropped the Poison Spur Mob leader to the ground and aimed his revolver at the man’s head.

After a few seconds of contemplation, Lumian pulled the trigger calmly and silently.

Two shots rang out, transforming “Black Scorpion” Roger’s head into a burst watermelon, splattering blood in every direction.

He met his demise while in a coma.

Franca glanced at Lumian, still aiming at “Black Scorpion” Roger, and asked calmly,

“How is it? Have you vented all your frustrations?”

If it weren’t for Franca’s desire to a.s.sist Lumian, she would have considered reporting “Black Scorpion” Roger and his a.s.sociates for their belief in the Great Mother.

Lumian fell silent for a moment, his lips curling into a smile.

“No.

“It merely resolved one hidden danger.”

Franca let out a soft sigh.

“In my homeland, we say that to cure a heart’s ailment, the remedy must come from within. But if you don’t do it right, no matter how much you try, it’s futile.

“Well, I’ll quickly communicate with the spirit, and let’s strive to depart this place within three minutes. Hurry and seize the spoils.”

“Alright,” Lumian responded, as the remaining bloodstained garments on his body disintegrated, staining the ground red.

That’s it? Lumian couldn’t help but furrow his brow.

It wasn’t that Mr. K’s finger lacked strength. On the contrary, without it, Lumian would have been too feeble to resist and would have required Franca’s aid.

However, its performance fell short if made to face the formidable evil spirit, Susanna Mattise. Lumian couldn’t help but feel disappointed and perplexed.

As these thoughts raced through his mind, he headed toward the living room, scanning his surroundings for valuable items.

Suddenly, he noticed a figure cloaked in a large hood and black robe standing quietly on the staircase.

Mr. K!

Lumian’s pupils dilated, but in an instant, Mr. K vanished into the shadows.