Poppy sneered, "Look at them, Lanny! I’m here talking to you without any guard up, and yet they’re all trembling, not daring to attack !"
He mocked, waving the enormous sand wings that had ford behind him, spanning over five ters.
Wings like those of a withered, dry, sallow butterfly.
"Co on!"
He shouted fearlessly: "Face ! Attack !
"—Kill !"
But the players continued to exchange quick glances.
They remained silent, not uttering a word, not firing a shot.
The entire desert continued to rumble incessantly.
As the ground kept cracking and shaking—the sacred blood that had been invoked, slowly began to seep back into it.
"—Wastes."
Poppy scoffed disdainfully: "I imagine that Annan the Grand Duke, leading such wastes, is also such a weakling.
"Let give you a lift then.
"Your Grand Duke will soon join you—"
The "Sand Demon" let out a thunderous, hearty laugh.
And in the distance, the sandstorm drew ever closer.
Or rather...
It was Poppy who had beckoned it over.
"Winds—"
Poppy let out a voice layered with imnsity: "Desiccate these flowers!"
The next mont.
It was as if a windstorm impossible to breathe in blew straight into their faces—a typhoon of such strength that it could uproot trees, shatter the windows of tall buildings, or sweep away the roofs of bungalows.
But there were no buildings nor trees here.
Only a sandstorm howling in.
It was impossible to keep eyes open.
rely placing a hand over the face, one could feel the body being relentlessly pushed back. The imnse pressure, the loose sand, and the scattered stones on the ground. If they were careless, the sandstorm could instantly blow them away.
Their skin, exposed to the sandstorm—began to wither slowly.
Much slower than the direct grasp of the Hand of Sand.
But this was an attack that affected everyone at the sa ti!
Even Adele found it hard to heal her teammates!
Her healing required capturing the positions of others with her eyes.
Since it was about finding teammates rather than enemies, there was always a chance to spare a mont for a quick heal—even in high-speed combat, her teammates knew to pause and take a gulp when the opportunity arose.
But now, her vision was completely blocked.
To say that one couldn’t see people was an understatent... in such an intense sandstorm, rely opening one’s eyes could result in lacerations and bleeding.
Unable to use eyes to see—how then to heal teammates?
Poppy roared jubilantly, unleashing a refreshingly exhilarating laugh.
—The abilities of the Fallen ca from their "appendages."
It was these limbs, capable of controlling certain powers, that turned them into "demons."
As the power of the Fallen grew, their control over this force beca more adept. The range increased, the strength grew... although the essence remained simple, it gradually beca incomprehensibly powerful.
—Like so sort of "superpower."
Poppy’s father was once the strongest shaper Wizard in the whole world... limited to the rank of Silver.
He could effortlessly disintegrate a small castle—and used the entire castle as a weapon.
Transforming into walls, into blades, into mountains.
As if they were parts of his own body. As long as the essence of the material was not changed, he could freely alter their shapes... the Poppy of the past took pride in this, believing it to be the most incredible miracle in the world.
—Until his father died in that ritual in the Winter Duchy.
"Your father was rely a Sacrifice."
Ingrid said to him: "A Sacrifice prepared for the birth of a deity."
"The path to Ascension... is it that cruel?"
The young Poppy then said.
"Of course not."
Ingrid replied: "The path to Ascension is the toughest, the most noble. Precisely because of this, sacrifices must be made."
"Then why did my father beco a Sacrifice?"
"—Because he was too weak."
At that ti, Ingrid said with a laugh: "If his desires had been stronger, if he had worked harder to purify nightmares, to cultivate his abilities, to step into the rank of Gold... then it would have been your father sacrificing others.
"Weakness is a sin, Poppy. To be weak and yet harbor undue greed... that is a capital offense."
"And now, at this mont, I sentence you to death!"
Amid the sandstorm, the Sand Demon roared: "You weaklings—
"Death sentence—!"
With his rage, his envy, and his hatred.
His erosion began to gradually rise, with more demonic parts appearing on his body—and his power growing stronger.
The sandstorm, growing increasingly like the sands of the ’living desert’—sands that could weaken even dragons.
That is the sand of despair that can erase all life.
Just like the living desert itself.
"Honor him!"
That’s when the long-silent players suddenly let out a weak but uniform chant: "For he has torn the light within the mirror, and walked above fate—"
Except for the ’deceased’ Longjing tea.
—Their number was exactly seven.
The seven players ford a strange heptagram.
A radiant light, flowing and exchanging among them.
The air around them grew hazy—as countless fleeting stars revolved and danced around Husky, who was at the core.
The sand dust passed straight through them at that mont.
As if they were not of this world.
But rather... inside the world.
Each of them recited a line, as if a well-trained choir beginning to sing.
Annan heard their chanting.
Not from the live broadcast... but in the depths of his heart.
Of course, he saw what the players were doing. Their chat log was clear to him.
Different from what Poppy had imagined.
When the ’player’ thods were neutralized.
They did not despair... but after a brief hesitation, they imdiately stepped into another identity.
—That of the Angel Envoys of the Chariot.
"So you’ve realized it all along..."
Realized that Annan was the ’planner’ behind the scenes, controlling their arrival in this world.
... How tender indeed.
Annan bowed his head, as if casting a spider silk into the dark abyss.
Pure light ignited in his pupils.
Annan’s soul began to burn slowly—the elent of radiance sparking a fla.
With the ’karma’ between him and the players as a bond, Annan’s power flowed incessantly to the players.
And as if in response to Annan’s gaze, the chanting in his heart beca clearer.
It was a canon sung by seven:
"Look! Here is one who towers above fate—"
"He is the Charioteer, leading us upwards from below to descend upon the rkabah Hall—"
"He is neither a god nor above gods—"
"The path of ascension and transformation is the holy virtue of the Chariot—"
"We are the followers of sublimation, on the path of sublimation—"
"I am the follower of the Chariot..."
In the end, Husky showed a resolute gaze.
That face, never beset by worry, for the first ti so gravely solemn.
She raised her head and cried out loud: "I am the gatekeeper of the realm of light—"
It was not rely recitation... but an idol spell called ’Divine Descent Magic’!
In the next mont, without any hesitation, she plunged the ceremonial dagger into her own chest.
When the dagger was pulled out, no blood flowed.
Instead, an eye opened.
An eye indifferent and rciless, constantly emitting light.
"—And I, have opened!"
When Husky reopened her eyes, her pupils had turned into pure light.
Her emotions were almost out of control.
She almost scread, issuing a sharp yell: "Light of the Chariot—descend upon us!"
The next mont, as if boundless light spilled out from that eye!
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