Snap.
Roderic Locke heard a crisp finger snap right beside his ear.
"Are you crazy?"
Roderic Locke turned his head, staring at Evan Lin—who was now some distance away—with a look of utter disdain. He spoke in surprisingly fluent Chinese: "Stupid Easterner, do you think you're Thanos or something?"
"You think a finger snap is enough to keep me here?"
"Once I get back to the Dark Sacred Court, you'll find out just what kind of colossal mistake you've made today!"
"Prepare to die—not just you, but your friends, your family, everyone connected to you! They'll all suffer punishment from the Dark Sacred Court!"
Roderic Locke barked threats nonstop. As his tirade ended, he moved even faster, about to step right out the door.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang.
Roderic Locke felt like his head had slammed into an impossibly thick steel wall.
His mind went blank, and his whole body was sent flying backward, landing hard on the floor. When he looked up again, he saw three women standing before him—he had no idea when they'd appeared.
They were extravagantly dressed, faces as pale as his, but their eyes sparkled with life—three Eastern women with a unique allure.
"What are you?"
Roderic Locke's eyes widened in disbelief.
He hadn't even noticed when these women showed up.
The Three Maiden Spirits didn't answer. Instead, they rushed forward, circling Roderic Locke, their eyes filled with curiosity—and a hunger that couldn't be hidden.
Blood Clan.
A race that lives off blood.
They're yin-heavy, sinister beings—and to the Three Maiden Spirits, they're the ultimate nourishment.
What Roderic Locke couldn't accept was that not only did these three women ignore his question—they were actually drooling at the corners of their mouths.
Drool!
Roderic Locke's hair stood on end. He knew that look in the women's eyes all too well—the kind that says they're ready to devour you and steal your power. In the Blood Clan, that gaze was nothing new.
"Dark Sacred Court? What's that supposed to be?"
Evan Lin appeared behind Roderic Locke, stepping on his back as he asked with genuine curiosity.
"The Dark Sacred Court is the gathering place of the strongest in the West! The Holy Lords inside are beings your barren Eastern imagination could never comprehend!"
Pinned under Evan Lin's foot, Roderic Locke's face twisted with rage—but with his fangs broken, he looked anything but fierce. If anything, he seemed fragile.
"Soon, when my Lord descends, both East and West will fall into eternal darkness!"
"If you know what's good for you, let me go now—and just so you know, my uncle is Loxas Locke, one of the Dark Sacred Court's five Holy Lords!"
He's the pride of our Blood Clan—so savage, he'll make your soul tremble!
Roderic Locke roared his threats.
Then Evan Lin stomped right on his face.
"Interesting."
Evan Lin nodded. "But this Dark Sacred Court you keep talking about? Never heard of it. And honestly, I couldn't care less what you're planning."
"But since you threatened to punish my friends and family, that's unforgivable."
With a casual kick, Evan Lin sent Roderic Locke flying toward the Three Maiden Spirits.
The Three Maiden Spirits rushed in, fighting to be first as they surrounded Roderic Locke, mouths wide open.
"Ah!"
Roderic Locke screamed in agony.
In no time at all, the energy inside him was completely drained by the Three Maiden Spirits.
"You'll pay for this!"
Roderic Locke shouted fiercely. Evan Lin was just turning away when he sensed something, reached out, and struck forward with his palm—but he was a step too late.
As Roderic Locke's body vanished completely, a streak of red light shot away at high speed. Evan Lin couldn't catch it.
Visible, yet without substance.
Evan Lin frowned, watching the red light fade into the distance.
West.
A massive ancient castle towered over the plains.
Walls built from huge, gray-brown stone bricks made the fortress look truly majestic.
Inside the castle.
In a conference room, a young man—whose face resembled Roderic Locke's but looked much younger—slammed his hand on the round table.
"I said, I'm going to the East."
The man's face was pale, his expression fierce and menacing.
Loxas, I believe we've already discussed this. The Divine Sign has appeared. All we need to do now is wait—wait for the God's descent.
Beside him, a man projected by hologram sat with his arms crossed, looking at Loxas with a cold, indifferent gaze. "Our conflict with the Radiant Sacred Court grows deeper by the day."
As a Holy Lord of the Dark Sacred Court, you should understand the importance of this matter. When the God descends, everything—absolutely everything—will reach its true end.
The man's features were blurred, indistinct.
Aside from them, three other seats were occupied by holographic projections—three shadowy figures.
We don't even know if the God truly exists. What makes you so sure He'll descend?
Loxas's face twisted with rage, his fist clenched tight. "If the legends are true, and the God controls life and death, then how could He die? How could a God who rules death let Himself die?"
Loxas continued, "Loxas was wiped out in the East by an Easterner. I received his message—the one who killed him was Master Lin from Seacrest!"
I want this man's life. I want to drain him dry!
Never in the history of the Blood Clan has one of our own been so utterly destroyed by an Easterner—completely annihilated!
As he spoke, the terrifying aura swirling around Loxas grew even more intense.
Recently, I excavated a Divine Relic and found a stone tablet inscribed with the Dark God's scripture.
One of the shadowy figures spoke in a neutral tone, making it impossible to tell their gender. "The inscription was found on a stone pillar three thousand meters under the sea. So far, we've only managed to decipher a single sentence from the ancient script."
What sentence?
Hearing the shadow's words, the other projections—including Loxas—all turned to look at him.
All eyes focused on him.
Before discussing the script, let me show you a picture.
It's a portrait, also from that deep-sea pillar. I have reason to believe this person is the cause of the God's death.
As the shadow finished speaking, a flash of blue light appeared before him.
A ghostly beam of light descended from above. Amidst drifting dust, a portrait sketched with simple lines appeared within the glow.
It was a young man.
His black hair streamed wildly.
He wore a pitch-black mask, hands clasped behind his back, clothes billowing, eyes cold and aloof, posture arrogant and unconstrained.
He stood there, as if gazing at something far away.
Even though it was just a portrait etched onto the stone pillar, the moment the youth appeared, all five Holy Lords—including Loxas—felt a crushing pressure, like a mountain weighing down on them.
It was as if merely raising their heads to glimpse the youth's brilliance was an honor in itself.
An Easterner?
Loxas's voice was hoarse, his pale face even more ashen.
Only one sentence has been deciphered from the divine script.
The shadow spoke again: "He comes from the East."
The shadow's voice was deep, like cold water in the night.