Warning

Only that faint point of light remained, hovering in the center of the charred ruins. Around it stood bone steps burned to cinders, while the remnants of the dome slowly collapsed overhead.

After a long while, the point of light expanded again, and Astaroth’s outline struggled to coalesce amid the ruins.

Of its six wings, only two remained. Of its twelve eyes, barely one still glimmered.

It stared at the spot where the throne it had once been so proud of had stood. Now, there was nothing but a black crater.

“Baal.”

Its voice was shattered, utterly devoid of the arrogance it had possessed at the beginning.

“What exactly… are you?”

Meanwhile, in the human world.

Chen Guan leaned against the wall of the ambulance, his left arm wrapped inside his coat and his right hand resting on his knee. The black mark in his palm sat there quietly.

Baal’s voice returned to his mind, once again taking on that lazy drawl.

“Hey, kid. Guess where Lord Bael just went.”

“Don’t feel like guessing.”

“How boring. Forget it. It wasn’t anything important anyway.”

Chen Guan closed his eyes and did not ask.

Baal gave a snort, then yawned in satisfaction.

“I’m sleepy. Lord Bael’s going to take a nap. We’ll talk about that arm of yours later.”

The voice disappeared.

Chen Guan opened his eyes and glanced at the flashing emergency lights outside the window. Then he lowered his head and looked at his left arm, hidden inside his sleeve and completely numb.

How strange. Weren’t demon gods supposed to be model workers who never took a day off?

A clumsy lie.

The ambulance door was pulled open from outside, and Yin Tianzheng leaned halfway inside.

“Chen Guan, arrangements have been made for your injuries. Come with me.”

“Okay.”

Using his right hand for support, he stood up and bent down as he walked out of the vehicle.

Yin Tianzheng’s gaze lingered on his left arm for a moment longer. His mouth opened slightly, but in the end, he said nothing.

…

The fluorescent lights in the examination room emitted a low hum, and the harsh white glare made Chen Guan’s eyelids sting.

He sat up on the examination bed. His left arm was wrapped in three thick layers of bandages, with a specially formulated suppressive ointment underneath. It felt cold to the touch, but the numbness that seemed to reach deep into his bones had not eased in the slightest.

“The demonic corruption is more advanced than we expected.”

The examining physician pushed up his glasses and placed the imaging reports into a folder.

“From the fingertips to the elbow, the surface of the bone membrane has already begun to develop abnormal patterns. For now, the ointment can only slow the spread. Complete purification will require the intervention of a higher-level life-affinity esper.”

“How long can the ointment last?”

The physician paused.

“Five days. Seven at most.”

Chen Guan nodded. He used his right hand to put on his coat, tucked his left arm into its sleeve, and jumped straight down from the examination bed.

“Wait. We haven’t discussed your follow-up treatment plan yet—”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

He pushed open the examination-room door and walked out. The air in the corridor was a little better than inside. At least it didn’t smell of disinfectant.

Baal was still submerged in silence. Chen Guan’s mind was unusually quiet, a rare moment of peace.

From the corner at the end of the corridor came the hurried sound of footsteps. Two figures came running toward him at nearly a jog.

Chen Guan looked up.

Well, well. An old acquaintance.

Su Yuehe was in the lead. Her hair was tied up somewhat messily, with several loose strands clinging to her forehead. She was still wearing her commander’s uniform, and her boots were spattered with mud that she had not yet had time to clean off.

Yin Chen followed half a step behind her. He looked much neater, but the dark circles beneath his eyes betrayed the fact that he had been awake all night.

“Chen Guan!”

Su Yuehe came to an abrupt stop in front of him. Her gaze swept quickly from his face to his left arm, then back to his face. Her lips were pressed tightly together.

“Are you all right?”

“Not dead.”

“I’m asking whether you’re okay, not whether you’re dead.”

Chen Guan pointed at his own face with his right hand.

“Do I look like something’s wrong?”

Su Yuehe stared at him for two seconds. She was not fooled.

“You haven’t moved your left hand once.”

Yin Chen stepped forward, his eyes likewise settling on the left arm hidden inside the sleeve. He did not press the issue, however. Instead, he said, “When we received word in the Northern Frontier, we nearly thought something irreversible had happened to you.”

“Nearly,” Chen Guan replied casually, leaning against the corridor wall. “But it didn’t.”

“What about An Changqing? Long Ao? Hong Yuan?” Su Yuehe asked in one breath.

“They’re all alive. An Changqing is next door getting his wounds treated. Long Ao is probably lying somewhere in a corner with his game paused, and Hong Yuan is likely looking for food.”

Based on his familiarity with the three of them, Chen Guan gave his best guess.

Su Yuehe let out a breath of relief, the tense line of her shoulders relaxing.

Yin Chen leaned against the opposite wall and folded his arms across his chest.

“We heard a rough account of Liu Xiao’s situation from Grandpa on the way here. A six-winged phantom… It sounds absurd.”

“It was even more absurd to see in person.”

“Liu Xiao… really is dead?”

“He burned himself to nothing. Not even ash was left.”

Yin Chen was silent for a moment, then shook his head.

“Psycho.”

He had not been friends with Liu Xiao, but he could not help feeling a little mournful.

Su Yuehe had known Liu Xiao. They had not been close, but they had at least been schoolmates. The sudden death of a living person naturally left her saddened.

“How is Liu Feiyu?” she asked.

Chen Guan recalled the sight of Liu Feiyu standing amid the ruins and staring up at the sky.

“Alive. Physically, he seems fine. As for his mental state, that’s harder to say.”

“After all, he was his brother,” Yin Chen added.

The corridor fell silent for several seconds.

Su Yuehe took a folded document from the storage ring at her waist and held it out to Chen Guan.

“Let’s put that aside for now. We rushed back overnight not only because we were worried about you, but also because there’s something else.”

Chen Guan took the document and unfolded it with one hand, scanning the contents.

“Battle report from the Northern Frontier?”

“Yeah.” Yin Chen took over, his expression turning serious. “A new situation emerged at the Northern Frontier’s defenses before we left.”

“What kind of situation?”

“The rifts are expanding.” Yin Chen held up two fingers. “They doubled in size. Within three days, Rift Four, which had originally been stable, doubled in diameter. The garrison was forced to retreat twelve kilometers.”

Chen Guan lifted his gaze from the document.

Su Yuehe added, “It isn’t just Rift Four. Rifts Seven and Eleven have also begun showing abnormal fluctuations. Their frequency is up thirty percent from last month, and Northern Frontier Command has raised the alert level to orange.”

“Have they found the cause?”

“No.” Yin Chen spread his hands. “The forward reconnaissance team sent in two groups. The first group reported that the energy density inside the rift had risen abnormally. The second group still hasn’t come back.”

Chen Guan closed the document and held it between the fingers of his right hand.

“You didn’t come all this way just to deliver a battle report.”

Su Yuehe and Yin Chen exchanged a glance.

Yin Chen spoke.

“The front line needs capable reinforcements. So Great Wall Command has issued a request for assistance, specifically calling for academy students to participate in the next rift-reconnaissance mission.”

“To be precise, they named several people.” Su Yuehe’s voice carried a hint of helplessness. “Among the lower-year students, An Changqing, Long Ao, you, me, Yin Chen, and Hong Yuan are all on the list.”