Chapter 578: The Abyss of Distortion

Deep within the shadowy underground palace, the low hum of circulating magical energy suddenly shattered the heavy silence.

Stable streams of arcane power flowed into the crystals embedded in the walls, one by one igniting the magic stone lamps, bathing the vast hall in a dim, eerie glow.

The floor was etched with faintly shimmering runes and lines of magical force. Along both sides of the hall stood countless pillars that looked like twisted amalgamations of flesh and plant matter. Their surfaces were uneven and pocked, with dark red veins pulsing faintly within the crevices, as if blood flowed beneath the skin. From the tops and bases of these pillars sprouted tendrils—biomass cables resembling vines or blood vessels—that snaked upward and downward, weaving into the rune matrix embedded in the ceiling and floor. Behind these pillars, rows of transparent crystal spheres were neatly set into the dark red walls.

Inside those crystal orbs floated grotesque biological tissues, suspended in a thin, faintly crimson biomass solution. They writhed and pulsed unconsciously, like demonic eggs caught in a nightmare’s slumber.

At the far end of the hall yawned a massive fissure—not a wall, but an opening into some subterranean chasm. Beyond the crack lay a vast space shrouded in a dim red light, barely visible in the gloom.

Footsteps echoed from afar, growing steadily closer. A tall, slender figure clad in a black hooded robe entered the hall.

He walked deliberately past the trembling pillars, his gaze sweeping over each one’s surface. Patiently, he inspected the state of these “embryo containers.” From beneath his hood came a hoarse, low voice:

“Good… very good… growing fast… all that biomass I prepared for you wasn’t wasted after all…”

Suddenly, a cold female voice cut through his muttering from nearby: “Hidon, you’re becoming more repulsive the longer you stay with those embryos.”

Without turning, the robed man replied, “Beltira, have you forgotten even the courtesy of knocking?”

The sound of roots scraping against the stone floor accompanied the emergence of Beltira from the shadows near the hall’s entrance. Half-human, half-tree, she wore a green priestess’s robe. She glanced at Hidon with a hint of disdain. “Too bad. This disgusting hall of yours doesn’t even have a door.”

Hidon turned, pulling back his hood to reveal a pale, gaunt face. He looked at Beltira coldly. “When we first cultivated the initial batch of divine spawn embryos, you didn’t find them disgusting.”

“What’s disgusting is your taste in decorating this hall, not the embryos,” Beltira frowned, eyeing the neatly arranged pillars and the crystal containers embedded in the walls. “Couldn’t you have designed these biomass sacs and artificial egg shells in a less nauseating way? Or at least wrapped them in something? This place looks like a rotten slaughterhouse, not an advanced laboratory.”

“You can’t appreciate the beauty of flesh art. That’s a pity, but I’m willing to educate you,” Hidon sneered. “If you spent more time in the Abyss of Flesh, you might come to understand the aesthetic hidden within these most primitive tissues…”

Beltira cut him off sharply. “Enough. I have no interest in the twisted, bizarre knowledge whispered to you by your so-called ‘gods.’ I’m here to check on the growth of the divine spawn embryos—the High Priest needs confirmation that the divine spawn factors in these embryos have been properly activated, and to assess the effect of the False God’s body on them.”

Hidon cracked a grim smile, his sullen face twisting into something ugly. “Of course. As you can see, life thrives here. The divine spawn factors embedded in human genetics have persisted vigorously for centuries. With the right mutations triggered, anyone can become divine spawn… We should thank our brethren in the wastelands—their recent data has been timely and effective. All embryos are developing as expected.”

Beltira nodded slowly, then approached one of the pillars. She reached out, feeling the faint tremors and warmth deep within it. Though seemingly still, the pillars were alive. Beneath their rough exteriors, she sensed a steady, rhythmic pulse—like a heartbeat, strong and regular.

…Is this the future of mortals? So wretched…

For a fleeting moment, a question flickered through Beltira’s mind. But the next instant, she forcibly reset the neural pathways and hormones that had spawned the doubt. Such a shallow question could not have come from her true self—it was likely a remnant thought from some assimilated devourer trying to cloud her judgment. This was not the first time such interference had occurred.

She paid it no mind.

“Good. The High Priest will be pleased,” Beltira said with a slight nod. “Ensure these special ‘initial’ divine spawn enter maturity as soon as possible. That is the High Priest’s order.”

Hidon’s cold gaze followed her, tinged with irritation—annoyed by her haughty attitude, annoyed that she wielded the High Priest’s name to act arrogantly before him. Yet he was powerless.

Beltira was the most senior prelate in the End of All Things sect. This seemingly human woman had extended her life by seven centuries through forbidden magic—by devouring and siphoning the life force of others. Though officially still a “prelate,” her true status hovered between prelate and High Priest.

Only she could walk unscathed through the deepest corridors of the underground palace and linger long in the High Priest’s secret chamber. The whispers of the malevolent gods did not drive her mad; gazing upon divine flesh did not taint her soul. This incredible resilience made her position in the order unassailable.

Hidon thought bitterly that perhaps Beltira’s secret to resisting divine corruption lay in the fact that she had already been twisted into a monster—or maybe she had been a monster from the start. Her soul and flesh were rotten, mutated, but this monster just happened to wear the guise of a human.

Beltira faced away from Hidon, speaking without looking back: “Priest Hidon, I don’t mind your rude stare, but you’ve been looking for too long.”

Hidon responded only with a cold snort.

Unfazed, Beltira turned and spoke calmly: “Have you heard? The Ansu have begun repairing the barrier. And Gawain Cecil… has personally gone south.”

“I heard. That Gawain Cecil actually found a path through the Dark Mountains and entered the Black Forest,” Hidon said casually. “But our sentinels brought back no further news.”

“Several sentinels died unexpectedly, and the rest dared not approach further,” Beltira met his gaze. “One sentry sent back a nearly hysterical report—he called the Cecilians madmen and demons. Don’t you find that interesting?”

“…Interesting, since that’s a title outsiders have always given us,” Hidon raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like that sentinel lost his mind. What exactly did he encounter?”

“The Cecilians have been recklessly using powerful magical devices to carve out territory. They even bombarded wastelands for no reason. That unlucky sentinel and a few others happened to be nearby,” Beltira shook her head. “The key issue now is that Cecil isn’t developing as we expected—they’ve become an uncontrollable variable…”

“Uncontrollable…” Hidon muttered, then let out a derisive laugh.

He approached the nearest pillar and waved his hand, activating the pillar’s biomass shell—

The dark red flesh writhed violently, recoiling like startled magical vines, curling back toward the ceiling and floor. As the grotesque “shell” withdrew, the scene inside the pillar was revealed to Beltira—

A mutated humanoid floated silently within a translucent tubular container. Nearly twice the height of a human, it had dark skin and swollen, thickened joints. Countless crystalline growths clustered over its limbs, tiny sparks of energy flickering ceaselessly between the crystals. This giant was not only physically formidable but possessed extraordinary magical power.

Hidon looked up at the terrifying mutant giant and smiled. “Nothing is stronger than great evolution, Priest Beltira. Don’t you agree?”

Beltira regarded the “divine spawn” inside the container with calm detachment. “Temper your fanaticism. No one understands great evolution better than I do. You’d better seal the biomass sac before this mutant awakens and goes out of control. Remember, activating this first batch of divine spawn cost us many good corpses.”

With that, the female prelate ignored Hidon and strode toward the hall’s far end.

She stood before the massive fissure, gazing out into the vast space beyond.

A wide subterranean chasm stretched before her, bridged by enormous cableways, bridges, and natural stone arches connecting the cliffs on either side. Along those dizzying bridges, countless zombie-like figures shuffled forward under the watchful eyes of church overseers clad in heavy armor.

At the bottom of the chasm flowed a “river of blood” glowing with a crimson light. Thick chains crisscrossed above the river, binding an indescribable mass of flesh. Amid the rising steam, the mass pulsed like a heart, each beat stronger than the last.

This was the Abyss of Flesh.

The entire underground palace was built atop this blood-soaked chasm.

Those shambling figures were slaves, captured from across the lands—mostly poor commoners, with a few weak wandering warriors and mercenaries.

In this era, it was not difficult to secretly snatch some peasants from noble territories to serve as slaves, especially during times of famine and war. The disappearance of a few poor souls went unnoticed.

But the situation had shifted slightly: the Duchy of Cecil had risen at an astonishing pace, establishing a complex and tight surveillance system. Even a single missing peasant would draw the attention of law enforcement. The increasing number of magical monitoring devices within Cecil’s borders made unauthorized spellcasting extremely risky. Recently, capturing people from the southern border had become nearly impossible.

But the slaves captured beyond the southern borders still sufficed to meet the demands of the Flesh Rift—this civil war in Ansu not only provided ample flesh but also a steady supply of slaves.

Beltira watched the slaves stumbling down the corridor, her gaze then drifting past these doomed sacrifices to the mass of flesh bound by chains at the bottom of the chasm.

Nourished by a vast amount of human biomass and pieced together with countless “Divine Sin” factors, that mass of flesh was nearing maturity.

The moment when the “False God’s Body” would awaken was fast approaching.

(End of chapter)