Ch. 23
Chapter 23
The System said Luo En's survival odds were only 7%.
But Luo En figured 7 was a lucky number—maybe, in some way, that meant a full 100%.
His hand, plunged into the Evil God's maw, grabbed hold of something. Then he yanked it out hard.
Of all the things Luo En had pulled from those parallel possibilities, the most useful by far were experience and knowledge.
Take now, for instance: if these people's power came from that monstrous face on their chest, then ripping the damn thing off would do the trick.
The old Luo En never would've pulled off something that insane, but the current him knew it was the only option.
His body couldn't take another few punches from Drian, and his strength didn't measure up either.
Going straight for the Evil God in Drian's chest was the simplest, most effective play.
But no ordinary person could manage it—your hand would get bitten off the second it went in.
Yet right then, the Evil God's teeth couldn't snap his hand, and the flames pouring out didn't scorch it either. It was like something was shielding that hand.
Drian could only watch as the Evil God was torn right out of his chest, his face twisting in disbelief.
Anyone in the Bicolor Realm with even a scrap of education knew that a believer's power stemmed from the Evil God embedded in their chest.
But knowing that was one thing; removing it was another entirely.
If an Evil God could be excised that easily, no one would've deified the things, and They sure as hell wouldn't rank alongside those grand entities.
Just like the Dragon Race said, people of the Bicolor Realm couldn't inflict real harm on Outer Gods.
Even if you dug the Evil God out of some fanatic's chest, it'd grow right back in the next second.
Killing the host didn't kill the Evil God either—It would keep pulsing strongly on the corpse.
Their very existence was like a stubborn plague; probably only another Outer God's power could wipe Them out.
Groups like the Dragon Race, who didn't borrow from Outer Gods, were helpless against Them at best—they could only kill the hosts.
Of course, the same rules applied to other Outer Gods: They could slaughter Their followers, but never truly die.
No matter what you tried, something always got in the way of finishing off an Outer God.
But Otherworlders were different. They could nick one with a plain old knife.
The principle behind it? Even the Ten Sages hadn't fully cracked that. But if it worked, who cared how?
"Let go! Get your hands off it!" Drian shouted on instinct.
And that face he'd torn free let out a guttural roar too.
He clenched his free fist, aiming to smash Luo En dead with one blow.
But the Luo En who'd been eating punches before now just tilted his head, dodging it clean.
The roar of flames rattled his eardrums, making them ache, but it kept him sharp.
Without the Evil God fueling him, Drian's punch was way weaker—Luo En sidestepped it without breaking a sweat.
Luo En crushed the tumor-like Evil God in his grip, his eyes flat, like he'd seen this a thousand times before.
Drian, now gutted of his Evil God, felt his chest hollow and slick with blood.
Like a parasite burrowed into a fish's tongue, the Evil God devoured the host's organs and took their place.
Drian's heart had been eaten away during the Evil God's growth.
That heartbeat you heard? It came from the Evil God, not the heart.
No one knew if, once even the brain was replaced, the host was still themselves.
Drian's body visibly withered before their eyes, turning into a frail, broken shell in seconds.
Surprisingly, even without a heart, Drian didn't drop dead right away.
He stared at his bony, wasted hands, eyes full of confusion.
He hacked out a few heavy coughs, blood spraying from his lips.
He looked at Luo En—his vision blurry, but his mind clearer than it'd ever been.
"Father...?" The way Drian gazed at the Mayor now was worlds apart from before.
No more of that hunger to devour him alive. In that instant, his eyes brimmed with sorrow and regret.
But Drian's coughs grew fainter. Without the Evil God's power, his weakened body was being eaten alive by the flames.
Hearing Drian call out to him, the Mayor—sprawled in his pool of blood—struggled to lift his eyelids.
In that moment, he finally saw his son as the boy he'd known. But it felt a little too late.
Drian kept his eyes fixed on his father, lying there in the blood. After all these years, he had so much he wanted to say.
He tried to drag himself forward a bit, but after less than half a meter, he stopped. No more movement.
Once the Evil God was gone, Drian's life withered away in a blink.
The crushed Evil God in Luo En's hand stopped pulsing too. The heat it gave off faded fast, blanketed in white frost.
Luo En's hand was covered in burns, blood still dripping slowly from the wounds.
He sank to the ground, wearily eyeing the empty snow between the father and son.
The whole world hung in dead silence, broken only by the faint crackle of fracturing ice—the thawing wasn't over yet.
"Go... Luo En..." After who knows how long, a faint voice rasped from the Mayor's throat.
His words came as slow as ever, testing anyone's patience to listen.
His son had woken up, only to get killed by Luo En right in front of him.
But he held no grudge against Luo En. If anything, it felt like a release.
For the Mayor himself, and for Drian too.
At this point, he didn't even need to question how Luo En had killed an Evil God—just that it had happened, and that was fact.
Back then, to give Drian a strong body, he'd implanted the Evil God in him.
Everything now felt like paying off that debt, except the cost had dragged in countless innocents.
Maybe, this time after running into Luo En, that sudden impulse of his had been a revelation from God.
"Run? Where the hell am I supposed to run to?" Luo En tilted his head back, the sharp crack of breaking ice echoing in his ears.
The Magic Scroll hadn't been torn by his own hand, but it split clean in two all the same—just like the vision in the illusion.
The figure trapped in the Ice Sculpture would revive any moment now. If they were anything like Drian in temperament, he was done for, with nowhere left to flee.
The one sliver of good news? He hadn't been cut down on the spot by the freshly awakened Drian.
"The other spell is actually right here..." The Mayor trailed off, using his bloodied finger to gently smooth the squirrel's fur.
It was a truth he'd never shared with a soul—the one honest thing from a man whose mouth was full of nothing but lies.