Endless light rapidly magnified in Bologue’s eyes, and he saw the blazing white storm. On each stream of air were countless souls being tugged and whirled around, billions of souls circled the storm, endlessly orbiting the Daylight Core.
Now Bologue too joined this revelry, entwined and drawn towards the Daylight Core. Soul after soul brushed past Bologue, until one crashed into him head-on.
Two souls entwined and separated, in that fleeting mont of contact, just like the Poetic dreams Bologue experienced when he ascended as a Prayer Believer, those strange dreams descended once again.
In the blink of an eye, Bologue had already lived another’s life, but this ti, before he could calm down and realign his will, he was dragged forward by the tangled pull.
Souls like torrential rain battered Bologue’s body, and with them ca vastly different mories, male and female, thrilling and disappointing, several lives connected, forming mories lasting thousands of years.
Bologue’s self-consciousness began to dissolve in this long yet brief ti, he nearly lost himself, rging into this storm of madness, but Bologue still defended his own will.
In extre tornt, as if triggering so sort of psychological defense, most of the mories beca dreamlike, appearing suddenly and vanishing quickly.
From the real passage of ti in the Ether, it took Bologue a few dozen seconds to fall towards the storm’s Daylight Core, but from Bologue’s self-perception, it felt like an extrely long ti, and during it, most mories evaporated.
This feeling was awful, like soone rudely shoving tons of things into your head, only to empty it again.
Bologue gasped painfully, realizing being too close to the Secret Source wasn’t a good thing, he tried to sever the entanglent, but no matter how he tore, the taut threads remained tightly binding him.
Is this the end for all souls?
Swallowed by the Secret Source?
Bologue couldn’t understand, this damned place had too many incomprehensible things, he recalled the great discoveries in human history, the first ones to climb mountains and overlook the land, the first to traverse oceans, the first to discover the Secret Source and create the Alchemy Matrix.
And...
The first ones to forge a Blade and slit another’s throat.
Now Bologue felt he too took a "first step", the world’s gaze focused on him, a mont of realization, followed by unease and dread.
Under the pull of the entanglent, Bologue could only march towards the Daylight Core, until he was completely engulfed by the blazing white light.
The shadows emitted unsettling and restless sounds, their forms twisting, void-like shadows seed to gain corporeality, writhing violently like murky water, until at so point it broke its surface tension, and the shadow completely collapsed, pouring down like thousands of tons of sticky tar.
Like countless black poisonous insects crawling the Icefield, or a swelling sea of tar, they surrounded the blazing white storm, in the churning tar, they coalesced into grotesquely distorted figures, beco a grotesque army.
Bologue’s emotions gradually numbed, nothing bizarre to co would surprise him now.
The dreadful nightmare wasn’t over yet.
Countless umbilical cords shot out from the boiling tar, raining down like a storm, piercing through the souls encircling the storm.
These myriad umbilical cords stretched out like arms, their goal was clear.
Bologue’s numbed heart tensed again, if forced to choose a way to die, he would rather be burnt to ashes by the blazing white storm, by the Secret Source, than to plunge into the foul tar.
The fire that lit the darkness erupted.
The blazing white storm rapidly expanded, waves of flas swept over the tar, lifting seas of white fire, as shadows and the blazing white storm clashed on the Icefield, representing projections of different forces.
It was a battle Bologue had never seen, like thunder battling hurricane, wildfire confronting flood, light and dark intertwining, a chaotic phenonon moving from disorder towards law, arcs and light trails blossod ceaselessly.
This collision of powers beyond comprehension, pure, straightforward, taphorical, like a magnificent ga of teorological chaos.
Bologue vaguely sensed, whether shadows or the blazing white storm, they were both unconscious, pure forces.
"No... why is it like this?"
Bologue couldn’t understand, if the projection of the Secret Source behind him, the blazing white storm, was unconscious, Bologue wouldn’t be surprised, after all, human understanding of the Secret Source is extrely limited.
But the shadows, the Devil’s projections, why were they like this?
Without any consciousness, like a herd of beasts acting purely on instinct, uncontrollable, wantonly expanding power.
"Maybe, this is the essence of the Devil?"
Bologue suddenly thought, murmuring to himself.
"The Devils are rely slaves of power, and what lies in the Ether is the essence of their power?"
The more Bologue thought about it, the more terrified he beca, like thunder striking his body, piercing every nerve, Bologue trembled uncontrollably, overly excited and nervous.
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