The police officers stared in disbelief at the black thorns before them, unable for a mont to understand where these things had sprung from. They appeared without any warning, and one couldn't even sense the usual fluctuations of Originium Arts. For a ti, no one dared to move a muscle. After all, no one knew if the controller of these thorns was a friend or an enemy. Since these iron thorns could pierce through a crowd of walking-dead Infected, piercing through them would be just as effortless.
"What are you standing around for? Retreat according to orders! If they had any intention of harming you, they would have had plenty of chances to move by now."
Swire looked at the wary officers and urged them to leave quickly. She didn't know what thod Ch'en had to eliminate all the walking dead on-site at once, but she imagined it must be an extrely dangerous existence. If they delayed any longer, she didn't know if these officers would still have a chance to leave this place safely.
However, the LGD's withdrawal sent a cold sweat through the backs of the Rat King's subordinates in the rear. What was going on? Why were the LGD people retreating? Could it be they had discovered them in the shadows and were preparing to let them fight these monsters alone? Seeing this, many of them felt an imdiate impulse to retreat as well.
"No one is allowed to run. If anyone is found deserting, the gang will settle the scores after the battle is over!"
Behind them, Lin Yuxia spoke with a face as cold as frost. Beside her stood several mbers of the personal guard urgently dispatched by Wei Yenwu to witness the situation firsthand so the Governor could be prepared. Looking at Lin Yuxia's expression, she seed pleased to be able to command Director Wei's guards and receive his assignnts. To her, it ant he recognized her.
Not far away, the Rat King, quietly watching his daughter, couldn't help but sigh at the sight. He was currently in a very well-hidden spot, aided by a Savra subordinate's Originium Art that made it impossible for others to find them. Otherwise, how could this group of n honestly listen to his daughter?
Thus, because of the LGD's withdrawal, many figures hidden in the dark began to grow restless. But unlike the ripples stirred by a small stone outside, the few people at the center of the storm were relatively calm. At this mont, they were within a three-ter radius centered on Jeanne. This area was lined with walls of black thorns, blocking the creatures outside.
But beyond that, the walking dead outside had beco remarkably quiet, completely devoid of their previous uncontrollable madness. Jeanne stood in the center holding her black flag; even in this windless place, the dragon banner danced in the air. She kept her eyes shut tight, sensing sothing unknown. Around her, a black, gaseous substance gradually began to manifest. No one knew what it was, as it had no physical form and couldn't be touched—it was like an effect of light and shadow.
But as these black currents surged into the dragon flag, Jeanne's temperant underwent a world-shaking change. Beside her, the others felt a sensation like "thorns at their backs." The Jeanne standing behind them was radiating a deeply unsettling aura. This kind of aura was all too familiar to soone like Gin: it was a mixture of hatred, resentnt, and anger—a temperant usually only shown by the most deranged of madn. In this state, one could hardly even be called human. They had been reborn as ghosts of vengeance, willing to burn the world to ash, demons who would pay any price to strike back at their enemies!
Why? Why did he sense these emotions from this person? Could it be she had experienced so soul-crushing betrayal? Wasn't she a Saint of Laterano? Gin looked at the oblivious Lemuen beside him and realized he had still underestimated this Saint, even though he had imagined quite boldly.
"The fury that entwines you shall beco the sinful flas that cleanse the earth." "I have heard the anger; hatred shall finally beco the death knell of destiny."
Following Jeanne's murmurs, the surrounding walking dead beca exceptionally quiet. They no longer attacked frantically but stood dazed in place, looking up at the sky as if seeing sothing. At this mont, these fleshly bodies—which held only a sliver of connection to their souls—seed to briefly regain their reason under the resonance of Jeanne's mana.
Ch'en looked at a corpse not far away that should have had no life left—it was her forr subordinate. He seed to look up at her just now. Looking into his eyes, she even felt the hidden thoughts within.
"Sorry, Ch'en-sir. In the end, I didn't make it in ti to give the intel to you..."
Perhaps it was her hallucination. How could a person who had already died convey emotion through a corpse? At this mont, all the walking dead in the area reacted. The Originium within them, which contained their emotions and souls, began to resonate with each other.
"All the rage and hatred within this! Gather here! The mont of vengeance has arrived; let the world cheer for our loathing!"
Suddenly, Jeanne raised her flag and swung it in the air, shouting loudly. Her eyes flashed with a light of anger and hatred, while her mouth twisted into a savage smile. Following her words, the Originium fluctuations in the space began to resonate. The three of them watched the scene in shock, feeling as if they were dreaming. To make the Originium within so many Infected of different races and no blood relation resonate was a miracle that could only belong to a god!
Gradually, they vaguely slled sothing like sulfur, and waves of heat began to surge within the space.
"This is the never-ending roar of souls, refined by our spirits!" Jeanne's voice grew louder until she was almost screaming it out, as if the soaring fury within her body would not cease. Simultaneously, the mana she had accumulated for so long poured out like a flood. She was like a volcano about to erupt.
"Roar, my wrath!"
As her voice fell, towering flas ignited all around. Just like the fire Jeanne lit during combat, these were flas gathered from malice, hatred, and anger. Not just in the underground chamber—under the effect of the resonance that connected to the surface, the Originium crystals on every walking-dead Infected exploded at this mont, turning into flas of vengeance.
The fire swept through the luxurious Rhine Gold building, the expensive lawns, and the nurous luxury cars parked in the garage. This opulent company was turned into a sea of fire in an instant. The flas that lit the building did not stop; they climbed unscientifically toward the sky. These were the souls of Infected who had suffered in the Rhine Gold labs; this was the fla stored deep in their hearts that could never be extinguished.
If left unconstrained, if this fire were allowed to ignite the years of anger accumulated in the slums, Lungn would likely turn into the most beautiful firework on the border. This was the cri committed by Rhine Gold—the Infected who once lived difficult lives on this land. The fury they had stored for years finally manifested as the light of anger before the world.
That fury turned into a giant cross, climbing over a hundred ters high. It showed no sign of falling, as if it wanted to climb all the way to the heavens. At this mont, everyone nearby turned their gaze here, watching the figure of that fla roaring angrily in the sky. Whether they were Infected or not, anyone who saw this scene felt their soul tremble. It was a fear originating from the depths of the soul—a fear of a vengeful ghost. It was the unwillingness from the hearts of the Infected and the anger from the hearts of the experintal subjects.
On the ground, the walking dead gradually dissolved in the fire, their long-ravaged bodies becoming the kindling to climb even higher.
"Is this... the 'counterasure' the Pink Sausage Dragon spoke of?" Swire murmured to herself as she watched the inextinguishable fire.
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