Chapter 60: Deity Goddess Prime Devil Divine Path

Chapter 60 - Deity Goddess Prime Devil Divine Path Hmm? That cloud-calligraphy character... was it actually "spectre"? Lordi Payne's face flushed hot, his mind scrambling to work out some kind of bullshit explanation to get his way out of this embarrassment. But before he could even open his mouth, Willow waved his thought off with a dismissive flick of her hand. She tilted her head, her black, hollow eyes stare at him. "Oh, Young sir Lordi Payne," she purred, her voice dripping with a sweetness that sent chills down his spine. "You're so adorable when you're flustered. But let's not waste time on such trivial things, hmm? After all, you've already mastered the Blood Spectre Footwork Art, haven't you? See that branch over there? Go pick a piece and bring it back to me." That's it? That's all? Lordi Payne's eyes narrowed, suspicion prickling at the back of his mind. This couldn't be that simple. This ghostress wasn't exactly the charitable type. Last time, she'd used "checking his Blood Fiend Sword Art" as an excuse to nearly kill him in Lothgar City. If there isn't some restraint limitation method from Fairy Lith, Willow would've sliced him open from head to toe just to see the look on his face. There was no way this task was as straightforward as it seemed. His heart hardened, and he braced himself, activating the Blood Lothgar—no, dammit, the Blood Spectre Footwork Art. In an instant, he appeared beside the branch Willow had pointed out. The branch itself looked unremarkable, just a little withered, but Lordi Payne wasn't about to take any chances. He shrugged off his outer robe and carefully wrapped it around the branch, shielding his hands as he plucked it from the tree. In a flash, he was back in front of Willow, bowing respectfully as he presented the branch to her. "Lady Willow, this is the branch you asked for." Willow didn't take it. Instead, she studied him with a gaze that was equal parts adoration and menace, her haunting but beautiful face a mix of emotions, the pause made Lordi Payne's stomach twist. Finally, she shook her head and murmured, "Impressive!" Lordi Payne's heart pounded in his chest, but before he could respond, the world around him including Lady Willow's figure shattered like broken glass. The gray of the decayed landscape dissolved, and the vibrant colors of the mountain woods rushed back in a flood of life. The rustling of leaves, the chirping of birds, the gentle babble of the streams—everything snapped back into existence, buzzing with vitality. Wait... that's it? I passed? Lordi Payne stood there, stunned, the withered branch still clutched in his hand. He stared at it for a moment, then tossed it aside with a frown. Questions swirled in his mind like a storm, but no answers came. Shaking his head, he turned and left. —— Meanwhile, Willow's slender figure materialized deep within the inner sect, standing before a sight that was both breathtaking and unnerving. Nestled amidst a vast, endless plain of soft pink blossoms was a grand, towering cathedral-style palace. Its imposing structure was a stark contrast to the serene beauty of the surrounding landscape. The palace was a masterpiece of dark architecture, its walls crafted from polished black stone that gleamed like obsidian under the light of the sun. The building loomed like a monolith, its spires piercing the heavens, each one adorned with intricate carvings of twisted, otherworldly figures that seemed to writhe and shift if stared at for too long. The palace was encased in layers upon layers of glowing formation arrays, their intricate patterns shimmering with a faint, ominous light. The arrays pulsed like a heartbeat, their energy radiating a sense of both protection and foreboding. Willow paused at the edge of the pink plain, her gaze fixed on the grand structure. She lowered her head respectfully, her movements fluid and deliberate, and performed a deep, respectful curtsy toward the palace. Her pale hands gathered the edges of her ghostly robes, and she bowed as if in reverence to a living entity. With her show of respect complete, Willow straightened and began her ascent up the grand staircase that led to the palace's entrance. The stairs were wide and imposing, each step inlaid with shimmering gemstones and adorned with small, intricately carved skulls that seemed to watch her every move. The entrance itself was a marvel of dark artistry—a towering archway framed by twisted, gothic columns, their surfaces etched with scenes of deities and demons locked in eternal battle. Willow moved quickly but with precision, her small, delicate steps echoing faintly in the vast space. She passed through the grand entrance and into the cathedral's main hall, a space so vast it seemed to defy comprehension. The hall stretched endlessly in every direction, its hundred-meter-high ceiling a masterpiece of artistry and horror. The ceiling was painted and carved with depictions of fierce, evil deities, their eyes wide and unblinking, their expressions twisted in eternal wrath. At the center of the ceiling hung an enormous chandelier, its structure a tangled web of black iron and glowing pink crystals that cast an eerie, otherworldly light across the room. The hall was set for a grand banquet, though it was eerily empty. Two long tables ran the length of the space, their surfaces covered in luxurious table runners woven from golden thread. The tables were set with gleaming silverware—knives, forks, and plates of polished gold—and crystal cups that sparkled like diamonds. The chairs were crafted from black wood, their frames inlaid with golden patterns that glimmered faintly in the dim light. Along the walls, towering stained-glass windows stretched from floor to ceiling, their panes depicting scenes of both beauty and terror. The sunlight streaming through the windows cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the hall, painting the floor in shifting hues of crimson, violet, and gold. Willow quickened her pace, her ghostly form gliding silently past the long tables. Her footsteps made no sound, but the air seemed to ripple in her wake, as though the very fabric of reality bent to her presence. She reached the far end of the hall, where a faintly glowing formation array was etched into the floor. The array was a complex web of lines and symbols, its design both mesmerizing and unsettling. As Willow stepped onto it, the array activated with a soft hum, its lines glowing with a pale gray mist that swirled around her like a living thing. Quickly, she knelt down, her expression serene. Then, the array's energy surged, and Willow felt herself plummeting into an endless abyss. The world around her dissolved into darkness, the grand hall and its haunting beauty fading away as she was swallowed by the void. "Mistress," Willow murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, trembling with a mix of reverence and fear. She crawled forward on her knees, her movements slow and deliberate, until she was close enough to kowtow deeply, her forehead pressing against the cold, unyielding ground. "This unworthy servant brings news. Lordi Payne has mastered the Blood Spectre Footwork Art... ahead of schedule." The air above her seemed to crackle with tension, and then a voice rang out—cold, imperious, and utterly devoid of mercy. It echoed through the vast hollow space like the toll of a death knell. ""The timeline has not yet come. By what insolence do you dare to move without my decree?" Willow flinched as if struck, her body trembling visibly. She pressed herself even lower, her voice quivering as she spoke. "M-Mistress, this lowly one dared to presume. I... I shortened the half-month deadline to seven days. I only wished to test him, to toy with him a little. I never imagined he would succeed so quickly. Congrats your highness, your divine insight is peerless, your judgment infallible. He is... he is a prodigy, as you foresaw." A cold hmph reverberated through the cosmos-like chamber, sharp and cutting, like the crack of a thunderbolt that split the heavens. In an instant, the atmosphere within the pyramid shifted violently, as though the very fabric of reality had been torn asunder. The walls of the inner tunnel and the vast chamber dissolved into translucency, revealing the chaotic scene outside. The serene night sky was gone, replaced by a swirling maelstrom of bloody red clouds that twisted and churned like a frenzied, ravenous beast. The air grew unbearably heavy, pressing down with an almost physical weight, as if the cosmos itself were collapsing onto Willow's fragile form. The once-slumbering giant gods, their faces serene and divine, now had their eyes wide open—streaked with blood, their gazes filled with madness. They roared silently, their expressions twisted into grotesque masks of hunger and fury, their eyes locked on Willow as if thirsting for her very essence. Willow knelt in the vast, dark cosmos beneath the lotus throne, her ghostly form trembling under the weight of her mistress's wrath. Violet-black blood surged from her lips, spilling down her chin in a grotesque cascade. She didn't dare wipe it away. Instead, she kowtowed hurriedly, her forehead slamming against the translucent ground with a dull thud that echoed faintly in the void. "Thank you, Mistress, for your kind punishment," she choked out, her voice trembling but obedient, each word forced through the suffocating pressure. "This lowly servant will remember it." "Say it again," Fairy Lith's voice commanded, icy and indifferent, echoing from every corner of the chamber, as though the cosmos itself were speaking. "And look at me." Willow's body shook violently as she forced herself to lift her head. Her hollow black eyes, usually devoid of emotion, were now filled with raw, unbridled terror. Before her, Fairy Lith sat upon a fiend-carved lotus throne, her presence both breathtaking and utterly terrifying. She was clad in a dark lace gown that clung to her figure like a second skin, accentuating her curves with an otherworldly elegance that defied mortal comprehension. Her legs were crossed, revealing the delicate lines of her long legs encased in black lace pantyhose, the fabric shimmering faintly under the eerie light. Her feet were adorned with delicate black high heels that glowed with a soft, ethereal pink light, as though they were crafted from the essence of stars. Her face was a masterpiece of icy beauty—flawless, emotionless, and utterly divine, like a statue carved from the purest jade. The aura around her swirled like a living entity, dozens of towering, vicious pythons of divine wrath, coiled and ready to strike at any moment. Her eyes were closed, her expression serene, as though she were in deep meditation—a goddess of both purity and destruction, a paradox of beauty and terror. Willow's gaze met her mistress's face, and as she did, a flood of violet-black blood poured from her eyes, her mouth, her ears, and her nose, as though her very essence were being forcibly expelled. Her voice quivered with dread as she forced the words out, each syllable dripping with fear and submission. "Thank you, Mistress, for your kind punishment. Willow will remember it. This... this useless servant will never defy your orders again!" Fairy Lith's eyes snapped open, and in that moment, an overwhelming icy gravity crashed down upon Willow like a frozen star collapsing. Her ghostly limbs twisted and shattered, crushed against the translucent ground at impossible angles. Her soul and remaining body mist writhed in panic and agony, every fiber of her being screaming under the unbearable pressure. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't even cry out. The crushing force twisted her body from all directions, causing her to bleed from every pore, yet she dared not make a sound. The pain was unimaginable, a torment that transcended the physical and seared her very essence, leaving her broken and utterly submissive. After what felt like an eternity, Fairy Lith finally spoke, her voice as calm and indifferent as ever, cutting through the silence like a blade. "Step down." The pressure lifted instantly, the surrounding scene snapping back to its eerie normalcy. Willow gasped, her broken form recovering to its ghostly state, though her spirit remained shattered. She shuddered as she struggled to regain her composure, her body trembling like a leaf in a storm. "Aye!" Willow managed to whisper, her voice barely audible, a mere breath in the vastness of the chamber. She exhaled deeply, her body trembling as she retreated meekly, her head bowed low, her spirit utterly crushed. She moved slowly, carefully, as though any sudden motion might provoke her mistress's wrath once more. Outside, the bloody clouds had returned to a semblance of peace, the giant gods closing their blood-streaked eyes as if lulled back into slumber. But Willow dared not look at them. Her focus was singular: retreat, obey, survive—each step a testament to her absolute submission. Outside the array realm, Joanie was waiting anxiously, her ghostly form flickering with unease. When Willow emerged, Joanie breathed a sigh of relief and quickly pulled her to a secluded corner. "I told you," Joanie hissed, her voice a mix of exasperation and concern. "Mistress usually dislikes sect chores, but what she hates most is when we act on our own ideas! You're lucky her highness didn't shred your soul imprint. If it were broken, your soul would be scattered forever!" Willow's already-pale face turned even more lifeless, her hollow black eyes flickering with a faint glimmer of dread. She nodded slightly, her voice barely a whisper. "I... I get it." "And lay off Lordi Payne," Joanie pressed, her tone firm but not unkind. Seeing Willow's subdued demeanor, she continued, "Don't bother him again in the future. Think about it—the Blood Fiend Sword Art is a technique that can only be practiced by cultivators at least at the Foundation Stage. In the entire history of the Abyss Pit Sect, countless disciples have tried, but only one, a hundred years ago, managed to master it at the Qi Refinement Stage. And now? That disciple is a powerful figure in the Holy Sect." She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. "Based on that alone, as long as Lordi Payne doesn't die midway, his future achievements will be anything but ordinary. And now, he's mastered the Blood Spectre Footwork Art too!" At the mention of the footwork art, Joanie's expression grew serious, her ghostly form flickering with intensity. "The Blood Spectre Footwork Art is one of the prerequisites for the Five Spectres Heaven Hell Evasion Footwork, the Holy Sect's signature Divine Footwork. It requires immense talent. Even among the inner sect, only a handful have mastered it. Lordi Payne is only at the fourth layer of the Qi Refinement Stage, yet he not only mastered it but did so in just seven days. That's not just talent—that's freakish genius. He's proven his value. Do you really think Mistress would let you disrespect him or mess with him again?" Willow's shoulders slumped, her defiance crumbling under the weight of Joanie's logic. "How was I supposed to know Mistress actually wanted to cultivate him?" she mumbled, her voice tinged with defeat. "Such a lowlife, filthy figure like that... he dared to defile Mistress, made her suffer such a loss—I thought she'd never let it slide." Joanie sneered, her ghostly eyes narrowing with disdain. "Our Mistress's strategic depth spans horizons beyond our humble comprehension," she retorted, her voice dripping with frost. "How dare magpies presume to measure the eagle's flight?" She glanced at the formation array that led to Fairy Lith's cultivation cosmos, her voice dropping to a hushed, almost reverent tone. "Originally, with Mistress's unparalleled aptitude and indomitable grit, the Saintess seat of the Holy Sect was hers for the taking. But after losing her primal virgin chastity, continuing to cultivate the Deity Goddess Prime Devil Divine Path has become a perilous endeavor. The backlash is inevitable. That's why she hurriedly returned to the sect and secluded herself immediately. She's walking a razor's edge now." Joanie continued, her voice low and urgent. "Lordi Payne's specialness is obvious. Even though you and I were detained in the Doom Soul Eater Chime at the time, we should have sensed it. Kinson Wexford, a mid-phase Foundation Stage cultivator, couldn't even get near the lodge in Payne Manor's guest courtyard. Yet Lordi Payne was completely unaffected. This person either harbors a profound secret or possesses a soul of extraordinary nature." She paused, her ghostly form shimmering with intensity. "In short, killing him would only be a temporary vent for your frustration—pointless and shortsighted. It's far better to cultivate him now. When his cultivation reaches greater heights in the future, whether we devour his soul to nourish our spirit essence or craft his flesh into a battle golem puppet, he will be an excellent material." Joanie's expression darkened as she added, "Besides, that witch Fairy Chou has been probing relentlessly these days. Even Kinson Wexford was beaten. No matter how incompetent Wexford might be, Fairy Chou is clearly sending an insult by slapping Mistress's dog. If Miu Tyanh didn't have Fairy Chou's backing, do you think he would dare to openly assault Withered Orchid Villa and beat Wexford in public? Not even if his entire clan were slaughtered!" A fierce venom flashed in Willow's eyes, her ghostly form flickering with barely restrained rage. "Miu Tyanh, that piece of trash. Let me—" "No," Joanie cut her off sharply, shaking her head. Her voice was firm, brooking no argument. "This is a matter among inner sect disciples. Without Mistress's explicit instruction, we are not allowed to interfere. Doing so would only leave room for criticism and drag Mistress into an even more vulnerable position." She sighed, her tone softening as she continued, "The Deity Goddess Prime Devil Divine Path is the most outstanding divine art of the Holy Sect. Its only flaw is that the cultivator must remain chaste until mastery. Otherwise, not only will their cultivation fail to progress, but it may even regress, risking a demon-fire meltdown that could consume their entire foundation. Mistress has been in seclusion for so many days since her return. Who knows how she's faring now?" Joanie's gaze hardened as she turned back to Willow, her voice laced with warning. "No more tricks or games with Lordi Payne. With his talent and Mistress's favor, he will undoubtedly rise in the near future. By then, he might even outshine us in Mistress's eyes." —— Unbeknownst to the two Phantom Maids at this moment, beneath the transmission array, deep within the pyramid of the cultivation cosmos, Fairy Lith sat in serene, otherworldly majesty. She floated an inch above her fiend-carved lotus throne, her form radiating an aura of unparalleled beauty and power. Clad in a delicate black gown that seemed woven from the very essence of night, the long lace sleeves and hemline of her dress floated gently with each breath she took, as though the fabric itself were alive and attuned to her rhythm. Her presence was breathtaking, a perfect blend of elegance and dominance, her every feature a masterpiece of divine craftsmanship. Her skin was like polished jade, flawless and luminous, while her long, silken hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of midnight, shimmering faintly with an ethereal glow. As she finished her cultivation cycle, a dark purple light flashed within those mesmerizing eyes, and an overwhelming aura erupted from her, shaking the very fabric of the cultivation cosmos. The sky above burned with blue flames, and countless giant gods—beings of unimaginable power— kneeling in silent submission, their faces contorted in mute screams of reverence and fear. The entire cosmos seemed to bow to her presence, the air itself trembling under the weight of her might. Standing at the core of this maelstrom of power, Fairy Lith's delicate brow furrowed ever so slightly, a gesture that only added to her breathtaking beauty. Despite the overwhelming energy surging around her, she remained utterly untouched, her composure unshaken, her form unscathed. She was the embodiment of invincibility, a goddess who commanded both awe and terror. For many days, she had been pondering a strange and troubling situation. Now, as her long, shiny eyelashes drooped slightly, she seemed lost in thought, her crimson lips parting gently as she uttered four words, each one carrying the weight of destiny: "Six Desires Secret Tomes." After a brief pause, her voice echoed like a divine decree, resonating not just in the cosmos but in the minds of all her Phantom Maids. "Send someone to the Outer Sect," she commanded, her tone calm yet inexorable, "and keep an eye on Lordi Payne."