Crossing the Vast Ocean

The chapter title is omitted as per instructions.

Morse sat on the tiles atop the clock tower, leaning against the gilded spire that reached into the night sky, his eyes closed.

He could not find answers through inquiry, and he had always opposed acting late after all fallen things had manifested and committed evil.

His morals always refused to let him carelessly obliterate the objects of Chaos's affection when he had the ability to strip away the Chaotic entities themselves; and his patience strictly refused to let him endure the impatience of individuals one by one, scrutinizing mortal hearts, and deciding which form of purification to use on mortals.

So he relied on himself in advance.

Some black cloth strips wound around his fingers quietly loosened, and fierce psychic energy poured out in all directions. The sharp change in entropy brought about a drop in temperature, and the cold carved crystalline frost flowers onto the surface of the tiles.

However, thanks to the precise control of the psychic energy's owner, the frost flowers, with the spire as the center, only spread outward thirteen inches before stopping precisely, forming an extremely standard circle.

If someone at this moment could infinitely magnify the tips of the frost flowers, peering into the smallest structures of the frozen water vapor, they would discover that every bend and curve was part of countless ancient runes.

These countless runes fell like heavy objects, attracting each other like magnets, automatically responding to the call of the psychic energy's owner, as if imprinted from the owner's internal master template, forming a small, circular boat that lifted him above the vast ocean, gazing at a broader, boundless, magnificent void across the bottom of the boat.

Morse opened his eyes. His physical body did not move, but his spirit stood on the surface of the sea of all living beings' vibrant colors.

He seemed to ascend incredibly slowly, yet in the next instant, he was already outside the entire planet of Olympia.

The planet, immensely large compared to a single human, shrank into a round, colorful glass bead within his sight. The planet's surface, originally covered with mountains and rocks, transformed into a surging, vast ocean.

He saw lamps extinguish in the projected depths of the ocean, and then lamps gradually light up in the extremes of darkness and light, blocking the dim tide from rising while embedding scorched cotton wicks within their cores.

Countless souls believed themselves to be active agents, yet their activities were merely carried out by the natural currents.

The endless dark void and the light of reality eroded each other into myriad colorful hues, just like the countless planets scattered randomly like broken strings of pearls in the vast galaxy. The currents churned, coming and going, eternally balancing in competition.

Morse blinked, his vision locked, and layers of superfluous patterns were stripped away from his observation.

Olympia magnified in his perception, becoming a spherical projection similar to a crystal ball used for divination.

His distracting thoughts had all been cleared before he began observing, for he was about to proactively touch the edge of that fallen will, and the desireless were the most difficult-to-swallow thorns for hungry things.

His intent became pure and sharp, cautiously probing into the sea of emotions, searching for those particularly frenzied, changing, turbid, and extreme auras.

Perhaps in the next second, perhaps in the previous second, an extreme sweetness suddenly surged from his tongue, like the thickest honey and the most potent spices, instantly rushing towards his will.

A string of golden runes like knife tips severed the intangible. Morse immediately swam against the current along the edge of this scent and flavor. In the span of a breath, he found himself a thousand miles away in Kardis.

Inside the artificial crystal palace with six empty seats, six high priests were positioned in the east and west. The goddess of life and blessings looked down upon the earth with a merciful golden face, removing human trembling and unease, only holding great compassion and kindness, always accompanied by extreme bliss.

Regardless of whether the church was a purely benevolent local religion before, or truly a tentacle of the Dark Prince, from this moment on, it had been, was, and would always be.

This fishy fragrance was still in the process of gestation, not yet born into the real universe, spreading from Kardis's Sacred Mountain of Origin of the church through the Spring of the Goddess's Birth.

This was the best time to eradicate the pollution.

Morse's black robe billowed in the absence of wind. Cold golden seals manifested from his robes. He did not delay for a single moment, his thoughts following the six empty seats, tracking the whereabouts of the six high priests of the church's branches.

He heard laughter whispering in his ears, male and female voices, old and young children. Their joy was real and true, and its pleasure followed him like a shadow.

However, this trick had never held any appeal for him. The time it took for the curtain to begin swaying in the fierce wind was not as long as the time he had grown accustomed to lying in a rattan chair, basking in the sun.

"Accomplice of the usurper..." a young voice sang softly to him, then suddenly shifted to a sweet and venomous narration, "Why must you take even him away! We can no longer see him, that soul of steel and echo of iron..."

"We remember you, creature of nothingness..." she sobbed softly, "What can you offer for this offspring, to repay the debt of his birth..."

Morse ignored that thing.

The only thing he needed to worry about was controlling his power, lest he tear a hole in the veil of this place before great suffering annihilated the mortal world.

The first high priest was in Kardis. He was conversing happily with the tyrant.

On the sandbox beside them lay a short letter. The paper was as light as gauze and as pale as snow, a level of technology far beyond Kardis's current capabilities; in fact, only one country on Olympia currently possessed such technological prowess.

Morse immediately crushed his soul and sealed the remaining pollution units, which were inconvenient to decompose for the moment, within invisible ice. Disregarding the terrified calls and glances of the Kardis tyrant and those around him, he left.

In the real universe, a crystal gem that transformed into a thousand colors appeared in the center of the hand wrapped in black cloth, yet it inexplicably evoked a sense of filth and panic.

The second high priest was in Axos, delivering an impassioned speech in the military camp. Morse noticed that at least half of the Axos military camp was empty. He killed this person as well.

He already knew the predicament Peturabo would face, but he would only be surprised if that child could not resolve it.

The third high priest was traveling in the desolate wilderness of the mountains. Morse confirmed he was still on a road to an unknown destination, so he killed him.

The fourth high priest had succumbed to the boundless pleasure of the night. Morse killed him.

The location of the fifth high priest almost made Morse laugh. Of course, a religion that constantly invoked reverence for the end times and judgment was undoubtedly strongly related to this black doomsday itself.

He killed the fool who was sending a message to an Olympia satellite via the few remaining communication devices.

As for the satellite itself, the stark contrast between the stability of reality there and the boundless lack of restraint in their actions was laughable.

He did not intend to clash with their anti-psychic legacy derived from dark technology before he was fully prepared, especially since he had other important matters to attend to.

The residual aura of the sixth high priest was exceptionally fragrant, like a dream, dewy, pure, and beautiful. Morse's heart, as still as water, continued its pursuit until he located the person's exact whereabouts.

He opened his eyes, took a quick breath, stored the five gems in his hand into a black cloth bag that appeared out of nowhere, and leaped from the top of the clock tower.

Thanks to the great expert of Dry Lamp Night Talk!orz