Twenty-Five Pillar-level Evil Gods Attack, Prehistoric World: Ah Haihai, I'm Running Away

The deepest reaches of the Lost Divine Court.

The darkness here was as thick as the crude oil beloved by mold; even light could not pierce it.

The space here was twisted and folded, as if something had torn at it from the inside countless times, leaving behind rift after rift that would never heal.

Within the rifts, something was writhing.

Bang—

Bang—

Bang—

Along with several heavy impacts, the infinitely folded spatial fissure was torn open from within by a huge hand of flesh and blood.

Looking closely, it was a huge hand of flesh and blood formed from countless strands of gray-white meat tangled and twisted together.

The spatial fissure shattered, revealing the existence within.

It was a door.

But it was not cast from stone, nor forged from metal. It was made of countless gray-white tentacles tangled together, and the surface of every tentacle was covered with densely packed eyeballs. Some were open, some were closed, some were half-open and half-shut, their pupils turning in different directions.

It was the full display of the bizarre and chaotic.

It was also a blessing for lovers of density.

And around this twisted giant door, pieces of broken stone were scattered.

Clearly, this too was a Pillar-level Deity that had just revived from a divine statue.

"Gatanothor!"

The twisted giant door let out a low, strange voice. It was not language, but babbling that poured directly into the depths of the consciousness—chaotic, mad, irresistible.

It was calling the name of the Thirteenth Pillar God, Gatanothor.

Corrosive black mist surged.

Gatanothor's illusory figure appeared.

"Lord Gate."

Even though they were both among the thirty-six Pillar-level Deities beneath the Ancestor God's throne, Gatanothor was incomparably respectful and courteous when facing this twisted giant door.

Just as Zoga was toward him.

For no