Iver closed his eyes and gently touched the black pattern on the back of his right hand with his soul's tendrils, savoring the power that came from the contract.
As a priest who possessed Advanced Divine Arts, Iver was already very familiar with the matter of "another's power and will entering his own body."
If the Candleholder's power was accompanied by spices, smoke, and warm flames, and the Lord of Scales and Feathers' power was a viscous, sweet darkness like syrup... then the Abyss Angel's power brought to mind a gigantic octopus.
Cold, damp, and slippery, accompanied by a faint fishy smell, with tiny suckers wherever it came into contact with the soul.
If he stayed in contact with it for too long, he would feel as if he were being tightly wrapped in tentacles. And the longer the contact lasted, the stronger the sensation of constriction and dampness became.
But when Iver withdrew his spiritual perception, the illusion quickly faded. It was like waking from a dream, with everything in the dream rapidly dissipating.
This proved that the Abyss Angel was not actually paying attention to Iver, nor had it noticed that someone else had taken over the contract.
While Iver was standing there with his eyes closed, Sherlock and Ligeia also came over. Following obediently and silently behind them were the demons transformed from the three ritualists.
Sherlock and the others had seen from a distance the other people, still petrified in their cheerful poses, as well as the fat Good Lord who had died with his face twisted in agony.
A look of terror appeared on his face. His entire body had twisted and struggled desperately, his hands clenched tightly. His neck was arched back as far as it could go, his face purple, his expression horribly