Squeak!
Without breaking stride, Fu Qian closed the door behind him and even took a moment to straighten his cloak.
The face lying asleep on the bed was naturally all too familiar. He had even seen it in the mirror just two days ago.
His Holiness, Pope Nirgalia. Getting an audience with her really wasn't easy.
He hadn't even had time to go back and change.
Though he'd designed his cloak himself, it was far too riddled with holes to conceal the mangled flesh beneath.
The strain from Mythical Form was already taking its toll.
The wounds beneath his hazy saw hadn't fully healed to begin with. Now their recovery had nearly stopped, and in some places, it had even gone into reverse.
In practical terms, the wounds seemed almost alive, creeping outward in every direction.
It would probably take a little while to recover.
The reason he hadn't spent that time making his audience more dignified was simple: the Pope on the bed seemed to have sensed him the moment he opened the door.
More specifically, the faintest hint of breathing appeared, and her body even stirred slightly with it.
Without any believers, the grand hall seemed even more solemn.
By the time Fu Qian had made his unimpeded way to the seat, the Witch, who seemed to be the source of the dim light that filled the whole world, was already waking from her deep slumber.
She took a long breath, then slowly opened her eyes, captivating all who beheld them.
Fu Qian said nothing, but a smile still blossomed across that pale, alluring face.
The next moment, she didn't lower her arms or sit up straight. Instead, the ornate sleeve of her robe rose as she leisurely reached out her left hand.
In a strange synchrony,