DING—
After a cold, eerie chime, the brown music box on the glass bar, studded with obsidian and bone beads, slowly opened its lid.
CREAK! CLICK!
Once the lid jerked open, a beautifully crafted but featureless, hollow little ballet dancer appeared inside, mechanically rotating with rhythmic CLICK-CLICK-CLICK sounds.
Accompanying the dancer's mechanical spinning, a haunting, deathly chill of a melody suddenly drifted from the box.
TING-TING~ TING~ TING~ TING~ TING~ TING-TING~
The volume was not high, yet the dozens of men sitting throughout the bar felt their entire bodies grow cold.
"This sound... it feels really creepy," Leder, the talkative tattooed man, couldn't help but shiver. "It feels like souls weeping."
"Idiot," the Boss sneered dismissively. "That's the sound of water harps. Haven't you seen horror movies? They use this kind of background music all the time, which is why it feels creepy."
"Huh? Water harps?" Leder was stunned. "How do you know that, Pops?"
"Hey, I was in the music scene when I was young, so I know a thing or two about instruments," the old man grinned proudly. "In fact, I even released two Rap albums."
"What?" Leder's eyes nearly bugged out. "Pops, you're that hardcore?!"
The other men looked at each other in speechless admiration. They had never imagined their rough, fierce leader had a past in the music industry.
In American ghettos, Black youth typically have only three paths: basketball, rap, or gangs. Usually, those lucky enough to succeed in the first two wouldn't choose the third. But talent isn't universal; most remain ordinary. They hadn't expected their Boss to have such talent.
"Pops, you're a legend!"
"Haha, Pops, which albums did you release?"
"Cold... it's so... so cold!"
A sudden, sharp drop in temperature caused Leder to curl up on the sofa, shivering so violently his teeth chattered loudly. The other men fared no better, clutching their arms and exhaling frost as they cried out in shock.
"Ah!"
The Boss suddenly cried out in pain and flung the music box away. The others, nearly frozen into silence, turned to their leader only to see his right hand, the one that had held the box, now covered in dense, bone-deep gashes. It was as if the flesh were being brutally peeled from his bones.
"Motherfucker!"
His eyes bulged, a surge of rage hitting his forehead. He drew a Tokarev pistol with his healthy hand and fired three shots at the music box lying on the floor.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The shots echoed throughout the empty bar. Those three cracks were like a series of knocks on the Gates of Hell, summoning a terrifying power.
SWOOSH
The music box blurred and distorted, expanding into a massive iron gate that reached the bar's ceiling, studded with countless despairing faces.
CLACK!
The gate swung open. From within the thick gray mists, a heavy iron chain bristling with jagged, twisted spikes shot out. It tore through the air, crossing ten thousand meters in an instant to wrap tightly around the old man's throat.
The onlookers were stunned. What was happening? Were the Gates of Hell opening?!
"Aaargh!"
The spikes on the heavy chain tore into his flesh, blood spraying as the links tightened. Starved of oxygen and overwhelmed by pain, the Boss fell to his knees, his eyes rolling back.
If one could see inside his body, they would find a horrifying transformation. Under a mysterious influence, a dense layer of needle-like bone spurs was rapidly growing from every inch of his skeleton.
These spurs sliced through capillaries, pierced his flesh, and stabbed into his organs, delivering an agonizing pain so intense he wished for death. But the chain held him fast, leaving him helpless, able only to let out broken, gasped screams.
"Pops!!"
Leder, being the closest, didn't hesitate. He roared and raised a Scorpion submachine gun, teeth gritted as he opened fire on the chain and the iron gate.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!!
The other men followed suit, drawing their weapons and firing furiously at the sudden apparition and the mysterious portal.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!!
CLANG! CLANG!
The intense firepower, enough to tear a human body apart, had no effect on the iron chains or the gate. Aside from creating a few sparks, the bullets did nothing.
RATTLE-RAT-CLANK!
The chain suddenly recoiled, ruthlessly dragging the old Boss toward the iron gate.
"Mmph! Mmph!"
His legs kicked frantically, his dark face turning a deep crimson as if his blood were about to explode out of him. His eyes, fixed on the gate behind him, were filled with thick despair and terror—despair at the current agony, and terror of the unknown beyond the portal.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!!
The hail of bullets continued unabated. As the Boss was dragged before the massive iron gate, a heavy, blunt sledgehammer suddenly emerged from the gray mist within.
Under the horrified gazes of the dozens of men, the massive hammer swung down with crushing force onto the Boss's face, already contorted in despair and pain.
THUD!!
A deafening roar.
Blood sprayed everywhere.
The old man's head was physically driven into his own chest, leaving only half of his blackened, caved-in face visible. His blood-soaked body remained upright on the floor, appearing shorter than before.
Miraculously, he didn't die instantly. One bloodshot eye, nearly bursting from its socket, stared with a hollow, vacant, and despairing gaze at the spinning neon lights on the ceiling.
Only after a final, silent whimper of agony did he slowly pass away.
This was the art of torment from the Hell of Pain. Even a hundred-percent fatal strike would miraculously keep the victim alive for a few moments longer, forcing the body to experience the ultimate terror of pain.
"Pops is dead?!"
Leder, witnessing his leader's horrific end, finally woke from his stupor. The fury that had filled his mind dissolved, replaced by pure, unadulterated terror—a crushing fear of the supernatural power radiating from the iron gate.
Without a word, he turned and sprinted toward the bar's exit. The dozens of other men, gripped by desperate fear, followed suit, fleeing the slaughterhouse.
At that moment, the iron gate born from the music box suddenly erupted with hundreds of rusted, heavy steel drills. Like the spikes of a sea urchin, they shot out to fill every inch of the bar.
SWOOSH
The hundreds of steel drills fired so fast they created visible airbursts. In the next instant, every man in the bar, including Leder who was closest to the exit, was impaled. Sharp steel bored through their bodies, pinning them firmly against the walls.
Suddenly, aside from the "fortunate" few who died instantly, the remaining survivors found themselves in a hell of impalement. The room was filled with frantic weeping, howls, and agonizing screams.
"Aaargh! My stomach!"
"Whimper... it hurts so much! It hurts!"
"Help! Someone help me! Please!"
"My leg! My arm! Aaargh!"
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! The pain is killing me!"
"God, I beg you, save me! Please!"
Just then, a tall, cold figure slowly emerged from the thick gray mists within the iron gate.
WHOOSH
The mist parted, revealing the figure: a pale-faced young girl with an eerie aura. This was Seraphine's human form.
Walking lightly out of the Hell Gate, Seraphine tilted her ear toward the sobbing voice that was repeatedly calling out for "God." She smiled and walked toward the sound.
TAP... TAP... TAP...
After the crisp sound of leather shoes treading through puddles of blood, Seraphine reached her destination and slightly tilted her head. She looked at the stout Black man before her, pinned to the wall by five steel drills piercing his left shoulder, right chest, abdomen, waist, and left leg. She smiled gently and asked:
"How does it feel?"
The man, his consciousness fading, looked at Seraphine and whispered in pain: "God... Lord... save me..."
"God?" Seraphine tilted her head. "I'm afraid not."
With that, she turned away, ignoring the desolate screams and weeping, and walked toward the bar's exit with a smile. Behind her, the iron gate slowly blurred and dissipated, once again condensing into the music box, which fell softly to the floor, awaiting its next curious victim.
CLICK
Gently pushing open the glass door and stepping onto the asphalt road, Seraphine looked leisurely toward the distant Statue of Liberty, shrouded in light. She laughed. "What a coincidence, to end up in another America. But the Ether activity here... is a bit low."
Indeed. Upon stepping through the Hell Gate into this human realm, she immediately sensed that the Ether environment here was extremely poor.
While not a Non-Ether Ash Zone entirely devoid of activity, it was still slightly worse than Earth before its first Ether recovery.
"Superpower users might exist, but their numbers will be very few, and their strength won't be high. In terms of martial arts and combat, Roaring Vitalis is likely the absolute ceiling."
Seraphine slowly shook her head. "Truly a lackluster world, but... it's not entirely without value."
Sensing the thick, nearly boiling negative emotions surging between the heavens and the earth, filled with Resentment and Hatred, she clapped her hands and smiled.
"The mortal realm is full of suffering, like a prison. Though these Wrath and Hatred emotions aren't much to an Ancient Myth like me, a single mortal realm's worth is nothing, but ten million mortal realms... that becomes substantial.
Once I find the Hell of Rage and Hell of Nightmare, I'll take control of all these millions of mortal realms. Hmm, and I should find traces of the Fantasy clan; their ability to freely convert information and matter is worth studying."
Just then, a harsh shout came from an alley to her left:
"Hands up! Get on the ground!"
Seraphine turned her head and saw a stout, middle-aged White police officer, gripping his gun with cautious tension and aiming it straight at her.
"Ooh, ooh."
Seraphine laughed. "What quick speed, Sir."
"...Kevin, what's the situation?"
The officer kept his eyes locked on Seraphine, tilting his head to speak into the radio on his shoulder. "I'm attempting to control a suspect. I suspect she is carrying heavy weaponry; best to play it safe."
"A suspect?" Seraphine blinked curiously. "What crime have I committed?"
"PANT... PANT..."
The officer huffed twice, glaring at her. "Do you have any idea how many community complaints we just received? That's Bat Gang territory behind you. There were so many gunshots; what is this, Afghanistan?!
"Those gunshots were followed by so many screams, and yet you're the only one who walked out unscathed. Whatever happened in there, you're definitely involved!"
He raised his gun again and shouted: "Don't make me repeat myself! Now! Immediately! Hands up! On the ground!"
"Why so serious?"
Seraphine laughed and waved her right hand. "Look, you have a gun, and I don't. So what are you afraid of?"
"Wait, what?!"
The officer noticed her clenched left hand and barked: "What's in your left hand? Open it!"
"Ah ~"
Seraphine raised her left fist, looked at it, and smiled. "Just a little something. If you want to see, then see."
She opened her palm, and a dozen brass bullets clattered to the ground.
"What?"
The stout officer was stunned, clearly unable to process what was happening.
"Don't you feel your gun is lighter?" Seraphine prompted with a smile.
"You?!" The officer quickly checked his magazine, only to find it completely empty. He gasped, "You... you made the bullets vanish... how did you do that?!"
"That's not important."
Seraphine stroked her sleeve with a mocking laugh. "Look again—what's at your feet?"
The stout officer instinctively looked down.
A mass of greyish-white brain matter was lying on the wet pavement between his feet.
A human brain!
"Aaargh..."
In an instant, the officer's eyes rolled back. He collapsed, his body convulsing as he fell face-first onto the ground—right onto the brain, crushing it into a mess of protein pulp.
With total indifference, Seraphine stepped over the officer's body and strolled onto the main street, looking up at the pale moon hanging in the silent night sky. It was a rare full moon, as smooth and flawless as a white jade plate.
Yet its beauty didn't stir even a ripple in her mind. To Seraphine, this aesthetic charm meant nothing; even as a mere clone, her perception far surpassed human limitations.
With a casual glance, she could pierce through Earth's thick atmosphere and the 380,000 kilometers of space to clearly see every dark lunar sea and impact crater on the moon's surface.
Seraphine was simply too powerful.
Even this clone's strength transcended the boundaries of beauty and ugliness, reaching straight into the essence of reality. What she found "beautiful" now were the intricacies of space-time and the universe, not simple arrangements of matter.
"Let's see just how many transcendent beings inhabit this world."
After a brief glance at the moon, Seraphine unleashed her powerful mental power, sweeping across the globe at an incredible speed.
WHOOSH—
An invisible tide erupted from her, surging in every direction. It crushed through the vast skies and the boundless earth, traversing mountain ranges and heaving oceans, enveloping the entire planet within a single second.
Instantly, the billions of humans across over a hundred countries—whether resting, working, talking, or traveling—were swept through by waves of formless sensory force. In that heartbeat, every scrap of information from their bodies and memories was laid bare before Seraphine.
From this massive influx of data, she found commonalities and differences alike. Most importantly, she confirmed once more how mundane this human realm truly was.
"So weak," Seraphine said, shaking her head.
"The total number of superpower users and competent martial artists globally doesn't even reach a hundred. Supernatural incidents throughout history have been incredibly rare.
Information on the Fantasy clan, Moon Tribe, and dark contracts is limited to unreliable legends with no concrete examples. It seems this parallel space-time was only recently integrated into the 'Giant' ecosystem, with the Hell of Pain being the only one to have made contact... Wait!"
She suddenly turned her head, staring intently at Arlington National Cemetery, 150 kilometers away.
BOOM—
In Arlington, a trace of an aura that far surpassed the planet's strongest humans had suddenly appeared. This aura was thick with darkness and ambiguity, laced with threads of Dream Power.
"A Moon Tribe Night Walker? Entering this human realm via the connection between the Hell of Nightmare and the mortal cemetery... They moved quickly, as soon as the system was integrated... No."
Seraphine paused for a moment, then laughed. "Perhaps I misjudged. This human realm might not be a 'new' world, but rather one so depleted of Ether that it appears mundane. These transcendent forces likely hid themselves outside the material world, perhaps within the dreamscapes of this mortal realm's Projected Layer."
With that thought, she sank her vast, profound mental power into the twisted Projected Layer behind the material world, searching for any hidden transcendent communities. The two domains of the Sentience Realm—though on the outskirts of the Realm of Phantasm—were far more complex, especially the Projected Layer where countless dreams converged, collided, and overlapped.
These dream "planes" could hide many creatures, making them far more difficult and time-consuming to scan than Earth itself.
While focusing her "scan" on the Sentience Realm, she glanced back at the corpse of the police officer.
"Don't just lie there. Get up and work."
HUMM—
The corpse suddenly jerked upright, its eyes turning a slow, deep crimson. As the stout cadaver stood, its clothes, skin, organs, and muscles rapidly dissolved into thick, flowing blood that pooled on the pavement.
SPLOSH—
After a sickening sound of viscous blood gushing, only a sturdy, blood-red skeleton remained.
CRACK! CLICK!—
The skeleton suddenly expanded, its height skyrocketing. In an instant, it transformed into a fifteen-meter-tall, blood-red dragon-headed monstrosity covered in sharp, jagged spikes. From its appearance, it was clearly a wingless 'Hermit' Wyvern.
The beast planted its four limbs on the ground and lowered itself.
RIP!
Two massive bone-like "sacks" suddenly bulged from its back. They grew until they were nearly half the size of the Wyvern's body before stopping. Then, cracks began to spiderweb across the surface of the sacks.
CRACK! SNAP!—
The crisp snapping continued until they finally exploded.
WHAM!
In an instant, a pair of massive blood-red skeletal wings with a sixty-meter span erupted from the sacks. The fully formed 'Hermit' Wyvern, following its newborn instincts, threw its head back and roared at the sky:
ROAR!!!
The violent acoustic wave instantly swept across the area. It sent nearby debris flying and shattered the glass windows of surrounding buildings. Even the parked cars nearby set off a chorus of wailing alarms from the vibration.
Perhaps the commotion was too great, for a sudden beam of intense light cast down from above, fully illuminating the asphalt street.
"Hmm?"
Seraphine looked up with a cold expression. A news helicopter with 'CBS' markings was hovering several hundred meters in the air. The blinding spotlight originated from it.
THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD—
The sound of the rotors filled the air. Inside the cabin, a blonde female reporter, her hair disheveled by the turbulent airflow, gripped her microphone and stared down at the cinematic, blood-red skeletal dragon in sheer shock.
She turned toward the camera, clutching her chest. "Oh my God! Viewers, are you seeing this? The terrifying monsters of the movies actually exist!"
Pointing at the crimson Wyvern as it slowly stood up, she gasped: "This is an accidental discovery made while we were tracking a violent robbery! Here in 21st-century XX City, Queens, we have clearly captured footage of a true unidentified creature!!"
She took a sharp breath and continued her report: "Its wings are massive! Is it a Hell Dragon? Its skin is crimson and gaunt. Where did it come from? Is it a natural evolution? Or was it created by some evil scientist..."
Below.
"Find that little Night Walker," Seraphine said indifferently, withdrawing her gaze. "Then... bring him to me."
Upon receiving the command, the blood-red Wyvern behind her bowed its head respectfully with a muffled growl of obedience. Then, it suddenly beat its massive wings.
BOOM!
A violent cyclone erupted, sweeping through a radius of hundreds of meters. Turbulent air currents scattered in all directions, even reaching the sky and causing the CBS news helicopter to buck and shake. The terrified female reporter gripped the cabin door, screaming in fear of being tossed out. The pilot, equally panicked, immediately maneuvered the chopper to a higher altitude.
Below, after a brief, comfortable stretch of its form, the crimson Wyvern beat its massive wings again.
WHOOSH
The frantic roar of the wind from its wings generated a powerful thrust, propelling the Wyvern into the air. It streaked past the helicopter like lightning, its powerful slipstream nearly flipping the aircraft.
BOOM
Reaching a higher altitude, the skeletal Wyvern glanced down once, then beat its wings against the atmosphere and sped toward the distance. Like a phantom of the void, every flap of its massive wings produced immense currents of air, pushing it forward at extreme speed.
The commotion was so massive that several more helicopters began following from a distance, filming the spectacle.
THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD
The CBS helicopter had stabilized. Inside the cabin, the female reporter, ignoring her racing heart, continued to speak breathlessly into the camera:
"...As we can see, this real-life Hell Dragon is flying rapidly through the night sky of XX City. We don't know where it's headed or what impact it will have on us."
She took a relieved breath and added, "But I believe the Great Lord will surely protect His lambs from demonic harm! Amen!"
"This concludes our live report from the scene. Thank you."
After she finished, her face slowly faded from the screen, replaced by the CBS station logo. The camera angle pulled back to reveal a spacious, brightly lit studio. A sturdy, handsome male anchor in a sharp suit composed himself and spoke into the camera:
"OK, thank you, Jessica, for that live report."
He turned toward a balding, stout elderly scholar sitting beside him. "Dr. Gerrard, what's your take on this?"
"Well, okay," Dr. Gerrard pushed up his glasses, looking somewhat troubled. "Judging by the physical structure and wing shape of this so-called Hell Dragon, it's likely a mammal. The only mammals on Earth capable of true flight are bats, yet its wings appear hollow, which leaves me puzzled..."
"So Dr. Gerrard, you're saying this is a giant bat?" the male anchor interjected.
"Uh... not exactly," the doctor scratched his cheek hesitantly. "Even the Quetzalcoatlus of the late Cretaceous had a wingspan of no more than twelve meters. No bat could ever grow to surpass that, and this creature is simply too massive. I don't have exact measurements, but it's visibly three or four times larger than a Quetzalcoatlus. Most importantly, it appears to have an exoskeleton..."
"So the possibility of it being a normal organism is very low," the anchor interrupted. "It's more likely a true demon, right?"
The doctor looked at him in surprise. "I don't know how you reached that conclusion. While this unidentified creature is miraculous, it doesn't necessarily have a direct link to religion. If we could capture a live specimen, I believe an autopsy would reveal its—"
"Doctor!" the anchor cut him off. "I believe demons shouldn't be studied; they're evil and foul. As people of the Lord, we shouldn't have contact with them."
"Oh..." the old doctor shook his head, sighing. "I don't think that's a rigorous scientific attitude. No one knows if it's dangerous, and only by studying it can we truly understand—"
"Doctor," the anchor interrupted again. "Do you believe God blesses America?"
"God!" The doctor exclaimed, spreading his hands helplessly. "Fine, I agree."
"So, you are also a child of God," the anchor's voice rose. "The Lord teaches us to stay away from demons! As His lambs, we must obey His teachings!"
"OK, OK," Dr. Gerrard raised a hand to cover half his face, falling silent.
This wasn't just happening in one studio. Other media outlets across the United States were also turning their focus to XX City, and news began flooding social media.
However, in a country with over 200 religious sects, more than two million church organizations, and a populace with diverse beliefs: ranging from orthodox to cultish: conspiracy theories, mysterious creatures, and urban legends were commonplace. Adding a legend of a skeletal Wyvern wouldn't drastically disrupt public life.
Of course, in a nation that leads the world in overall strength and scientific research, it was somewhat ironic that such a massive portion of the population held science in contempt, preferring to believe in things as absurd as the Flat Earth theory.
But such is the world; folly and wisdom always coexist. Ordinary people continued to go to work, invest in stocks, or get divorced. No matter what, their numb lives had to go on.
Ten minutes later.
Queens, XX City.
Seraphine remained indifferent to the external commotion. To her, everyone on this planet held no value beyond providing a bit of negative emotion and Spirituality.
What concerned Seraphine more was that during her several minutes of full-sector scanning, she hadn't found a single trace of these Transcendent Forces.
"Truly fascinating. The volume of the Projected Layer in this parallel space-time is much thicker than the Prime space-time. Its information density and number of layers are far more vast, which explains why they are so hard to find."
While she was deep in thought, the skeletal Wyvern flew back, clutching a heavily injured, unconscious young White man. Seraphine gave him a brief glance and instantly saw through the Secret Art Disguise used by the unconscious man.
His true form was a hideous, bat-like Night Walker with pitch-black skin.
"Taking so long just to deal with a first-level minor character," she shook her head slightly. "Utterly useless."
At her command, the Hermit Wyvern, which had been bowing its head, let out a wail as it disintegrated into a pile of dry bones. This sudden scene terrified the crews of the news helicopters that had been tracking the Wyvern, nearly causing them to crash.
"I won't search anymore. I'll just flip the board and drag both the physical reality and the Projected Layer of this human realm into the Torture Domain. Whoever survives is a transcendent: it's that simple."
With those words, Seraphine activated the Torture Domain.