The moment Ian grasped the short sword, the entirety of Heaven seemed to tremble.
An invisible glory burst forth, and the Holy Flame burning on the blade instantly surged, crackling loudly as it incinerated the viscous air around it. Dean and Sam were forced to retreat several steps.
"!!!!!"
Sam and Dean watched the scene before them dumbfounded, their mouths gaping wide enough to fit an egg.
The two brothers raised their arms to shield themselves from the heat wave. The heat wave wasn't actually scorching hot, just blindingly bright, as Dean and Sam were not the targets of its judgment.
"What the hell is that thing?" Dean shouted, squinting. He had only seen Ian grasp the short sword, and then the short sword erupted in an extremely dazzling white flame.
"It's a one-sword, 999-level, limited-time experience of a top-tier pay-to-win Super Weapon. But since it's now in the hands of Mr. Ian, not even God and the Great Beast working together can take it back," Ian said, looking down at the furiously burning short sword in his hand, his expression conveying the resolve of someone ready to flee and become Marvel's Ian at any moment.
Profit moves the heart.
He knew the origin of this sword too well—a god-killing weapon personally bestowed by God upon the Angel of Death, Azrael, and theoretically the Sword of the End that only Lucifer could ignite.
It was rumored that God personally forged the weapon and gave it to Azrael, the Angel of Death, to execute the final judgment. It possessed the power to sever all divinity and demonic nature.
It was the only weapon that could truly "kill" an angel and "harm" Lucifer. Of course, the lore also said it could cut God, but anyone who believed that setting deserved to sit at the same table as Michael Jordan's basketball skills.
God created many, many things, and slapped labels on them claiming they could kill Him. Anyone with eyes could see God was lying, He was clearly the first troll in the universe.
Nevertheless, this Sword of God still possessed extraordinary properties.
Even mortals holding it could kill deities, let alone when it was ignited with Holy Flame. It could even cleave dimensions and tear reality. Now, this thing was burning merrily in Ian's hand like a torch.
"The Winchester brothers appearing here is certainly no coincidence. Everything is arranged by an invisible, powerful hand."
Ian looked at the God-Killing Gun in his left hand, then swung the Sword of God in his right. He felt like the protagonist in a cutscene who had just acquired the hero's ultimate gear right at the start of the story.
If this was a coincidence, Ian wouldn't believe it even if the Winchester brothers were killed ten thousand times. He genuinely worried that God had a crush on him. After all, who knows if the priests predilections were a [Memetic Contamination] spread downwards from the source?
"What do you mean?" Sam and Dean were both confused.
"See? I lit this sword, which isn't logical."
Ian didn't believe the old man God wasn't secretly watching. After all, this sword could normally only be ignited if Lucifer Morningstar personally wielded it.
Yet, Ian had ignited it too.
But he was neither Lucifer nor God's messenger. The Holy Flame on the sword burned hotter and hotter, leaping forty meters high in the blink of an eye. The blazing white light enveloped the three of them, and Ian's figure flickered within the flames. Sam and Dean stared, dumbfounded, their jaws nearly hitting the ground.
"You're an angel, so it's normal for you to use an angel's weapon, isn't it? I think... you must be the Angel of Lies and Temptation, usually lurking among humans, seizing opportunities to strike?"
Sam's idea was born from an adolescent imagination. The item the angel entrusted them with was, naturally, an angel's weapon. This was a very reasonable knee-jerk assumption. Since he wasn't usually very interested in arcane knowledge, he could only rely on imagination and spontaneously invent a celestial rank that matched Ian's personality as he understood it.
"?????"
Ian was utterly perplexed by the image he held in Sam's mind. And it wasn't just Sam, who he'd only met four or five times, even Dean, who he'd never formally interacted with, seemed to have reservations about him.
"I think he's more like Cupid in his rebellious phase." Dean actually discussed Ian with Sam right in front of him. His eyes constantly darted towards the Colt revolver in Ian's left hand. The older Winchester brother didn't know the gun's true power, but he knew how much his father valued it.
"Bullshit! You're Cupid! Your whole family is Cupid!" Ian's swearing usually went through three stages. Dean's infuriating comment had just triggered the first stage.
Clearly, Ian deeply resented being called a naked little boy.
"Mr. Ian is now an Archangel, the Seraph Ian, greater than great." He corrected them, deploying a new persona, and with a thought, changed his plain student disguise. Countless symbiotic substances surged, squirming and extending over his skin like living matter.
The flesh-like substance rolled across Ian's body, and a battle suit materialized. However, the "S" emblem that once symbolized Superman on his chest was replaced by a new symbol after a moment of distortion.
[King of Angels]
It had many small wings flapping, though the fleshy wings looked less than divine. There was no helping it, the mimicry absorbed a symbiote, so of course it couldn't simulate a holy aura.
Under the stunned gaze of Sam and Dean, eight hideous mimicked spider legs suddenly sprouted from Ian's back, gleaming with a metallic luster in the Heaven's sunlight.
"See? Eight-winged Seraph!" Ian floated into the air, hands spread as if to embrace humanity. The spider legs behind him sliced dangerous arcs through the air.
Mr. Ian displayed his most magnificent form.
Sam and Dean fell silent again.
Looking at the eight spider legs swaying in the air, they highly doubted they were actually in Heaven.
"That wiggling thing behind you is creepy. It doesn't look like an angel's wing," Dean, ever the bolder one, courageously challenged Ian's display.
This stood in stark contrast to Sam, who was about to offer a forced compliment. What can be said? Those who speak the truth are always rewarded with suffering. Ian immediately slammed Dean on the head with a powerful blow.
He used the barrel of the God-Killing Gun, Colt, exerting precisely measured force so as not to explode Dean's head or knock him unconscious. Dean just clutched his rapidly swelling head and grimaced on the ground.
"Have you ever been an angel? Don't just make assumptions. I rate that as pure blasphemy. Angels are like this! Demons are the ones who need to be extremely good-looking."
"Angels need to use an extremely evil appearance to deter countless evils!" To prevent them from commenting on his, the most handsome face on Earth, Ian's mimicry armor went into full coverage mode.
A "hideous" mask with a jagged, wide mouth enveloped Ian's face, and his eye sockets flashed with crimson light. Ian repurposed his Evil God's extremely wicked visage as his angel material.
"?????"
"!!!!!"
Sam and Dean were visibly shocked. The fully formed "Seraph Ian" stood before them, eight spider legs writhing in the air, mimicking the fluttering of an angel's wings.
This look would not only deter evil but would definitely make children cry.
Just then, Dean's expression suddenly changed.
He understood.
"I knew it! How could I get into Heaven after sleeping with sixteen virgins!" Dean turned to his brother, seemingly having concluded that this was not Heaven but some other place.
Sam's eyes flickered between Ian's horrifying face-mask and the polluted Holy City.
He was beginning to agree with his older brother.
"I—I have a confession to make." Sam's throat bobbed. He took a deep breath and began to repent. "When I was five, I stole dog food from the neighbor and ate it. That was definitely wrong."
Oh, wow.
Self-detonating his dark history.
Did he think this would cleanse his sins?
"?????" Dean's expression was as if he'd been struck by lightning.
"You and Dad were out demon hunting back then. I would have starved if I didn't eat something," Sam whispered in defense.
"We clearly left you money!"
"Let me remind you again, I was five years old then!" Sam suddenly raised his voice. "Living in the most dangerous neighborhood in the US, clutching a huge sum of a hundred dollars, do you think I dared to go out and buy something?"
He was indeed a smart kid from a young age.
Ian was highly empathetic to this.
"I agree that he shouldn't have gone out with a hundred dollars, especially in a chaotic neighborhood. Your dog-food-eating little brother was highly likely to end up scattered across the world as spare parts."
Ian disliked watching others argue in front of him. He proactively mediated, "Don't fight, both of you. This really is Heaven, and I really am Seraph Ian."
Seeing that neither of them believed him, Ian said, "The one you met on Earth was just my disguise. The things he did have nothing to do with me." Ian was so ruthless he could even distance himself from his own actions.
This was truly being emotionless.
However, even such a statement, which didn't spare even himself, still failed to gain the trust of the Winchester brothers.
"My sewer is cleaner than that place. This is definitely a Fallen Holy City, isn't it?" Sam pointed to the distant, black-mist-shrouded Holy City. He couldn't see the viscous liquid but could feel the ominous presence within it.
"That really is a Fallen Holy City. You're not wrong, but it's only because a small problem occurred, and that's precisely why Seraph Ian was awakened from slumber."
"I shall immediately go protect my beloved Heaven." As Ian spoke, he checked the God-Killing Gun, Colt. It had two bullets manually loaded inside.
That wasn't a small number, considering the gun only had thirteen bullets in total. On that night in 1835, when Halley's Comet streaked across the sky, those possessed by demons were executed beneath the poplar trees. In that extraordinary moment, Samuel Colt, by some serendipity, forged this gun for reasons unknown.
And those thirteen bullets.
Only the thirteen bullets forged at that time, when used with the God-Killing Gun, could unleash its true power—the power to kill everything.
"Do whatever you want. My brother and I just want to return to Earth." Dean rubbed his temples. Unable to find his mother, he didn't want to remain in a place like this.
"You're confused. Coming to Heaven without dying is absolutely a good thing. You've skipped many years of detours. If I were you, I'd stay here and never leave."
Ian pointed out a direction where they could hide.
"Uh..."
The brothers exchanged looks, finding this twisted logic somehow compelling.
"But I haven't enjoyed the colorful world of Earth enough yet," Dean mumbled weakly.
Sam immediately chimed in, "I haven't even had a girlfriend!"
He might have been a bit overly reserved.
Ian sighed gently and spoke earnestly, "Once you've enjoyed enough, you might not be able to get into Heaven anymore. The vibrant world is an atmosphere of depravity created by demons."
There was some truth to this. Given that the Crossroads Demon King controlled the entertainment industry, many demons likely owned businesses on Earth designed to tempt humans into corruption.
This persuasion was sound in its reasoning.
Dean was somewhat swayed.
"But our Dad is still on Earth, all alone..." In the end, filial love triumphed over the temptation of Heaven. Dean frowned, voicing his attachment to his father.
Ian responded with a smirk, the jagged mouth of his mask twisting perfectly.
"As long as your father sells everything to buy an indulgence, I can certainly smuggle him here early." Holding the Holy Sword capable of cleaving dimensions, Ian had even more confidence in expanding his immigration agency business.
Sam and Dean were stunned once more by this.
"That works too?"
This genuinely defied their common sense.
"Are you really an angel?"
Sam felt like he was losing it. If angels were leading the charge in selling indulgences, then the true source of the priests selling indulgences during the Middle Ages must have been found.
"Do not ask me such foolish questions."
Ian adopted Batman's deep voice.
Before Dean and Sam could react, Ian raised the Holy Sword high, the eight spider legs splayed out simultaneously, and he levitated like a true angel.
The Holy Flame formed a halo around him. The fire was not ordinary, it was the Divine Fire ignited by glory. Every wisp contained the power to burn away depravity and evil.
The momentum was extraordinary, definitely intimidating Dean and Sam.
Just as the two were still processing all of this, suddenly—from the direction of the polluted Holy City in the distance, countless viscous substances began to churn.
Following that, a turbid and distorted singing began. The sound was like a whisper from an unspeakable abyss, directly striking the deepest fear and darkness in the human heart.
Dean and Sam instantly felt dizzy. Their inner darkness seemed awakened by the song, and negative emotions surged like a tide. Both immediately sank to their knees in pain, clutching their ears, trying to resist the mind-eroding melody.
"Children, it seems it's time to say goodbye." Ian's voice suddenly rang out, deep and mournful, as if he'd exerted all his strength to produce such a tragic tone.
"What are you talking about?" The brothers managed to look up. Ian had his back to them, and his eight "winged" spider legs trembled slightly, as if enduring some unspeakable sorrow.
"To think that even after fighting to the death and becoming an angel, I still can't escape the fate of sacrificing myself again..." His voice choked slightly. "Perhaps this is the final destiny of me, the hero."
Dean and Sam were baffled.
This sudden emotional drama made them temporarily forget the influence of the singing. They exchanged bewildered glances, completely missing Ian's emotional shift.
The words, heavy with emotion, confused the brothers so much that they temporarily ignored the effects of the singing.
"Can you say something we can understand?"
However, when they looked up at Ian again, an even more shocking sight appeared—Ian's eight "winged" spider legs were somehow wearing eight pairs of flesh-colored stockings.
"W-What the hell?!" Dean's eyes widened. His brain had completely shut down.
Sam stared intensely at the stockings swaying in the wind, his pupils trembling.
"Wait... this..."
He looked as if he was enduring some unbearable pain. At this moment, the smarter of the Winchester brothers seemed to realize that Ian's words were not actually meant for them.
A black box was orbiting Ian, constantly flashing.
Ian slowly turned his head.
A close-up followed.
"The Stocking Angel will absolutely not allow this disaster to spread out of Heaven." Saying this, he fiercely fluttered his wings (spider legs), and the Holy Flame surged. His entire being turned into a streak of light.
He charged unreservedly towards the polluted Holy City.
The floating black box followed closely behind. Dean stared blankly at Ian's retreating figure for a long moment before finally managing to choke out, "What Stocking Angel? Didn't he say he was a Seraph?!"
Seraph and Stocking Angel are not mutually exclusive, unfortunately.
But there was no one left to explain.
Sam slapped his forehead and shouted in frustration, "Damn it! Ian is 'Stocking Superman'! I even donated fifty dollars to his 'Death of Superman' video!"
He was clearly part of the group whose faith, and even cash, had been extorted by the Great Director of DC.
"No way! He died on Earth, but he pops up again in Heaven? Can this really have a sequel?????" Sam collapsed onto the ground, looking dazed. In the distance, Ian's hearty laughter echoed from the black mist of the Holy City.
"No turning back! The Stocking Angel has no limits! To protect what must be protected, whether light or dark—this is my Heavenly Way! No, my Angelic Way! The Angel Way!"
"Delete and re-record."
...
Despite the interlude, Ian did not hesitate after the sudden change, charging straight into the Holy City.
Heaven's Holy City was supposed to be a place of immense glory, but at this moment, it was corrupted by an unspeakable contamination. Fortunately, the boundaries were confined by an invisible force, preventing the corruption from spreading outward.
However, this had caused the interior to completely devolve into a twisted purgatory.
The moment he stepped in, Ian's vision abruptly warped.
The air became viscous, as if soaked in some kind of rotten fluid. Every breath carried a mixed odor of sickly sweetness and decay. The sky was no longer pure blue but a sickly purplish-black, the clouds writhing like festering wounds, occasionally splitting open to reveal countless unspeakable faces.
They all stared coldly down.
The ground was no longer the original pristine white marble but covered with a layer of squirming black fungal mat, its surface riddled with dense tentacles and eyeballs.
Every eyeball glowed with light unknown to human cognition. Stepping on it produced a sickening, sticky sound, as if crushing countless insect eggs.
On both sides of the street, the once solemn angel statues were now distorted and deformed. Their wings were broken, their faces melted, and fleshy growths sprouted from their stone bodies.
Some even opened eyes that did not belong to sculptures. Their pupils flashed with insane intent.
The towering spires that once symbolized purity and order had been replaced by alien structures. The walls were covered in viscous runes, emitting a low hum, like countless ancient entities whispering.
"There's a lot of unseen contamination, too."
Even more terrifying were the invisible entities. Ian could feel countless twisted things approaching him from the edge of his vision, in the shadows untouched by light.
They had no fixed form, and Ian couldn't even grasp their specific trajectories.
He could only vaguely perceive them.
These were the most terrifying foes in the Cthulhu Mythos—the Unspeakable Ones.
These entities were themselves corrupted reality. Merely approaching caused the surface of Ian's mimicry armor to ripple unnaturally, as if the armor were slowly being dissolved by some force.
*Ugh~*
Ian couldn't help but retch a few times. He had only sampled the Cthulhu mist once and never wanted to taste it again. Every time he recalled it, he was certain it was the most horrible nightmare of his gourmet career.
"I've been thoroughly disgusted by Cthulhu."
Ian could feel eyes gazing at him from all directions. He knew he was being watched.
They did not appear directly but sought to penetrate the human heart through sensation, memory, and fear. They were entities existing in the cracks of reality, invisible to the naked eye, yet capable of driving a person into eternal madness within seconds.
Without hesitation, Ian swung the Holy Sword in his hand.
The movement was light as the wind.
But the Holy Sword erupted with world-destroying power. It surged forth, majestic and mighty, turning into a towering wave of blazing white light that swept out in all directions from Ian's center.
The Holy Flame engulfed the entire Holy City like a flood.
Where it passed, the air let out a piercing shriek, as if space itself were burning. The invisible, twisted entities perished in the Holy Flame before they could even scream.
They struggled, writhed, and tried to flee, but it was useless. The Holy Flame swallowed them like a tsunami, purifying the portion of reality where they resided.
The ground recovered its pristine whiteness. The squirming eyeballs and tentacles vanished into nothingness in the flames. The black mist in the sky was dispersed, revealing a corner of Heaven's true dome.
After a single swing of the sword, the wind and clouds immediately began to churn.
The entire Fallen Holy City trembled at that moment.
It was more than purification.
It felt like a judgment.
Silence descended.
"There's still some residue."
Ian stood at the center of the storm, his cape fluttering. The Holy Flame constantly surged around him. A second wave of Holy Flame swept out, utterly incinerating the last remaining filth.
The Holy Flame mercilessly burned every inch of corruption. The entire fallen Holy City shook beneath his feet, as if submitting to the self-proclaimed King of Angels. The buildings gradually shed their distortions, once again revealing the outline of angel carvings.
The putrid, sickly sweetness in the air was replaced by a scorching heat. It was as if the entire world had been reset to its original glory.
"The culprit must be inside."
Ian stood his ground, Holy Sword in hand. A path paved by Holy Flame stretched out before him.
He did not look back or pause. He strode forward, crossing the path opened by the Holy Flame, and entered God's residence—the most sacred and inviolable place in Heaven.
This was a grand yet eerie great hall. The towering dome seemed connected to the very essence of Heaven. The walls were inlaid with countless bas-reliefs, depicting sacred scenes of angels descending and judging sin.
However, at this moment, these carvings emitted a repulsive aura.
They were not static decorations. They were moving.
Along both sides of the corridor, countless twisted statues knelt. They bowed their heads, hands clasped over their chests, as if in devout prayer, emitting a low, turbid singing filled with temptation and madness.
The sound was like a call from the depths of Hell. The pitch fluctuated, sometimes mournful, sometimes hysterically shrieking. Every note eroded sanity.
It was like an irresistible curse, causing the mind to gradually collapse.
"Contamination Hymn," Ian murmured under his breath, frowning deeply.
Without hesitation, he raised the burning Sword of God and swung it fiercely! A blazing wave of Holy Flame tore through the void and swept out!
The fire surged like a tide through the entire corridor, engulfing the kneeling statues. They struggled, twisted, and screamed in the fire, finally being purified into ashes.
Beneath the statues, the real angels, who had been encased, slowly became visible one by one.
Their pristine white wings were bound by stone. Their faces were pained and distorted. The moment they gained freedom, an invisible force seemed to pull them, and they began to slowly sink into the ground.
"Wait."
Ian tried to grab one of the largest-chested angels but failed.
The angels' descent and sinking seemed beyond rescue.
"Ian Kent..." Just as his fingertip was about to touch her, the angel completely sank beneath the floor, leaving behind only a faint sigh.
All the remaining angels, as if guided by fate, unhesitatingly fell into the darkness, as if to descend to Earth and become part of the Fallen Angels.
Ian knew there must be a reason behind this.
An unspeakable reason.
"Replace that last part with a different audio. She wasn't calling me Ian Kent. She was calling me the Great King of Angels, saying they had failed me, and if they had another life, she would vote for me as the new XX." Perhaps Ian still lacked the courage, as he actually censored his own recording.
He turned to his black box and issued a command.
This wasn't just a recording for Ian, it was also a test. If the black box could operate normally in such an environment, then its true origin was worth deep scrutiny.
New Tony Stark, as just an AI, definitely couldn't build such a divine artifact.
"Are there any other contaminated angels inside?" Ian continued forward, finding that although the Holy Flame had purified the corridor, the annoying singing still emanated from the depths of the great hall.
He swung his sword again.
This time, he clearly saw the Holy Flame stop abruptly at the hall's entrance, as if hitting an invisible wall. The irritating singing continued to echo.
"No way, my trial period hasn't expired yet."
Ian narrowed his eyes and walked quickly into the hall. He was not obstructed by any invisible force. In stark contrast to the polluted sight outside, the hall was pristine and holy inside.
Golden light poured down from the dome, illuminating the highly polished marble floor. Lifelike angel statues lined the sides, their faces serene, chanting a holy song—but for some reason, this song, which should have been calming, now made Ian feel incredibly annoyed.
It tasted the same as the contamination hymn.
"What's going on?" Ian vigorously shook the Holy Sword in mid-air. The flames on it still burned, but they could no longer extend or unleash visible sword energy as before.
"Something... is affecting it," Ian concluded helplessly. His gaze swept over the entire hall, finally resting on a throne in front.
It was an empty throne in the center of the great hall.
It lacked any sense of grandeur, having only the commonness of an ordinary seat. Of course, a throne that appeared in this location could only belong to one entity.
"Is it God's majesty, preventing it from offending Him..." Ian glanced down at the unparalleled divine artifact in his hand, which was currently as quiet as the demon Minotaur head playing dead on his back, lacking the spirituality that comes from his personal modification.
"There's a stone pillar in front of the throne. Is that the Bible placed on it?" Ian climbed the high steps. He clearly saw the letters on the cover of the book placed before the throne.
"Death Note!?"
Ian was somewhat taken aback.
The moment he subconsciously reached out to touch it, a chillingly cold aura spread from his arm to his entire body. The blackness on the book's surface squirmed and receded like a living thing.
It revealed an antique, yellowed cover underneath. The gilded letters "Death Note" twisted and deformed, reassembling into more ancient, unspeakable script—the Necronomicon.
The letters were not static but slowly wriggled across the cover, like countless tiny tentacles. Yes, the patterns weren't written but wriggled, changing script.
It was like something living, slowly crawling, twisting, and rearranging itself on the pages. This was absolutely not a simple name replacement but the manifestation of a hidden essence.
More frighteningly, this change was not limited to the book itself—Ian's vision blurred. The sacred temple shattered like an illusion in his sight.
In its place was a completely different world.
The environment of the entire great hall instantly warped in Ian's field of vision. The sacred golden light was replaced by a sickly dark yellow. Black, viscous liquid seeped from the marble floor. The faces of the angel statues on both sides began to melt, revealing an unspeakable distortion within.
"Oh! My God! What is God doing?! This place is scarier than Hell!" A terrified roar came from behind him—the demon Minotaur head that had been silent all this time.
"Ian God! Run! And take me with you!" The Minotaur's voice trembled, its eyes filled with terror. It could sense that the singing angels in the hall had been irreversibly contaminated.
The demon was frantic.
But Ian did not move.
Because the moment he grabbed the Necronomicon, the throne area also changed—the formerly empty throne suddenly held a profoundly still figure.
It was an entity draped in ragged yellow robes. Unspeakable symbols were embroidered on the corners of the robe, each line seemingly wriggling, trying to escape the constraints of reality.
"What the hell?"
Ian realized that perhaps He had been sitting there all along.
Ian simply hadn't been able to see Him before.
The air was quiet.
"The King in Yellow, the Unspeakable One, the Lord of Deep Space and Star Seas from the Cthulhu mythos..." Ian gradually understood everything. He just stared at the entity that had abruptly materialized before him.
After about five seconds,
"..."
The King in Yellow raised His head.
His face remained hidden beneath the shadows. Only a pair of bottomless eyes could be seen. Those eyes did not belong to humans or any known life form.
They were a symbol of infinity, a reflection of truth.
The King in Yellow sat quietly on the throne that did not belong to the mortal world.
His presence seemed to be the core of the entire space, warping time and causality. He did not speak or move, only gazing at Ian with those fathomless eyes.
At this moment, Ian moved forward instead of retreating.
"I, the King of Angels, command you to die." Ian completed the sentence he had interrupted after naming the entity.
He lunged forward fiercely.
The Holy Sword sliced through the air with a sharp whistle and plunged directly into the King in Yellow's chest.
However, the impressive gesture notwithstanding, the Holy Sword did not kill the entity immediately, because the flames on the Holy Sword were completely extinguished the instant it stabbed in. Although the blade passed through the yellow robes, it was like stabbing into a void illusion. There was no sensation of substance, no resistance, and no damage inflicted. The King in Yellow's figure flickered between the real and the illusory.
As if existing in another dimension.
"Crack, crack."
His neck produced a grating "snap" as it slowly rotated. Beneath the wide yellow hood, the unspeakable face seemed to continue staring at Ian.
"..." Ian stubbornly channeled divine power into the Holy Sword, but the Holy Sword didn't accept his divine power. He stabbed dozens of times, but the intended flames failed to ignite.
Every thrust landed accurately, yet each was like stabbing into the air. The entity's figure was suspended between the illusory and the real, meaning it wasn't physically touched.
This allowed it to exploit the Holy Sword's flaw.
The King in Yellow remained silent.
He slowly raised a withered hand and gently patted the throne beneath Him, as if telling Ian that as long as He sat there, Ian could not harm Him.
"No way, this kind of setting..." Ian also felt like yelling curses at God. Clearly, the King in Yellow was a genius at exploiting flaws, even better than Ian, the little master of exploits.
Ian pulled out the sword and then frantically stabbed dozens more times. It remained ineffective.
Just as Ian was agonizing over whether he might have to waste a bullet from the Colt revolver, the King in Yellow's raised hand did not drop but moved directly toward Ian's brow.
The motion was slow, even leisurely, as if merely brushing aside a fallen leaf.
"Something's wrong!"
Ian reacted instantly, retreating dozens of meters, yet the hand seemed to ignore the barrier of space, still accurately, slowly, and unstoppably approaching his brow.
"Damn it...!"
Ian only managed to curse out those words.
The King in Yellow's fingertip gently touched his forehead.
"Is He trying to contaminate me? Am I going to become Cthulhu Ian?" He had witnessed the entity's methods and understood that its attacks were definitely not "physical strikes" in the ordinary sense.
Ian found that he was not as shocked as he had expected. In fact, he was somewhat confused by the silence in the air.
"No, what are you doing?"
There was no sound.
There was no other sensation.
Only—a point of icy coldness.
He looked with some surprise at the King in Yellow seated upon God's throne. At that moment, not only was Ian stunned, but the Silent King also seemed to be somewhat slow to react.
The air fell into an eerie silence once more.
The King in Yellow remained as cryptic as ever. The void beneath the hood gazed at Ian. In this deadly standoff, Ian suddenly reacted first. He snapped his mouth open and bit down on the entity's finger that was touching his brow.
"Crunch!"
To his shock, he actually managed to bite a physical object. The King in Yellow's finger had the texture of rotting parchment, carrying a repulsive sensation.
[Warning: Contact with Error Data]
[Target is non-analyzable]
System alerts flashed in Ian's mind.
But he couldn't be bothered to pay attention. No matter how bad it tasted, Ian felt he needed to save a Colt bullet.
The King in Yellow, who had been composed all along, finally reacted—the Silent King still did not speak, but His desperate attempt to yank His finger back still showed that He was not truly calm.
"Ha! Can't keep up the act anymore, can you?"
Ian bit down hard and refused to let go, being dragged forward precariously.
At extremely close range, the King in Yellow's robes moved without wind.
He suddenly raised His other hand, fingers dagger-like, and lunged towards Ian's chest. The hand twisted and deformed as it moved, finally transforming into countless writhing yellow tentacles.
Aiming straight for Ian's heart.
"Ultraman Bomb!"
Ian looked at his own chest, where flesh and blood were surging.
He shouted.
The next moment, not only the divine power within his body but also the divine power stored in an extra dimension began to surge out of Ian. A white light, more dazzling than a supernova explosion, engulfed the entire divine temple.
The shockwave expanded spherically, and space itself began to disintegrate in its wake. The twisted statues were instantly vaporized in the light. The black stone floor melted and boiled like chocolate.
Most terrifying was the temperature at the center of the explosion—in the extreme heat capable of vaporizing a star in one microsecond, the King in Yellow seemed to be instantly swallowed by it.
The perpetually unchanging yellow robes showed damage for the first time. In the distance, the Winchester brothers, who had been sitting on the ground giving up, suddenly heard a deafening explosion.
They snapped their heads up, seeing a blinding white light soaring toward the sky from the direction of the Holy City, followed by a shockwave that swept across all of Heaven. A mushroom cloud slowly rose.
"Indeed, to fight Cthulhu, you still need Ultraman! Tiga Bomb!"
"Solar Soup resupply!"
"Tiga Bomb!"
"Solar Soup resupply!"
Truly unspeakable voices echoed throughout Heaven.
The outline of the Angels' Holy City disintegrated in the light.
It was already in Heaven, but now it had been blown sky-high.
All the angels were probably now homeless children.
***
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