Ashes Of Deep Sea Chapter 426

Chapter 426: Chapter 428: Arson of the Gods Chapter 426: Chapter 428: Arson of the Gods Flashes of light streamed through the thicket of thorns, and the thoughts of the ancient gods spread out in the darkness. The broken body squeezed through the narrow gaps between the thorns, and the teetering will crossed over the abyss of madness and folly.

How long had she been wandering in this space filled with chaos? How much of the ancient gods' contamination had she come into contact with? Was she now a complete individual, or just a fragment drifting in the chaos, on the verge of being assimilated and absorbed by it?

Agatha could no longer distinguish clearly; she couldn't distinguish anything, not even the boundary between her body and the vast expanse of chaos around her–in her vision, her body seemed like a blot of ink gradually dissipating in water, with the edges of her body presenting a blurred, liquid-like texture. She felt as if she were not walking through this darkness, but flowing forward within a thick fluid with similar properties to her body.

She knew everything was reaching its limit–the Prime Element. She didn't know if it had ever created everything in the world, but it was obvious that it had created her current body.

Ice melts into water, vapor disperses into wind. The counterfeit that had formed from the Prime Element would return to this “ocean” made of the Element. The so-called “individual will” inside this body would soon become an inconspicuous point of light in the chaotic “ocean,” nourishment for the tiny glimmers constantly roaming through the thorns.

She was just an imitation, just a shadow, with the memories of a twenty-four-year lifespan. Those memories contained her hometown, her comrades, all that she loved and despised–yet, perhaps only three days of that twenty-four-year life truly belonged to her, if not even less.

For some reason, Governor Winston's voice seemed to suddenly resonate in her mind, filled with sighs and regrets–
“There is no meaning…”
A living person with a real life annotated their existence so in this endless darkness, while a counterfeit with only three days to live was attempting to confront the ancient gods through it.

“How stupid…”
Agatha sighed softly; her voice dissolved into the darkness, rippling weakly, and her mind was inundated with endless information, fluctuating highs and lows of “0” and “1” that constituted a mysterious will washing over her mind.

She knew she was about to dissolve into this vast will–even if it housed only a single momentary “Flash Thought” of the ancient gods, its sheer scale was incomparable to her weak mind.

But no matter, she had arrived.

She had traversed the vast thicket of thorns and reached the deepest depths of darkness.

The “tentacle” that was like a towering pillar stood silently before her, its surface covered in mysterious dark blue patterns that, against the dim chaotic backdrop, resembled a monolith inscribed with ancient truths.

Agatha slowly lifted her head and reached out to touch it.

Black fragments and ash swirled in her field of vision.

Thorns had long since slashed countless wounds on her skin, and now, a black, mud-like substance was emerging from her body like fog, dissipating and melting into the surrounding space–the ascending black fragments and ash were pieces escaping from her.

Agatha felt that, at this moment, she must resemble a terrifying doll covered in cracks, beyond concealment by bandages or any other means.

Meanwhile, the ancient god's “tentacle” made no response to her touch.

It did not display any powerful might, nor reveal any terrifying aspect; it didn't even react to external stimuli–the sensation that came through her fingertips was slightly cool, soft, and a bit rough.

Was it because this was just an illusion projected from the deep sea? Or was it because her existence was too insignificant to catch the attention of the ancient gods?

Agatha frowned, pondering what she could possibly do in these final moments. After much thought, she realized there seemed little left for her to do.

She had reached the end, uncovered the truth of the darkness, passed through the thicket symbolizing the thoughts of the ancient gods, and now at the very edge of darkness, she had witnessed a part of The Saint's true form–even touched the tentacle of the ancient god by hand.

No more truths left to uncover, no more missions to complete–this final stretch of the journey was less about fulfilling a gatekeeper's duty than it was about satisfying a personal obsession.

Now, it was time to rest.

Thus, Agatha exhaled gently, letting her body relax, turning around slowly to lean against the large tentacle, as if against a pillar.

“I probably don't have a soul for the journey ahead…” Agatha suddenly had an odd thought, murmuring in the darkness, but she quickly laughed at herself and shook her head mockingly, “Definitely not. If I had a soul, passing through that door would be a real trouble for the 'gatekeeper' on the other side… And what about 'her'? One can't pass through the same door twice.

“I wonder how things are at the cathedral…(The cathedral)… Did those guys who went down the well ever come back?(The well)… But I suppose they don't need to worry…”
She continued to mutter to herself in the dark, unable to control the drift of her thoughts, speaking out whatever came to mind.

Just then, an unusual burning sensation abruptly interrupted her soliloquy.

Agatha jolted awake from her dazed stupor.

In that instant, she felt the flames scorching her very being, the terrifying heat seeming to burn through her soul in a flash. Her mind boiled in the flames, and thoughts that had almost been assimilated by this place snapped into clarity. She struggled to rise amidst the fiery illusion, uncertain of what was happening, but a voice then pierced her thoughts–
“The fire has been lit.”

It was her own voice.

In the darkness, Agatha's eyes widened fiercely, as if she were seeing a hallucination–she saw herself standing before a pool churning with black sludge, the edge of the pool swarmed with nauseating cultists and demons. The mud in the pool roiled, malice spread, and she stood before the mire, hands raised high, ablaze like torches.

A faint green glow suddenly appeared in her field of view, as if the illusion pierced the boundary between reality and fantasy.

Agatha looked down to see the flames igniting on the surface of her arms, which had begun to dissipate and disperse–the eerie green flames exact replicas of those in her vision.

Within this fiery conduit, she suddenly felt it–another mind, another self.

The other felt her presence too.

She understood what she needed to do–there was still something left for her to accomplish.

Agatha spun around and stared at the towering tendril-like pillar. A brilliant smile, the brightest since she had entered this darkness, spread across her face, and a bright light once again surfaced in the depths of her eyes.

She took a step forward, extending her hands toward the tendrils, her entire body quickly enveloped by the raging flames. Yet, the agony of being burned felt like a tremendous reward–Agatha spread her arms, adopting the pose from the vision, before the pool.

As if embracing, the Guardian lunged toward the tendril.

A great power was set to confront another great force–the mad cultists had sought to use the Guardian as a sacrifice to establish a bridge, but the roaring flames would sever it all.

Boom!

A horrific roar echoed in the darkness, and the flames swept through this twisted chaos in the blink of an eye. The great tendril instantly turned into a burning torch amidst the engulfing Spiritual Fire, trembling violently in the conflagration.

Agatha felt her flesh melt away swiftly in the fire, her body, already composed of tainted materials, now a link destined to be purified by the flames–but she was not afraid. Instead, she struggled to lift her head, turning her gaze back in the direction she had come.

The “bramble thicket” was also ignited, looking like an eerie and magnificent canopy amidst the wildly spreading Spiritual Fire.

“Goodbye… Governor Winston…”

Agatha murmured softly to herself as she embraced the tendril more tightly, waiting quietly for fate's end.

However, just before her consciousness faded away, she suddenly felt something.

The fire burned through herself and the tendril. In the bridge constructed by the Spiritual Fire, she felt for the first time the limb of the “old god” responding to her.

She lifted her head in astonishment, looking at the intricately patterned surface of the tendril, watching the flames course through it inside and out, and feeling the surge of information into her brain from the Spiritual Fire. She saw the surface of the tendril seemingly sprout countless eyes, each one frantically transmitting knowledge and information to her.

Finally, all the knowledge and information turned into a storm in her mind–
11101001…11100101 10001000…10010011…
Lengthy strings of “0”s and “1”s filled the last remnants of Agatha's thoughts.

But this time, she understood their meaning.

“Error… Replication…”
She read in shock the information transmitted by the limb of the old god, comprehending Its intent, and finally piecing together the answer.

She stared at the tendril, now set aflame by her own hands.

“This, too… a counterfeit?!”

In the next second, the surging green fire engulfed her last wisp of consciousness.

Chapter end

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