NOVEL NEXT Chapter 30: Another Meeting with the “Mother”
The sky seemed cloaked in volcanic ash, with crimson flames flickering above the rising plumes. Twisting vortexes rippled ominously in the heavens. On the sea and land of the now-doomed island, bubbles boiled forth, carrying the acrid stench of sulfur. It was as though this patch of earth had become a direct gateway to the fabled depths of hell. The atmosphere was suffused with dread, destruction, and suffocating pressure, leaving the area saturated with the promise of annihilation.
Around Roy, the remaining ethereal angels of light pressed their relentless assault. Though they could not defeat him, they were more than capable of consuming his energy and keeping him occupied. This delay gave their master, Metatron, a vital opportunity to flee.
Just as Metatron was attempting to make his escape, Roy's voice boomed across the battlefield like a thunderclap:
"Perish, accursed Sodom and Gomorrah!"
A deluge of divine fire—imbued with the searing power of the sun—rained down from the heavens. Each fiery raindrop fell like a shooting star from the cosmos, igniting the earth below. The pungent odour of sulfur thickened, as molten magma erupted and searing flames spewed forth from the earth's depths. It was as if the core of the planet had been torn open, unleashing an inferno straight from the underworld.
This confluence of celestial and infernal flames consumed everything in its path, merging into a singular cataclysm. The symphony of destruction annihilated all: the island's natural rock formations, pristine beaches, human settlements, and every trace of civilization. Even the rubble that remained was obliterated, ground to ash under the weight of divine judgment.
Far from the epicenter, Erica dared not look back. She could hear the roar of the heavens, the wrath of the earth, and the fury of the sea all merging into a cacophony of doom. The burning radiance of this wrathful light made her soul tremble. Her instincts warned her against even a fleeting glance.
"Never look back." The tale of Lot's wife from the Bible haunted Erica's thoughts. In the story, Lot's wife had been turned into a pillar of salt for gazing back at the destruction of Sodom. Erica didn't know if Roy's recreation of the apocalyptic myth carried a similar curse, but she wasn't about to test it. Instead, she shut her eyes tight and flew as far as her magic could take her, terrified that even the corner of her vision might betray her.
Within the blazing vortex of judgment, the celestial angels surrounding Roy dissolved into shimmering ether. Metatron, still in the throes of escape, was bombarded by the unrelenting onslaught of divine and infernal flames. The angel's soul was scorched by sulfurous fire, and amidst the deafening explosions, Roy could faintly discern Metatron's anguished cries.
"It's over," Roy murmured. His voice was calm, resolute. He clenched his raised left fist tightly, and in that moment, the final eruption of flames obliterated all resistance.
The ocean itself was scorched, a massive hollow burned into its surface. At the epicenter of the annihilation where Ponza Island had once stood, a swirling vortex—hundreds of meters in diameter—emerged, a silent testament to the destructive forces unleashed.
The devastation triggered a chain reaction in nature. Across the Italian coastline, massive waves surged toward the shore, threatening to unleash untold destruction.
…
"Damn it… What happened over there on Ponza Island? Even the western coast of Italy is feeling the effects!"
A group of magicians and knights had gathered on the shoreline, bracing against the impact of the cascading waves. Their numbers had swelled to over thirty, each one equipped with pre-prepared magical barriers. As the tidal surge struck, they activated their spells in unison, holding back the worst of the disaster and preventing widespread destruction.
Fortunately, the tsunami lacked the force of an earthquake-generated wave. Once Roy's authority subsided, the turbulence gradually diminished, and the waves reverted to ordinary swells.
The assembled magicians and knights gazed in awe and fear toward the distant horizon, where the remnants of Roy and Metatron's battle continued to linger. Even from across the Tyrrhenian Sea, the magical turbulence and apocalyptic spectacle were palpable.
"Lord Paolo Blandelli truly lives up to his name," one knight muttered, referring to the leader of the Copper Black-Cross. "To think he anticipated the King's battle with the Heretic God would trigger such a catastrophe. Without his foresight, this coastline would've been devastated."
The assembled group stood in respectful silence. They had read of the destructive power of Campiones and Heretic Gods in texts and legends, but witnessing even the periphery of such a battle brought the reality home. Despite the distance separating them from the fight, its echoes had reached Italy itself.
"This… this is what it means to be a King," whispered a magician. "To wield the power of a devil king on earth…"
Even the boldest knights couldn't suppress the shiver running through them. For all their strength and skill, they knew they could never hope to rival the power displayed that day.
…
Roy's consciousness coalesced once again, returning to Pandora's ethereal realm—the boundary between life and immortality.
"So soon, my darling son? We meet again," Pandora teased, her voice soft and teasing, yet tinged with affection.
When Roy's awareness fully returned, he immediately registered the soft, delicate sensation beneath his head.
Another lap pillow.
A fleeting thought passed through his mind as he opened his eyes. Compared to his first time in this realm, Roy felt remarkably lucid. It seemed the second time through this process had spared him the disorientation he had previously experienced.
As his gaze settled on Pandora, he found her unchanged: the same slight, almost frail frame of a twelve- or thirteen-year-old girl, an appearance teetering between "loli" and "young maiden." Yet her expression carried a mature, seductive charm that belied her youthful appearance. Her thin lips curved into a coy smile—both innocent and alluring.
Roy's gaze lingered on her lips, recalling the intoxicating sweetness he had tasted during their last encounter. A flicker of apprehension crossed his mind: Would she punish him for his boldness? Perhaps refuse to conduct the ritual of usurpation.
He quickly dismissed the thought. New authorities held limited appeal to him. His existing powers—especially Holy Right—were versatile and potent. Rather than amassing more abilities, Roy was focused on refining and enhancing what he already possessed. Quality over quantity was his philosophy. What he sought was evolution, not excess.
"Oh my," Pandora purred, her voice dripping with playful amusement. "Already yearning for another kiss, my greedy son? You are quite insatiable, aren't you? But I suppose it isn't impossible… if you impress your 'mother' enough, that is."
Her gaze turned more inquisitive, studying Roy with a blend of curiosity and intrigue. "You truly are an unusual one, my youngest son. How remarkable that you've retained your memories of this place even after leaving the Boundary. It's almost... unprecedented."
Roy's heart skipped a beat. She knows.