Facing an Ancient God for a Year

Chapter 1322: Chapter 1320: The Last Sanctuary

Is this the Abandoned Sons? The number of specimens has suddenly increased.

Fu Qian, sitting in the church, naturally caught sight of the grim harvest unfolding outside.

Simon’s assessment also reached his ears.

While agreeing with the judgment, Fu Qian took only half a second to come up with his own observation about the spectacle—challenging not the imagination, but definitely the vagus nerve.

A glance ahead revealed nearly a dozen Abandoned Sons occupying just this one small area. Not a trace of a natural form could be found among them.

Tentacles, sharp teeth, spiked horns, even seductive etchings undulating across armored exoskeletons… grotesque biological shapes and pure abstract concepts fused awkwardly together.

It had a sort of hotpot broth inclusiveness.

The pity was that the blending was such poor quality, far surpassing the description of “eye-searing,” to the point of inducing involuntary stomach convulsions.

If the Witch, upon her birth, saw only such scenes, making an apocalyptic declaration wouldn’t be surprising.

As for why such a spectacle was appearing now, the reason wasn’t hard to deduce—Nightmare’s collapse was imminent.

Under the rending of the Brilliant Tyrant, Fu Qian could clearly feel the threatening precariousness.

The vision before him must be The Sect lifting certain restrictions after weighing options, executing a final dance.

One had to say—it was all remarkably cooperative.

Keep in mind this small church was situated on an apparent high point in the town’s center.

Declare my Dark Moon Gospel, today shall be the day.

…

Above the square, as realization dawned on what was being witnessed, someone had already started screaming at the bounty in the distance.

Ugh…

But of course, others couldn’t resist the strain on their vagus nerve, ejecting the contents of their stomach in bursts—powerfully reinforcing Fu Qian’s evaluation.

Yet even so, most people in the square refrained from chaotic scattering.

After all, a simple question loomed before them: where would they run?

Anyone with a modicum of observational skill could recognize their current location as relatively safe.

The only possibly safer place was behind them—in the church.

The main problem now lay in the figure inside, whose aura seemed no less terrifying… but he had extended an invitation moments ago.

Suddenly, more than one individual found themselves stealing glances toward the church’s entrance, including Miss Amila.

“Should we go inside?”

With a slight gesture of her eyes, she directly sought the opinions of two fellow members.

“Is that necessary? How much difference could there be between in here and out there?”

Reginald frowned instantly.

“Besides, isn’t our plan to confirm the nature of the fog?”

“But that guy mentioned the Tide earlier.”

Amila shook her head faintly, responding quickly.

“Since there’s little difference between here and inside, we can observe both simultaneously—even that man’s reaction to the Tide.”

That did make some sense… That fellow had mentioned the rising Tide earlier.

Though Reginald thoroughly disliked interacting with the lunatic inside the church, he wasn’t one to ignore facts. Amila’s reminder brought him to recall the tension-filled exchange after the sudden murderous descent from the heavens.

“I hadn’t realized at the time.”

Habitually, he sought validation with his gaze from Simon, who nodded subtly, confirming he had sensed something earlier than Reginald.

Without further words, the Hunter stepped decisively toward the small church.

“We’re going inside.”

Simon’s firm resolve left Reginald no choice but to respect the team’s decision, gesturing to Amila for her assistance.

The combined presence of these three individuals had an undeniable influence.

Watching them step onto the stairs, the internal struggles in the crowd’s hearts shifted almost immediately.

Ah—

And almost simultaneously, shrieks rang out from far away.

Turning toward the sound revealed not one, but multiple figures sprinting toward them from an area already consumed by the fog.

The uniformity in their movements was immediately understandable—the surging, retreating fog was now charging back at them at an accelerated pace.

Undeniably, human minds often cling to false hope. The initial retreat of the fog had kindled a naïve optimism that the crisis had been resolved.

Unfortunately, the fog appeared to mimic a genuine tidal surge, now rushing forward with increased velocity once more.

Among the fleeing figures, one unmistakably stood out—the police officer who had been one of the Gatekeepers earlier.

Driven by fear, his movements were remarkably swift, until a snail shell—covered with shimmering fish scales—blocked his path.

Emerging from the shell were not only heads but appendages with movements far quicker than a snail’s.

Bang!

Being a combatant, the terrified officer chose to attack, undeterred by the overwhelming image before him.

To his credit, his weapon was issued by The Sect.

…

A gun barrel, ludicrously large, spat forth a tangle of electrified light.

It bore some resemblance to the weapon wielded by the Sect’s naked enlightenment-seeking woman—though its power was comparatively miniaturized.

Watching this desperate act of survival amidst Nightmare’s horrors, Fu Qian silently offered his evaluation.

Compared to the latent carriers of infection in the square, the officer leaned far more toward Nightmare’s native lifeforms—essential elements of the constructed order.

At its core, this survival instinct was purer than those flooding the church in this moment.

And seemingly, through sheer decisiveness, the officer’s effort—though fundamentally futile—achieved temporary success.

Under the impact, the entities emerging from the snail shell wavered, actually retreating back inside.

Throwing down his firearm, the officer didn’t even bother reloading but raced frantically away from the creature.

Fortune favored him; he encountered no further obstructions.

Even as his body became engulfed in the fog for a second time.

As the cleansing of the mist grew louder, the fog now covered nearly half the town, pushing steadily closer to the church.

And when the fog receded again, the officer, frozen in place, realized he hadn’t been consumed. Overjoyed, he locked his sights on the church’s spire and broke into another desperate run.

By now, the square before the church also earned a unanimous decision from the crowd.

Trailing behind Amila’s group, a surge of people rushed toward the church, seeking refuge.

Ah—

But barely half a second later, someone noticed the sight upon the dome, screaming aloud.

Clearly unlike Amila’s group, they weren’t mentally prepared for this view.

Instantly, the crowd retreated far faster than they’d entered.

However, the ever-encroaching fog outside instinctively barred them from returning to the square.

Thus, as the town’s final sanctuary, the small church presented a uniquely surreal sight—those few who accepted the Gospel calmly gathered inside, while most stood despairingly on the porch steps, watching waves of mist engulf the town.

“Welcome.”

Fu Qian remained indifferent. He withdrew his gaze momentarily, addressing the three more devout members of The Sect with a casual greeting.

“So, where has Lord Praut gone? Is there any lead now?”