Read Novel Full Chapter 1672: Rebirth of the Pantheon
Chapter 1672: Rebirth of the Pantheon
New life surged through the World Tree.
As the World Tree devoured foreign worlds, everything within the Titanion Realm revived and evolved. Orion, Lifeless Dreadgod, and Moriphara showed no outward changes. But Archbishop Kysar, whose body had partially petrified into wood, underwent a startling metamorphosis right before their eyes.
The branch of the World Tree belonging to Archbishop Kysar sprouted three smaller offshoots. Beyond the throne of the World Tree, three smaller platforms extended outward. The other three Archbishops of the Cult of Four sat upon these lesser platforms. Their eyes remained closed in silence. They appeared heavily wounded and had yet to fully awaken.
"I never believed they truly perished," Lifeless Dreadgod sneered. "It seems bad weeds refuse to die." The Archbishops of the Cult of Four disgusted him.
Clearly, the four had bound themselves together through some obscure method, escaping the complete consumption of the Four-Faced Beast to seek sanctuary within the Titanion Realm.
"Beyond the realms of the four gods, we pulled in four minor worlds," Archbishop Kysar said. "Territories we conquered long ago. Everything comes with a price, gentlemen. We sacrificed too much to survive this long."
A trace of sorrow tinged Kysar’s voice. For freedom and the Divine Mantle, they had abandoned their authority within the Cult of Four, stripped off the immense divine power bestowed by the four gods, and surrendered their personal pocket worlds. Furthermore, to recruit the Infernal King of the Hell, Twelve-Skulls, they had paid an even steeper price in the shadows, signing numerous unequal pacts.
"Fortunately, everything is returning to life." Archbishop Kysar turned to gaze at his revitalized branch of the World Tree. Endless runes and World Essence flowed within the bark. His eyes were filled with hope and reverence. His gaze reflected not only the branch but also the myriad changes transforming the Continent of the Pantheon.
On the Continent of the Pantheon, sunlight pierced the heavy clouds, bathing the land in pale gold. Under this touch, the earth rolled and the mountains trembled. Faint rustling echoed beneath dry riverbeds. It felt as if an ancient entity beneath the soil had been reborn, stretching and breathing.
The sand blanketing the continent suddenly sprang to life—shifting, dividing, and transforming. When a cactus-like plant breached the desert surface, it broke a dam. Withered ancient trees sprouted fresh buds, and nameless weeds took root across the land.
The wind howled. Clouds gathered. Rain fell.
A sand lizard poked its head from the fine grains. Its large eyes darted around as its scales shimmered with prismatic light, catching Archbishop Kysar’s eye.
"Beautiful," Archbishop Kysar murmured, genuine joy warming his heart. He looked upon the land with the devotion of a father gazing at his newborn.
The current Continent of the Pantheon truly belonged to them. Nothing here bore the taint of the four gods anymore. Those deities could no longer interfere with the realm, nor with them. To Archbishop Kysar, the revived continent brimmed with hope—the absolute foundation of their future.
However, for Clown and Witch, the nightmare had returned.
Somewhere on the Continent of the Pantheon, deep within an underground palace, the vaulted ceiling was dim and the walls ruined. Webs and cracks covered every surface. Clown slumped in a half-collapsed chair, staring vacantly at the ash that once formed the statues of the four gods. He remained frozen for a long time.
Recently, Clown’s state of mind had been in turmoil. Initially, the four Archbishops, led by Kysar, had transferred many of the Continent of the Pantheon’s valuable assets and crucial figures to other worlds to preserve their foundation. The soul marks of Clown and Witch were among those transported. They had successfully escaped the sight of Commander and Orion.
In the moment of their escape, Clown and Witch had been ecstatic. But the joy was short-lived. Archbishop Kysar had dragged their sanctuary world over, draining its World Essence to feed the Continent of the Pantheon. Through this twist of fate, their soul marks returned to the Continent of the Pantheon, landing right back under the noses of Commander and Orion.
With the crisis renewed, Clown felt trapped by destiny. He was doomed to die at the hands of Commander.
"Is this my fate?" he muttered. "No. I control my own life. I won’t let anyone slaughter me!"
Clown slowly snapped back to reality. He stared at the collapsed pillars ahead and the broken shrine buried in the dirt. Shadows obscured his face. After a long while, he stood up, shifting his stiff, puppet-like body.
"I need to find Witch. Find her before Commander kills her!" he whispered frantically. "Her life is my life!"
Clown was desperate. After everything that had happened, every member of the Cult of Four knew the Archbishops had betrayed the gods. The faith of many had shattered that day, leaving them lost in confusion and despair.
"Archbishop Kysar is a traitor," Clown reasoned. "If Hulk asks, or demands it, Kysar will likely hand over our soul marks just to gain leverage and curry favor. Time is running out. I must find Witch, sacrifice her, and commune with the four gods. I have to become their new mortal vessel. It’s the only way to retrieve my soul mark and protect myself."
He had only one path left: reach the four gods and obtain their blessing. Times had changed. The four gods had lost their mortal channels for gathering faith. If he could just make contact, Clown was absolutely certain of success. The deities wouldn’t dare refuse him.
Far away, in an uncharted region, Witch knew things had gone wrong the moment she returned to the Continent of the Pantheon. As a member of the Survivors, she possessed a unique intuition. Her first instinct was to flee from Clown. Around him, she sensed no hope of survival.
Deep within a sand cave, Witch exhausted her entire stash of reagents to construct a bizarre ritual circle of fate. Above a small altar built from black and red stone slabs, a transparent crystal ball hovered. Witch bit her index finger and inscribed cryptic incantations onto the glass with her own blood.