Chapter 203: You Are the Prey, and I Am the Hunter
"My beloved one, what are you doing?"
Rast slowly and methodically sealed the breach in his mental world.
He also noticed that the divine thought from the Descent of the Evil God had been completely confined within his psyche, now utterly incapable of escape.
Even with the insight of the Evil God of Deep Blue Port, it could not help but feel slightly bewildered at this moment.
Had it been trapped on the Threshold of Seraphim for so long that it could no longer follow the thought process of present-day humans?
Why did this Descent differ so much from what it had envisioned—where merely the aftermath would be enough to crush all in its path?
"Naturally, I’m doing what you see, my Lord."
Rast's tone remained reverent and devout, making the divine thought of the Evil God of Deep Blue Port feel quite pleased, like basking in a spring breeze.
However, buried within that respectful tone, there lingered an unsettling chill that made the divine thought feel a slight coldness in its core.
"After all, a mighty being like yourself was already fleeing like a beaten dog at the end of the First Era’s Age of Gods, driven into desperate retreat by the humans of that time, forced to take refuge atop the Threshold of Seraphim."
"All these years, the mortal world has only heard tales of the gods' names, but scarcely any trace of their presence... Even if one exhausts every effort to search, at most all that’s found are some small fry like cultists."
"A living half-body from the Descent, along with a fresh divine thought still maintaining vitality... This is an exceedingly rare and precious find on the Western Continent."
Within the mental world, Rast’s spiritual incarnation leisurely wiped his hands, carefully examining the divine thought of the Evil God of Deep Blue Port.
That focused and serious attitude resembled that of an archaeologist appraising a prehistoric relic of great scientific value.
"Like a hunter in the forest who went through endless trouble, exhausting every means, only then finally finding the tracks of a rare prey, and luring it into a trap set by his own hands—"
"Now that it has come this far, how could a hunter possibly allow such a precious catch to escape so easily?"
Listening to Rast’s words, the divine thought of the Evil God of Deep Blue Port gradually turned grim.
Though this follower of His still spoke respectfully… the more He listened to those words, the more off they sounded, as if something wasn’t quite right.
Until Rast spoke his final sentence, only then did the Evil God of Deep Blue Port suddenly come to a realization.
"Prey—"
"You mean to say that you… you see me, a god upon the Threshold of Seraphim, as prey?"
A grand and vast voice reverberated throughout Rast’s entire mental world, thundering like a storm.
"Do you have any idea what you're saying?"
"A mere human, as insignificant as an ant, dares to hunt a god?"
The tone of the divine thought sounded as though it had heard the greatest joke under the heavens.
"Do you not understand? Even just a small portion of My power that descended through the Threshold of Seraphim into the mortal realm… to annihilate an ant like you would be a trifling matter."
The Evil God of Deep Blue Port raised His hands high, as if to summon forth divine punishment using His descending divine power, to reduce this blasphemous, deceitful human to ashes.
However, despite His furious cry, the divine punishment did not descend.
The Evil God of Deep Blue Port was momentarily stunned, then recollected Himself and lowered His hands.
The power He had descended with, through the Threshold of Seraphim, was divided into two parts: "divine power" and "divine thought". These two complemented each other but also existed independently.
At this moment, per the original Descent plan, His divine power had acted directly upon the target’s body, while His divine thought had been sealed by Rast within his mental world—cutting the connection between body and mind, thus rendering it ineffective.
It was akin to a military campaign where the command system had been paralyzed by electronic warfare.
Without the command system—that is, without the control of His divine thought—then no matter how strong the divine power that descended, it was nothing but a masterless force, incapable of being wielded.
"So that’s it—"
"You intend to trap My divine thought within your own mental image world, forcibly severing the connection between My power and My thought, and then seize all that masterless divine power for yourself?"
The divine thought finally felt it had seen through Rast’s scheme.
"But have you considered—"
"With your mortal body, can you bear the blessing of My divine power?"
"Furthermore, with your meager human soul, with your pitiful insight and experience gained from only a few dozen years of life, and the thin mental world you’ve constructed—do you truly believe you're qualified to imprison the will of a god?"
The furious voice of the Evil God of Deep Blue Port rumbled like thunder, shaking the heavens and earth.
In His eyes, everything Rast had done from start to finish was so absurd it nearly made Him laugh.
A mere human being—how many years of life could one expect from such a creature?
Dozens of years? Maybe a century or two?
Even among humans, those extremely rare Immortal Beings with lifespans stretching hundreds of years still possessed life experiences that were laughably feeble and shallow compared to those of true gods.
Every Mythic Being that had survived since the Age of Gods counted their years of existence in units of ten thousand.
In the presence of such great beings who had lived for one hundred thousand, even a million years—mere humans, with mental worlds forged from just a few dozen or hundred years of life, were as fragile as sheets of paper.
The disparity was like comparing human souls to insects whose lifespans spanned only a few weeks. To a human, an unremarkable week was an entire lifetime for such a creature.
And to the gods on the Threshold of Seraphim, a brief slumber could very well last several generations of human lifetimes.
Even just a wisp of divine thought, split from the god's true body and descending into the present world, was enough to grind any human soul into dust.
Yet, hearing the other's wrathful voice, Rast merely sighed softly.
"First, let me correct one of your misconceptions."
"Don’t flatter yourself. I have absolutely no interest in that masterless divine power you descended with."
"Perhaps in your eyes, that divine power is a blessing, a treasure that lets mortals ascend in a single step... but in my eyes, that so-called divine power from another being is nothing more than second-hand trash."
"I’m a bit of a clean freak. I don’t have the habit of using things other people have touched. In my view, second-hand garbage belongs in the trash bin, not on the market."
He paused briefly.
"What truly interests me is your divine thought—"
"Or rather, the secret knowledge embedded within your divine thought, knowledge about the Age of Gods, about the Threshold of Seraphim, about the other gods."
"Compared to those second-hand divine powers that I wouldn’t touch even with a stick, that is the true treasure in my eyes."
"And then..."
Rast refocused his gaze on the divine thought of the Evil God of Deep Blue Port.
"As for what you just said—about whether my mental image world has the qualifications to bear the weight of a god’s soul..."
"I believe it does."
His spiritual incarnation smiled faintly. "After all, not long ago, a fellow god of yours was devoured by me in exactly the same way."
"Though that one had slumbered for several eras, and their divine thought had just barely revived from annihilation, clearly they couldn't compare to you, who have remained hidden atop the Threshold of Seraphim without ever sleeping—still, you are merely a split divine thought, while they were the will of the true body."
"Given the difference in strength and presence, I’d say the quality of you two divine thoughts should be about the same."
"My... fellow?"
The divine thought of the Evil God of Deep Blue Port froze slightly, but then seemed to realize something.
Most of the gods that had survived from the Age of Gods were still trapped atop the Threshold of Seraphim, and since they all existed on the same plane, any movement among them was mutually perceivable.
As far as the Evil God of Deep Blue Port knew, within the past millennium, no other god upon the Threshold of Seraphim—aside from itself—had made such a large-scale move like a Descent.
Therefore, only one possibility remained: the Old Death God, who had vanished several eras ago—some believed it had fallen into annihilation, others believed it awaited an opportunity for revival.
"You mean, the Death God?"
"You hunted the Death God’s soul?"
As those words left its mouth, the divine thought immediately reacted.
No wonder this human knew the Death God’s hiding place and the location of its slumber in the Nether Abyss so clearly—
It was not mere luck. It was because this human had already hunted the former Death God, and uncovered all the secrets hidden within its divine soul, thus knowing everything.
"Yes, but that time I wasn’t the one who initiated the hunt. It was the other party who tried to invade my body, to use me as a vessel... I merely turned the tables, just like this time. I was only retaliating."
Rast chuckled lightly. "Strictly speaking, it counts as 'legitimate self-defense.' My actions were reasonable and lawful."
"Of course, if you want to see it as entrapment, that works too."
"Well then—" His voice paused momentarily. "Now that all the prelude’s been said, I suppose it's time we move on to the main event."
Rast extended his hand, mimicking the shape of a gun in midair.
"Let us see if I, a mere human with a meager, pitiful mental world, can actually hunt down the divine soul of a mighty god..."
"Wait..."
The Evil God of Deep Blue Port instinctively opened His mouth, as if wanting to say something.
Under normal circumstances, He would never have to fear any human. A human soul opposing His divine thought was like a mantis trying to stop a chariot. He could simply crush it.
But at this moment, everything was too strange, too out of the ordinary.
Even the Old Death God’s divine soul had already been hunted—
Then what chance did His own solitary, isolated divine fragment, far from the main body and without support, truly have?
Yet, within the mental image world—
Rast’s actions remained unmoved by the divine thought’s hesitation.
He simply pointed his finger gun at his own temple.
Then, he slowly pulled the trigger.
Boom—
It was clearly imaginary—a gun conjured from thought alone.
But the instant the trigger was pulled in the void, illusory firelight truly erupted, blazing throughout Rast’s entire mental image world.
Brighter, clearer, fiercely blazing.
Amid the pure and radiant flames, the once mist-covered mental image world behind Rast slowly shed its obscurity.
The firelight illuminated the truth beneath the haze, revealing his true mental landscape.
A ground cracked with massive fissures, collapsed buildings, hot winds filled with searing smoke, metal pipes twisted and deformed under high heat.
It was a barren ruin—a small town wasteland named "Canaan."
On the distant horizon, flames danced.
The dim sky was filled with countless colossal gears, meshing together, turning slowly.
It was a world like an ironworks, devoid of all else save for the town ruins upon the Crimson Wasteland and the slowly turning gears at the end of the sky.
The moment it beheld this mental image world, as desolate as a steel mill—
The Evil God of Deep Blue Port realized it had been utterly wrong.
From beginning to end, this was never the reckless arrogance of a human unaware of their limits.
It was a meticulously designed, flawlessly executed hunt, with every detail arranged with precision.
The other party was the hunter. It was the prey.
And as the prey, all it should have done from the start was exert its full strength, try every possible means—to flee, to hide.
Even if it lost nine-tenths of its divine thought and suffered heavy casualties, as long as one-tenth could survive, that would already be its greatest victory.
However, from the very beginning, it had mistaken hunter and prey, failed to grasp its position, and missed its only chance to escape when the mental image world had not yet fully sealed.
Now, the seal had taken full form.
And so, the fate of this divine Descent incarnation had already been sealed—without even a sliver of room to maneuver.
Rumble—
Rumble—
Above the dark sky of the mental image world, crimson gears slowly turned, emitting the grinding sounds of machinery in motion.
This was a barren prison, a platform for the execution of gods.
Tightening, falling—
Towards that long-destined, irreversible end.