MCDWTBS Chapter 84

Chapter 84: Revenge

“I’ve told you, my child, your last offense was your final chance.”

The “Mother God’s” voice was like a song, with shards of pure white energy falling from the corners of her lips, fluttering like paper scraps, as cruel and beautiful as falling snow.

“You had a great future, but you insisted on ruining it. Now you are no longer worthy of being a child of God, a pity.”

She raised her bare feet and slowly walked down from the center of the altar. The hexagram pattern on the ground erupted with intense flames, and terrifying energy flowed within, like the heat generated when a star burns, gathered together. Any creature that approached would be instantly vaporized. In the soaring heat, the Holy Son’s small body curled up and fell to the ground in pain, but his small head was still raised.

“It’s better to be a joyful ant than a running dog of a false god.”

He said, word by word, and suddenly began to drive the power of his whole body, forcibly summoning the mental tendrils from the void. He was already exhausted, but at this point, he no longer felt that he had the possibility or necessity to live.

His head throbbed violently, and blood slid from the corners of his eyes. He could almost hear the sound of his blood vessels bursting in his brain. Volcano-like cracks began to appear on the surface of the cub’s body, irreversibly tearing his body apart.

This was much more painful than his first death, but he only felt relieved. Francis—or rather, Fu Lan—had always known that there was something wrong with his brain. His existence was like a disaster, an unsuccessful experiment, and he had never been able to feel the joy of life like ordinary people.

On Earth, he walked among the crowd with ease, pretending to be as happy or painful as everyone else. He flirted with everyone, but withdrew before the other person truly fell in love, not only because he hated being touched, but also because he knew that he was something not worth being loved.

How could someone who doesn’t know how to love, someone who is abandoned by his own parents, be worthy of love?

He didn’t actually have as much savior complex as his teacher Serra. Someone who didn’t want to live himself couldn’t love this absurd world, let alone correct it. From day one, he gave up on the mission assigned to him by the system: to find the Pope’s secret and stop the Pope’s plan. All he did was casually save a few female and sub-male insects who needed help, and never planned for the future.

Because he didn’t care about anything. Call him cynical or cold-hearted, he didn’t know if he could live to see tomorrow, let alone care if the world would be flooded after his death.

Until he met a beautiful little spy who was trying to deliver messages in the Vatican.

For him, Ilia’s identity was the most troublesome part, because Ilia was his teacher Serra’s brother, and Francis had to take care of him, didn’t he? He could not care about anyone else, but he still had respect for Teacher Lin. The little sub-male insect was doing things seriously, and fighting alone was really frightening.

Francis had always looked down on people who were overly bold or blinded by their own fantasies. Ilia was obviously a prime example of trying to move the earth with a crowbar. He was in poor health and his abilities were unskilled. Although he was bold and careful, he was also overly reckless. Francis knew that he was doomed to fail, doomed to become a stepping stone in a grand revolution, and also doomed to be forgotten. He knew that Ilia himself was also aware of this, but this sub-male insect was still serious and determined.

He spent a lot of time watching Ilia, so as not to really make a mistake, and several times came forward to protect him. Humans are very strange creatures. Even if it starts as just a responsibility, it gradually becomes a habit—he began to sincerely not want any disaster to befall Ilia, and that had nothing to do with who Ilia was the brother of.

Just because Ilia’s determination and seriousness were the most worthy of protection that he had seen in this absurd world.

And his life was probably the most insignificant thing in this world.

Thinking like this, Francis began to detonate his mental tendrils. Pure white energy formed a tsunami in the flames, surging towards the “Mother God” standing in the altar, while Francis’s own body began to gradually tear apart. Bright ice-blue eyes dried up in the blood-hole-like eye sockets, and the skin slowly evaporated, becoming the ugliest appearance he had ever had in his two lives.

He silently “tsk”ed at this, but it didn’t matter. He used the last intact mental tendril to reach out to Ilia, wanting to push him out of the hall and strive for a bit of survival rate, but he ran out of strength halfway, and his inhuman body fell into Ilia’s arms.

The bright white light was torn apart. The woman’s elegant and slender body, carrying substantial flames, tore apart the pure white tendrils. Her figure fell into Ilia’s eyes, burning away his tears. He knew that he would die soon, just like when he was tortured by his biological male parent, he couldn’t see any way out, but this time, he was no longer panicked.

He was no longer the weak and incompetent insect cub.

He hugged the Holy Son’s inhuman body in his arms, staring intently at the “Mother God” who was tearing apart all the mental tendrils with a pair of seemingly soft hands and walking out of the flames. Nearing death, Ilia’s thinking was exceptionally clear. His gaze swept from the flames flowing around the “Mother God” to the hexagram pattern on the ground, which was like magma.

In an instant, something flashed through his mind. He raised his arms, which were burning with pain from the energy, and aimed the weapon in his hand at a corner of the hexagram pattern. The energy was set to maximum. He fired many shots at the hexagram in rapid succession. The roaring flames and energy made him unable to hear anything, and his vision was blurred by the high temperature. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He knew very well that this action was not to save himself, nor could it save the dying Holy Son, nor could it complete the task.

He couldn’t do anything. The Holy Son was dead, dead to save him. Everything was meaningless. His own destruction came earlier than the enemy’s destruction.

He didn’t know what he was doing. Wisdom in desperation was not his forte, nor was fighting. Ilia knew that he was not talented enough. He didn’t understand why his male parent Sison would give birth to such a useless cub. He didn’t know why he could only be seen as a vase in this world. He wasn’t smart enough, brave enough, or strong enough. It seemed that no matter what he did, he would never do enough.

But he would never stop doing it.

Serra had told Ilia that the world was unfair, and that he would work hard to make the insects in this world live in equality. Ilia just looked at his brother calmly and blankly at the time, not knowing what to say. His brother was very good. He was the most special male insect he had ever seen, and he didn’t even look like a male insect, but he was also very strange. Why did Serra think that female insects, sub-male insects, and male insects were equal? That was so absurd.

Ilia didn’t believe in equality. Life was not born equal. He knew this better than any insect. Even apart from gender, every female and sub-male insect was born with different backgrounds, different levels, and different fates. There were too many mediocre and useless lives in the world. Throughout their lives, they would not have any great achievements. All their efforts would never be attributed to glory.

Ilia was a member of the masses, but he had already accepted all of this. He couldn’t see the grand vision that Serra described to them, and he would never be able to lead one side and become a banner and belief like Edwin, Serra, or his male parent, but even the most insignificant life was not necessarily humble in the face of death.

Before the curtain fell, he did what he could do. Even if it was far from enough for this world, it was enough for the insignificant him.

He could borrow this flame that burned his body, borrow the meaning brought by the light, and calmly walk into the night.

The energy of the particle gun was exhausted, Ilia’s eyes were blood red, his eardrums were shattered in the fierce and sharp sound, and he felt blood seeping out of every inch of skin on his body. The Holy Son’s body in his arms, which was being devoured, became heavier and heavier, making it almost impossible for him to breathe.

Finally, he dragged his stiff limbs and climbed forward a few meters. Blood rolled down from his eye sockets, drying up in an instant. He raised his hand holding the particle gun high, and slammed the remaining energy slot and spare energy stone hard into the hexagram pattern. The flames soared into the sky, instantly devouring the particle gun and most of his right arm.

He was pushed out hard by the energy wave. At the same time, a roar of extreme anger plunged him into a void and darkness. As his consciousness disappeared, he saw flames soaring into the sky, and the temple that had stood for thousands of years crumbled and collapsed in the flames.

*

When Ilia’s consciousness recovered again, it took him a long time to find the stinging sensation of being alive from the numbness.

His vision was blurred. If he were a strong military female, perhaps he could repair the wounds on his body, but his physique was not much better than that of a male insect. His burned eyes could still only see blurry patches.

But he was still alive. This unexpected development gave him enough hints, causing him to gasp sharply. Part of him had already realized that his stubborn and unfounded actions between life and death might have succeeded by accident.

He had almost lost his entire right arm. He groped among the rubble and sat up. Losing an arm made it almost impossible for him to maintain his balance, but he still groped forward with his legs.

The ground, which was originally covered with hexagram patterns and runes, was now as scorched as a volcano after an eruption. The magma had turned into black marks, firmly branded on the ground. Ilia held a sharp energy stone that had fallen from the dome of the temple in his hand, and groped forward using his blurred vision.

One step, two steps. He gradually walked to the center of the temple. The remains of the Mother God lay on their back on the ground. Her hair, as black as night, was spread out on the ground like a black sunflower, making her snow-white and beautiful face even more sacred and mysterious. Not far away, the Pope’s body had been burned by the flames just now, and was now making a horrifying clucking sound, accompanied by rough gasps and dying convulsions.

Ilia stepped forward, unable to make even a sound, and simply raised the sharp energy stone calmly, cutting down again and again without any expression. His vision was blurred, and he didn’t cut the Pope’s body every time. The energy stone made a harsh sound as it rubbed against the ground, and the Pope’s rough howls made this ruin seem like a ghost realm.

Ilia did not stop. He knew that the other insects of the Holy See were only afraid and did not dare to approach the temple immediately. If he had enough survival awareness, he should have left here when he was awake, but until this moment, Ilia realized that he was not actually timid.

He was not afraid of death. What he was afraid of was dying unjustly before he could get justice. The insect in front of him killed Francis. He didn’t care if he was a male insect, or if he was the Pope. He didn’t care if he was a false god or a son of god.

He wanted to avenge Francis.

When the last bit of strength was exhausted, Ilia couldn’t even stand up. He was somewhat grateful that the flames had scorched his wounds. The blood didn’t gush out, but slowly seeped out. He lay on the ground in a mess, crawling little by little towards Francis’s remains.

The small body was almost unrecognizable. The iconic silver hair was also burnt. Ilia didn’t care, and stretched out his damaged fingers to gently touch the scorched top of the cub’s hair—he knew that the Holy Son seemed frivolous, but actually didn’t like being touched, so he retracted his fingers and curled up next to the Holy Son, not touching him again, but gently closing his eyes.

He heard that the Sacred Legion had already carefully stepped into the ruins under the command of the male insects. He felt his body getting colder and colder, and the world gradually faded from his senses.

What he didn’t see was that the fingers of the Mother God’s remains in the ruins gently twitched, and spider-like energy slowly gathered, gradually wrapping around the small, scorched remains of Francis beside him.

A white giant cocoon devoured Ilia as well.