HPxLOTM: A Wizard's Path to Divinity

At the same time, in a hidden underground chamber beneath the docks of Backlund.

Mr. A stood before a blood-soaked altar, staring coldly at the four attendants.

In an eerily calm voice, he said, "Offer your lives for the Lord's descent."

Without hesitation, the four attendants slit their own throats.

Scarlet blood spurted onto the altar.

Thud. Thud.

They collapsed heavily to the floor, as intense spiritual fluctuations rippled through the space.

Mr. A then knelt before the altar. His face twisted in fanatical devotion, he muttered to the crimson-stained cross:

"I don't care what others are trying to do—ambition, schemes, deceit...

All I want is to once again bathe this land in "Your" radiance, to let the lost return to "Your" embrace and protection."

"The Lord that Created Everything,

The Lord who Reigns Behind the Curtain of Shadows,

The Degenerate Nature of all Living Things

Your lamb begs You—descend upon this sinful land!

Let all filth be cleansed by Your arrival,

Let despair and evil vanish from this world!"

He gripped a short blade and sliced down hard on his own palm—the one bearing the black, vertical pupil.

"Lord, descend!"

As his severed hand fell upon the altar, the air echoed with layered, illusory weeping.

One after another, twisted, agonised, and despairing phantoms surged from the altar.

Someone was crying out for their mother.

Someone was coughing violently.

Someone was groaning in pain.

These were the distorted, translucent figures of the unwilling dead, formed of lingering resentment.

They rushed toward the ritual altar in a steady, unrelenting stream.

At the same time, decades of repressed emotions—numbness, despair, pain, hatred—from the factory district, the docks, and the East Borough all flooded toward the altar like a tide.

Mr. A let out a deep, guttural cry of pain.

Patches of writhing, viscous, repulsive flesh burst forth from his left chest, shoulder, abdomen, and thigh.

Around him, the layered spiritual light shimmered with ghostly apparitions radiating numbness, despair, and anguish.

Rays of light pierced the void, pouring into the ritual from stone pillars, floor tiles, and even the air—each inscribed with symbols and magic markings—rushing straight into the altar.

Suddenly—

Boom!

The stone door of the underground chamber exploded inward.

Members of the Red Gloves and the Machinery Hivemind stormed inside.

At the front was the Goddess's Sword—

Crestet Cesimir.

"We must not let an evil god descend!"

Wielding a long, bone-like sword, Cesimir struck with righteous fury toward Mr. A and the altar.

Mr. A's pupils instantly turned blood-red, his apathy erupting into sheer madness.

"Anyone who stands in my way—DIE!"

The next second, a figure in a black robe appeared before him—a woman.

———

In the East Borough of Backlund—

A woman in a pure white robe, breathtakingly beautiful and bewitching, emerged into a filthy, desolate alley.

Her body was shrouded in countless translucent, indescribable shadows, making her figure appear blurred and indistinct.

She was the Lady Despair—Panatia.

Raising her head, she looked up at the sky.

A faint yellow fog drifted through the air, hanging over every part of Backlund.

It smelled faintly acrid—cold and moist.

"Tsk…the optimal time would've been two months later. What a pity."

She glanced around, then walked out from the alley and onto the street.

Her pace was slow, as if she were strolling leisurely through a sea of fog.

Wherever she passed, the mist grew subtly denser—tinged with a dark, iron-black hue. Visibility shrank bit by bit.

As Panatia wandered freely, the iron-black and pale yellow fog intertwined and began spreading throughout all of Backlund.

Feeling her potion rapidly digesting, a breathtaking smile blossomed on her face.

But just then—

A violent wind suddenly roared in from the north, sweeping forcefully and continuously across the city.

The smog she had worked so hard to spread was blown away almost instantly, drifting southward toward the ports and the sea.

Panatia's expression shifted sharply.

"Who is it?!"

Her first thought was of Krismona, the one who had previously wounded her.

But no—

The Demoness Sect had come prepared this time.

Besides Sequence 3's Katrina, there was even a Demoness Angel in the city—specifically to prevent Krismona from interfering.

So…was it the Churches?

But they should have been completely preoccupied by the Aurora Order's descent ritual...

Then who else could it be?

Panatia's nerves tightened.

If not for the anti-divination stealth she possessed, she'd have already been preparing to flee.

The wind howled for two or three full minutes, scattering nearly all of her released plague virus before abruptly vanishing.

She exhaled in relief.

"The Royals intervened!"

Realising this, Panatia quickened her pace and intensified the release of the virus.

In that moment, she became like a god of death—wherever she passed, people clutched their throats, wheezing hoarsely as if they had contracted severe pulmonary disease or bronchitis, gasping for air.

Then, one by one, they collapsed to the ground, choking out their final breath in agony and despair.

———

In the Bridge District of Backlund—

Bernadette calmly faced the man who had just used [Prohibition] to block her wind spell.

He was an older gentleman with streaks of silver in his black hair and no visible facial hair. A touch of arrogance lingered on his face.

Bernadette recognised him.

"He" was once the Duke of Southville in the Loen royal family—

A Sequence 2 "Balancer" on the Arbiter Pathway:

Dlink Augustus

Though he stood one sequence above her, Bernadette showed no fear.

With the sealed artifacts she possessed, she was confident in handling most Sequence 2 Angels.

But only handle.

In other words, she would no longer be able to stop the disaster the Demoness Sect was about to unleash.

Just then—

Phoenix tore through the air, screeching in alarm:

"Help! Help! Edward is in trouble!"

Bernadette's brow furrowed.

Without a second's hesitation, she prepared to teleport.

"Teleportation is forbidden here."

Dlink Augustus spoke blandly, thwarting her action.

Then he said, "Queen Mystic, why don't you stay here with me and witness what's to come?"

Without hesitation, Bernadette raised her right hand.

In mid-air, she quickly traced one glowing word after another—each shimmering with starlight.

The symbols resembled those inscribed on the "Cards of Blasphemy."

They quickly intertwined into a strange sigil, forming a "Secret Gate" that reached into the depths of the spirit world.

She extended her slender hand into the gate and withdrew an ornament—a jewel-encrusted vertical eye—and embedded it directly onto her forehead.

In that instant, Bernadette's body began to dissolve—transforming into streams of complex knowledge and information.

She became a being of pure data flow.

Then—

She flipped her palm again, producing a luxurious jewellery box:

The Box of the Great Old Ones.

For the first time, a grave look crossed Dlink Augustus's proud face.

Creak—

The Box of the Great Old Ones…opened.

——

Dock District.

A group of people wearing makeshift "masks" fashioned from soaked cloth strips were organising rescue operations amidst the choking smog.

At the front was the one-eyed Cage, along with the bartenders and staff from the Lime Bar. While distributing wet cloths to the locals, they directed people into nearby sewer entrances to take shelter.

——

East Borough, along a filthy, crumbling street.

Old Kohler clutched the bread he had just bought, walking through the mix of pale yellow and iron-black fog.

The pungent odour forced him to cover his nose and mouth. Soon, his face began to burn, and his forehead felt aflame.

A sharp pain seized his chest. His vision blurred. Even breathing became a struggle.

Suddenly, a realisation dawned upon him—

He was about to die.

Just as images of his deceased wife and child flashed through his mind, a figure approached.

The man grabbed Kohler by the collar and forced a bottle of liquid down his throat.

In an instant, Kohler felt his clogged throat begin to loosen. The burning in his chest slowly receded.

Huff—huff—huff—

He gasped violently for breath, disbelief etched across his face.

I…I survived.

Koller looked up at the man who had saved him. Whether it was the density of the smog or his own blurred vision, he couldn't make out the man's face.

All he saw were a pair of red eyes.

"That's it. Whether you live or not from here on…is up to your luck."

Emlyn stood up and briskly walked away.

——

At the same time, similar scenes played out across the East Borough and Dock District.

Dozens of vampires with crimson eyes spread throughout the city, distributing the potions they carried to civilians caught in the smog.

They guided people to support one another and administered the medicine to those who had collapsed from heavy inhalation.

Leonard and his captain were also rushing through the streets, doing everything they could to save those still breathing.

Bang!

Leonard kicked down the door of a house where soaked laundry hung in disarray.

Inside, a mother and two daughters were choking and struggling in the haze.

He rushed to them, forcing the potion into their mouths, then—helped by Old Man Pallez—carried them out of the smog zone.

Without pause, he turned and charged back in.

"Cough! Cough! Cough!"

His face had turned pale, and the coughing fit took hold, but his eyes remained unwavering.

"Faster…I must move faster. Only then can more people be saved!"

Pallez commented coolly,

"If I weren't constantly stealing the virus from your body, you would've collapsed by now."

"Then I owe you one, old man."

"But…my condition isn't great. I can't help you forever."

Leonard gritted his teeth.

"Then I'll hold out till the very last second!"

——

Suddenly, a visible storm swept over multiple districts.

It descended from the sky, unleashing an unstoppable, howling wind.

Wooooooo—

The built-up smog was blown away in waves.

The thick yellow and iron-black haze quickly dispersed.

Rumble! Rumble!

Lightning streaked. Thunder roared.

Then it fell silent—

Crashhh!

Rain began to pour from the heavens, washing the streets clean and flushing away the sickness-laden fog.

One by one, the civilians who had been suffocating under the haze were saved by the arrival of the storm and the downpour.

——

Inside Rose Manor.

Prince Edessak sat by the full-length window, his gaze hollow.

"Your Highness, it's time," a voice sounded beside him.

Edessak's eyes regained focus.

He inhaled deeply, picked up the revolver on the table, and pressed it to his temple.

The chamber held a bullet that could obliterate the spirit body.

He looked out calmly at the golf course and the horses strolling in the distance.

Bang!

The gun went off—

But not at him.

The orange-yellow bullet whizzed past and pierced the head of the middle-aged man standing nearby.

The man's face contorted in disbelief and fear as the bullet left a gaping hole through his skull.

Thud.

He collapsed.

Red and white fluids poured from the wound, quickly pooling on the floor.

A thin wisp of smoke rose from the hole, releasing a nauseating stench.

Edessak calmly retracted the revolver and tossed it aside.

Then, with his long, fair fingers, he picked up a plain-looking quill and began to write in a notebook:

"...Keria Macht suddenly retrieved a revolver from his desk drawer, walked out of his room, and entered the living room—where Congressman Macht was discussing today's Great Smog…"

---

"Evan Russell took out a hidden dagger and rushed into the study of his father, Earl Russell…"

---

"Ethan Negan, while helping his brother the new Duke Negan with state affairs, suddenly lunged at his defenceless sibling…"

---

"Evan Russell unhesitatingly fired a bullet into Congressman Russel's chest…"

---

"Hibbert Hall abruptly drew the knife hidden in his coat and stabbed his father, Earl Hall, in the throat…"

---

"Cadwin…Campbell…Howard…Robert…"

The pen paused briefly, then resumed:

"Why did these heirs of the Loen nobility suddenly turn on their own parents and siblings?

Naturally, it was because they had already been subjected to hypnosis and psychological conditioning during prior Psychology Alchemists gatherings."

"By the end of today, over half of Loen's upper nobility and ruling class will be dead.

All that will remain is a hollow, crumbling shell of a kingdom."

"Will the Feysac Empire simply stand by and watch?"

"If Loen ceases to be a nation, how is George III supposed to ascend to Sequence 0, needing to tie his identity to the name of emperor?"

"Train a whole new generation of leaders? Does he even have the time for that?"

Edessak stopped writing.

His eyes flickered with conflicting emotions.

After a long silence, he stowed the pen, closed the notebook, and stood up.

He picked up a small suitcase, donned an unremarkable silk top hat, and gave one last look at the house where he had lived for over twenty years.

"Time to go."

He stepped out of the study.

Princess Helena approached him with a bright smile.

"Big brother, where are we going next?"

He took her hand gently.

"We'll see."

"Okay~"

The siblings walked side by side through the bustling manor grounds.

Strangely, no one around them seemed to notice them at all.

"Thank you, Helena."

"For what?"

"If you hadn't handed me this pen, I'd have probably followed his plan blindly…Taking the fall for everything…And dying alone in ignorance."

Helena squinted, smiling.

"We're siblings, aren't we?"

"Yeah…"

Edessak gave a self-deprecating chuckle.

"But to some people, even blood ties mean nothing."

"Then let's make him taste what it means to be betrayed by blood, wake him from his delusion of godhood, and let him die drowning in despair, pain…and regret."

"…Alright."

———

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