“Ah? It’s, it’s a ghost!” one girl exclaimed, taking several steps back after seeing the semi-transparent figure emerge from the wall. While they were cult members, they weren’t fearless when it came to ghosts, especially those who had done wrong and felt guilty.
“What ghost? Just an undead, we’ve seen undead before. Have you forgotten our Main God is a Death God?” the Half-blood Elf Girl snapped. Though she had just suffered a backlash from Mental Scourge, the intense pain seemed to have no lasting effect on her. Her statement was also peculiar, referring to “our Main God” as a Death God. Typically, believers wouldn’t refer to their deity in such a way. Standard terms of address for one’s faith are simple yet respectful, like “Lord,” “Our Lord,” “Almighty Father,” or “God.” The phrase “our Main God” usually implies that the object of their faith is a subordinate deity, similar to how followers of Apollo might regard Zeus.
“What ghost are you? How dare you eavesdrop on our conversation?!” the Half-blood Elf Girl glared at the ghost, her demeanor so powerful it didn’t seem like someone who had snuck in.
“I’m not some ghost, my name is Lorna. You trespassed into my home and now you accuse me of eavesdropping?” Lorna said sinisterly, as wisps of pale blue ghost fire ignited around her.
“No good, she’s going to attack us!” a muscular man in bondage gear shouted nervously, swinging the whip in his hand. The tip of the whip, adorned with a Poison Dragon Drill, spun and lunged towards Lorna. However, the whip with its drill passed straight through Lorna. As a ghost, she was immune to physical damage, lacking even a physical body and thus no pain nerves.
The ghost fires around Lorna shot towards them, and everyone raised their crude weapons, more akin to torture devices than actual arms, to block. The result was unexpected. Despite over ten of them blocking Lorna’s ghost fire projectiles, those hit were pushed back several steps, trembling all over. The magic within the ghost fire had already pierced their bodies, causing them to shiver uncontrollably. These individuals possessed a certain tolerance for pain, and even some resistance to necromantic spells, but they couldn’t withstand the chill emanating from the deepest part of Lorna’s soul.
Only the Half-blood Elf Girl remained standing, taking the full brunt of the attack. However, her teeth were chattering. She produced a long branding iron from somewhere and pressed it forcefully against her own thigh. With a sizzle, the branding iron burned red-hot, instantly producing white smoke as it seared her skin with a sound like meat frying in oil, even carrying a faint aroma of roasted meat. This Half-blood Elf Girl was ruthless; she merely gritted her teeth and let out a suppressed groan at the searing pain. By allowing the intense heat to penetrate her body, she managed to suppress the chilling aura brought by Lorna.
“You all fall back. This is an exceptionally powerful Wraith, you’re no match for her. I’ll deal with her!” the Half-blood Elf Girl declared, raising her branding iron. A burn mark was now etched onto her thigh. “Soul Branding!” she exclaimed, thrusting the branding iron towards Lorna. Runes on the iron glowed fiery red, the metal heated to an extreme, as if it were about to melt from its own intense temperature.
Lorna didn’t retreat. Her right hand was enveloped in a chilling, terrifying aura as pale blue ghost fire coiled around a skeletal hand grafted onto her soul body. Then, she lunged forward, grasping. “Nagash’s Severed Hand!” The bone hand, enshrouded in ghost fire, seized the tip of the branding iron. Cold and scorching magic intertwined, erupting in a mass of white smoke.
Though their temperatures were diametrically opposed, both were incredibly evil forces. When two such opposing powers clashed, one would inevitably dominate. Lorna’s side now held the upper hand. The severed bone hand seemed as if it were cleaved from Death itself, embodying endless death. A mere touch could drain the soul, and even a fraction of its power could lay waste to an area of thousands of miles, leaving naught but Corpse Bones. This was the pure power of death, an evil will that yearned to slaughter all living beings. Even though it was merely a projection in Lorna’s hand, it carried a divine intent to kill. This aura, imbued with killing intent and death, was far more malevolent than simple malice aimed at causing pain. The comparison was stark: a vicious serial killer facing a mere school bully.
The Half-blood Elf Girl felt this most acutely. The instant the severed hand grasped the branding iron, the scorching heat vanished. A chilling sensation began to creep up the iron’s shaft into her body. If not for her Pantheon’s inclination towards resistance against Death Qi, she would have been killed outright by this deathly magic. It wasn’t just the Half-blood Elf Girl; the others nearby also trembled. Despite it being spring, it felt like the dead of winter, and they could feel their very souls being peeled away.
“Let go! Or you will die!” Lorna warned coldly. After connecting with the Severed Hand, her aura seemed altered. If she had been purely a soul before, she now resembled more of a ghost or Undead. The Death Qi on the pale skeletal claw was also eroding her.
“I, I can’t let go!” the Half-blood Elf Girl finally panicked. She felt her soul being siphoned away through the branding iron, and though she wanted to release it, her hand felt glued to the iron, motionless.
“Ahhhh!!!” Lorna suddenly let out a piercing shriek. This was not the deadly wail of a Banshee, but a common soul scream. It inflicted intense shock upon the body and spirit but caused minimal direct harm, primarily serving as a suppression effect.
“Ugh!” The Half-blood Elf Girl was sent flying backward, the branding iron knocked from her grasp. Due to the soul scream’s sonic nature and its area-of-effect, the rabble present were also sent scattering and stumbling. Seizing this opportunity, Lorna flicked her right hand, and the pale severed hand flew off, disappearing mid-air. She herself was breathing heavily; using such an Evil God’s spell carried considerable risk.
“Damn it! We can’t beat her, run!” The rabble, terrified by Lorna’s overwhelming power, fled in utter panic towards the courtyard, scrambling and tumbling. This was no exaggeration; many had soiled themselves from the sheer terror of the severed hand’s aura. However, while a beautiful girl soiling herself might be perceived a certain way, grown men doing so was quite an unsightly spectacle.
