Second update, 5k!

Lightning slashed down with a thunderous force, dragging out a bright afterimage. In an instant, it was like the gun of Longjirus landing on the bronze statue of the Mother of the Desert who had suffered from bloody rain and blood, and became old and dirty. The sudden burst of violent white light invaded their eyes, and the accompanying sound of the sky falling and the earth shattered their ears.

They couldn't help but hug their heads and hummed and fell to the ground. Their heads were swollen and dizzy, their eyes were stinging, tears were surging, and their ears were buzzing, as if a whole nest of bees were trying to get in.

After a while, Li Ou gradually recovered. He slowly opened his eyes and saw the bronze statue on the square in a tearful state of tears. The woman's head fell to the ground, and a terrible wound like an axe cut off her skull; her arms were scattered everywhere. Only half of the cracked body was still standing in place, shaking in the howling wind.

Thunder and lightning were laughing loudly, and the golden pupils in the sky flashed with some pleasure. The black clouds were twisted, and the ugly and terrifying face was grinning. The other party seemed to feel that it was not enough, so lightning fell one after another, and in an instant, the square was flooded with the jumping current. Whether the woman was a beautiful girl with a supernatural beauty or a witch with abscessed face, she no longer existed. In the place where she stood, there was only a huge black pit left.

The desert warrior could not hide his fear. His face was pale. He looked at the huge face that was looming in the sky and asked tremblingly, "Who is he?" He already had the answer, but he couldn't believe it.

"Clegg." Leo's throat seemed to be burned by fire, and every time he spoke a syllable, it seemed so difficult. He looked into the eyes of the sky and said, "No doubt he is Clegg. The Demon God of Annihilation, the Demon God of Creation and Destruction, the Black Sun, Clegg."

☆

Monroe Celte looked at the bottomless pit beside him in horror, unable to hide the shock in his heart. He hoped that this was a terrible dream, and when the rising sun rose, he would wake up and everything would return to its original state. But when the cracked bronze head, body, limbs, and women's breasts hit the ground, when the fragments hit him, causing continuous pain, and when the thunder blew around him and the demon priests laughed loudly, he knew that this was just his wishful thinking. Everything happened as he heard and saw, and he was the culprit of all this.

He couldn't help but hate his weakness, why did he retreat from the woman's intimidation and involuntarily commit such an unforgivable sin? As long as he was still alive, Monroe Celte knew that this guilt would never be eliminated.

Lightning sizzled around him, but he was not unharmed. He was about to cry with sadness. "Why, why am I okay?" He shouted wildly in his heart, "Why am I still rational, why am I still a human?"

No one gave him an answer, and only ridicule was laughter.

Monroe Celte dared not look up. His eyes, the dark and deep golden color, had the majesty that he could not disobey, and had the madness that he subconsciously felt dangerous. He didn't know who it belonged, but he knew it would be better to be farther away from the other party. He was like an ostrich hiding his head. He turned a deaf ear to the other party's insults in anger.

Gradually, the rain became smaller until it stopped, the thunder weakened and slowly dissipated. Although a sea of ​​fire in the city illuminated the still dark sky, everything seemed to be over. Monroe Celte guessed, slowly raised his head, and suddenly realized that he was no longer imprisoned. He climbed up from the smelly black water that emitted heat and stood up straight. He forced himself not to look up, but his eyes looked straight and saw the scene that also made him palpitations-

——The one-eyed priest with dark red skin, inverted golden eyes.

Each pair of eyes was staring at him, with only the purest evil in his eyes, beating as unpredictable as their masters. A certain magic influenced him, Monroe Celte, and the imprisoned reluctance and resentment. In a trance, these thirteen eyes seemed to have changed into two, two changed into four... In the end, countless became a pair of desperate eyes of hatred, they stared at him, telling their resentment. No matter how he ran, he could not break free from their gaze. His weakness was completely grasped by the other party.

The demon priests opened the root tumor like a tree root, and their mouths grew together with their palate, revealing a dark red hole. They were laughing at them, Monroe Celte realized, but he could not argue and dared not resist. He chose to fall again and was willing to sink. I am a coward. He thought bitterly.

In the unison of the "priests", the only winner crawled under the platform and looked up at the sky with his head raised, screaming loudly. Monroe Celte heard some kind of fanatical joy in his shouts. He knew clearly what kind of emotion it was, it was like cheers, like applause at a party, just like those relatives and friends who were killed by him, he belonged to a fanatical believer, an irrational lackey, and a puppet. Each of us was deceived. Monroe Celte thought sadly, I was the one who harmed you.

Their screams echoed, and Monroe Selt felt the eye above his head looking happily.

What were they going to do? He was at a loss. He wanted to leave, but his feet were stuck in place as if they had taken root. Driven by some mystery, his body bent uncontrollably, stretched out his right hand, accurately grasping the short spear that was glittering on the side. The short spear was coated with a dark golden light, but under this deep light, there was still some silver spot of light that had not faded.

No, no, I don't want it, throw it away. Monroe Celte realized what was about to happen, and he struggled hard and shouted in horror, but hissing sounds like a snake spitting a letter from his throat. He ordered his body without any response. I don't want to do this, I'm not a tyrant, I'm not a murderer!

His gods had long abandoned him, and he had abandoned them first, so there was no response.

Monroe Celte watched helplessly as the winner walked up to the platform under the command and urging of the demon priest.

He was a man, handsome and strong, with black hair braided in braids, and his eager eyes were filled with the simplest faith. However, at this time, he was covered in wounds, with a large piece of muscle missing on his shoulders and arms, and blood was flowing, as if he was a blood man drilling out of the pool of blood. There were still meat residues left in his mouth.

He blamed himself for devouring Monroe Celte. He looked away with difficulty and looked at the short spear that could not be thrown away in his hand. Do you really want to do that? He remembered the head underground. His courage disappeared.

The demon priests sang hypocritical eulogies, and the winner, no, was merely a survivor, a survivor of doom, a merciless person who lived only one more moment than others—no, we are all total losers—slowly kneeled down before him, looking up at him with both ridiculous and pathetic expectations.

The sharp end of the short spear aimed at the winner's eyebrows and stabbed in a harsh grin.

Blood splattered, bringing out pale liquid.

However, in this short moment, when the other party was about to die, Monroe Celte felt the other party's soul dissipation, and he felt the other party's reason return to his body. His eyes were briefly confused, and then replaced by fear, exactly like countless people who died in his hands, with desperate eyes, gradually losing their minds, gray and wide eyes.

Monroe Celte slowly knelt on the ground and cried silently.

The winner was the dead at this time. He fell in front of Monroe Celte, his confused eyes conveying his confusion and confusion. He didn't understand why his goddess eventually killed all of them. When the black fire appeared again, Monroe Celte knew that this was the sacrifice. He once thought that the object of sacrifice was the mother of the desert, the perfect goddess in the lie, but the truth was cruel and unacceptable. The one they sacrificed was actually a demon.

The wind suddenly rose and the lightning flashed.

The eye blinked in the air, and Monroe Celte thought he was expressing his joy because the prayers in his pastors were cheering. However, neither the dark golden eyes nor the churning black clouds were willing to leave.

Why don't you stop? End it, end it quickly. Monroe Celte prayed hard. They, these demons, the mysterious woman, have already won the other party's favor, what else should they do? What are they waiting for? Are they waiting for the other party's gift? Or something else? For example, the last sacrifice?

I'm still alive, if it's me, then come quickly...

However, they did not take any action. As they repeated over and over again, Monroe Celte suddenly understood the prayers that the pastors kept repeating.

"Death is also the beginning. Destruction is creation." They said.

The magic wind began to blow again, a mixed sense of madness, filled with sulfur and fishy smell blew throughout the city in Monroe Celtic's confusion. The commotion from the square seemed to be something hiding underground. However, there was nothing underground. The stacked corpses were moving.

In his fear, every person lying in a pool of blood in the square stood up again. They swayed, just like the past priests, all the skin and muscles on their faces peeled off, and their eyes bounced out of their eye sockets. Under the playful fucking of the eyes above their heads, they turned into terrible and ugly demons one by one.

In Monroe Celte's ear, the tone of the devil priests prayed was like ridicule, so harsh that he didn't know why he was still alive and witnessed it with his own eyes, but he held his spear tightly.
Chapter completed!