The lake water emanated a faint black glow, just enough to vaguely reveal the towering, sheer cliffs surrounding it. Carved into these immense precipices were colossal statues of angels, boasting six, eight, ten, and even twelve wings. These statues, which should have been pristine white and radiating brilliant holy light, had been reduced by the ceaseless erosion of dark energy to a dull grey, indistinguishable from common stone.

The white radiance they emitted was so weak it was like fireflies beneath the sun; only Sirene’s acute perception allowed him to register that they were emitting any light at all. To Sirene’s left, level with the lake surface in the rock face, a staircase had been hewn out, hundreds of meters wide, with each riser exceeding one meter in height. Countless angel statues lined both sides of the steps.

Like those on the cliff face, these statues were meant to emanate pure white holy light, yet now they were pitch-black, emitting a foul, dark glow instead of their former splendor. "If I die, I die! And it's not certain I will!" Sirene gritted his teeth, staggering up from the lake.

He wobbled through the viscous water onto the stone steps. By this point, the energy within him had been completely consumed by the encroaching darkness; only his basic vital functions remained, forcing him to rely solely on his legs for movement. Looking up at the stairs, the thousands of closely packed steps seemed utterly infuriating to Sirene in his current state.

With each step over a meter high, the total elevation approached ten thousand meters. The thought of climbing such a height in his condition brought him to the verge of tears. "Climb, just climb!

Hey, there’s nowhere else to go anyway," Sirene managed to console himself with a morbid sense of humor. He glanced at the ancient bronze sword in his hand, which was now a significant burden. Having no other choice, he placed the sword on a step and began his slow, laborious ascent.

Sweat poured down him. As he moved, Sirene felt every cell in his body screaming. Excruciating pain assaulted him from all directions, and waves of dizziness made him want to simply surrender to sleep.

Biting down hard, Sirene muttered a fierce curse under his breath: "Night Stalker, Hesso-Kin, if you ever give me a chance to turn the tables, I will slaughter them all. No, wait—I'll spare the women of your clans. Roman slave girls are quite popular in the Earth Federation nobility!" His body scraped against the stone steps, and Sirene continued his grim attempt at self-comfort: "Look, look at these sacred runes carved into the steps!

Ah, they're all made of rare metals. A pity they’ve been ruined by this black energy after so many years." Silver, frequently used to forge various holy implements, had been meticulously used here to carve countless runes inlaid into the stone. All the runes depicted powerful divine scripts such as 'Seal,' 'Purify,' and 'Expel Evil.' Sirene did not recognize more, but judging by the complexity of their patterns, their power must have been even greater.

He scraped his finger across a rune symbolizing the expiation of original sin, then gave a wry shake of his head. The silver had been so corrupted by the dark, evil force that its nature had changed, rendering it brittle as rotten wood. One scratch left his palm full of black dust, and a faint, unsettling odor pricked his nostrils.

"Such extravagance—what was this place built for?" Sirene muttered to himself as he climbed. The dark power had begun to permeate Sirene's flesh. Relying purely on instinct, he fumbled in the storage pouch tied around his waist and stuffed life-saving elixirs into his mouth, letting their medicinal power clash and dissolve against the encroaching dark energy, barely preserving his sanity and his ability to move.

At first, Sirene swallowed a mouthful of elixirs after every ten steps. Later, he needed a mouthful for every two steps. The dark power intensified, relentlessly invading his body.

Gradually, Sirene's snow-white skin turned black, his light-silver hair darkened, and his pupils morphed into opaque, obsidian crystals. Only a faint hint of flesh color remained visible at his brow and heart. A mouthful of elixirs, another mouthful, and yet another—sustained by these pills, Sirene struggled upward.

As he neared the top of the staircase, the supply in his storage pouch was depleted. Even the lightweight pouch now felt like an unbearable weight. With immense effort, he unfastened it and wildly flung it backward.

The pouch sailed lightly, just managing to land near the ancient bronze sword at the very base of the steps. "Hold on, I'm almost there... Even if I die, I need to see what this place truly is!" Sirene let out a harsh, cackling laugh, feeling his consciousness slipping away.

He slammed his forehead against the stone steps until he drew blood, black fluid dripping steadily from his chin. The sharp pain cleared his mind slightly, and he let out a ferocious roar, summoning his last reserves of strength to leap upward, managing to scramble onto the final few steps before his breath failed him. With a tumbling sound, Sirene propelled himself forward, rolling repeatedly until he slid into a massive hall.

The hall was circular, over three thousand meters in diameter, capped by a circular dome reaching a thousand meters high. Snow-white dome, snow-white walls, snow-white floor. Whatever material composed this hall, it remained completely impervious to the pervasive dark energy that had infested the entire subterranean cavern.

Bright sunlight poured in from a carved image of a red sun on the dome. Near this solar image hovered dozens of exquisitely beautiful angels, each bearing twelve golden wings. They radiated a faint white light, fiercely suppressing a coil of dark energy within the hall—energy that writhed like a divine dragon.

This dark presence was forced to vent outward through the hall’s main entrance. The walls of the hall were lined with over a thousand colossal statues of six-winged angels. Carved from white crystal, they gripped massive cruciform longswords, holding them crossed before their chests with the points aimed skyward.

On the cross-guard of every greatsword, a chain emitting continuous white light tightly bound a fallen angel, one with black wings, black hair, and black eyes. These fallen figures, each standing over eight meters tall and bearing at least eight black wings, had expressions of serene repose, their eyes closed as if in eternal slumber. A massive aperture gaped where their hearts should be, suggesting something had flown forth from within them.

Sirene shook his head forcefully, raising a hand to begin counting the angel statues and the chained fallen ones. A hoarse, deep voice echoed from the center of the hall: "No need to count. There are exactly one thousand nine hundred and seventy-three Dark Angels!" The voice originated from the hall's center but resonated directly inside Sirene's mind.

Though he had never heard this language, he instantly understood its meaning. The central mass of black energy, thick as a ten-meter column and whirling like a maddened dragon, gradually dissipated. A black throne, thirty meters high, began to materialize.

The throne was carved from black, translucent crystal, etched with scenes of angels slaying and battling one another. Seated upon it was a black-winged angel nearly a hundred meters tall, bearing twelve broken wings, with dozens of massive white swords piercing his body from all directions, pinning him firmly to the seat. Seven white chains—piercing his shoulders, waist, spine, and knees—penetrated the dark angel’s form.

The other ends of the chains vanished into the hall’s floor, their destination unknown. Like the hall itself, these chains and the luminous white swords remained brilliantly white and radiated intense holy light, despite countless years of corrosion by the dark aura. A constant hissing sound emanated from the black-winged angel; wisps of faint black smoke curled around the wounds where the swords and chains pierced his body—this was the source of the violent demonic energy within the hall.

No human could imagine the agony of being impaled in such a manner, yet on the angel’s face, not a trace of pain was visible. "A weak... human!" The black-winged angel fixed his gaze on Sirene and suddenly chuckled, "Such a frail creature—why have you managed to arrive here?" Sirene struggled to stand, using the last vestiges of his strength to straighten his posture.

He looked at the dark angel and stated in a low voice, "Because this planet now belongs to us!" Raising his eyebrows in surprise, the black-winged angel chuckled, "Oh? Has this planet been conquered by you? Then the war between My kin and the Daoists—the Daoists were victorious?" The War between the Angelic race and the Daoists?

Sirene had no knowledge of what this black-winged angel was speaking of. He stared blankly at the angel and managed to shake his head. "Hm?

You do not know of the war between My kin and the Daoists?" The black-winged angel regarded Sirene with astonishment. "When I was sealed by those foolish elders, they seemed to be in retreat! Heh heh, after all these years, they must have succumbed?

For even the guards stationed here were recalled; their situation must be dire." The black-winged angel frowned. "Yet you know nothing of that war? Human, tell me, where do you hail from, and what is the situation outside?" Sirene opened his mouth to speak, but the dark energy within him had surged into his brain, causing his vision to blacken and nearly letting him collapse.

The black-winged angel started, glared fiercely at Sirene, and instantly blasted a stream of dark energy from his eyes, which shot straight into Sirene’s body. "Ah—!" Sirene felt a scorching torrent rush into him, so hot it was like molten iron, burning him with excruciating pain. In the blink of an eye, the torrent transformed into a chilling, bone-numbing cold that made him shiver violently, as if every cell in his body was about to shatter into fragments.

Just as Sirene thought he would be tortured to death by this bizarre energy, the force transmuted into a warm, gentle, quiet heat, as soothing as a mother's embrace, slowly spreading throughout his body. Ease, comfort, and an unprecedented sense of power washed over him. Sirene clenched his fists, the quick contraction causing small air-bursts.

His physical functions had enhanced to an unbelievable degree; the feeling was indescribable. Power—an overwhelming sense of power, enough to destroy the heavens and earth, a sense of control sufficient to command the cosmos and demolish everything at will. Sirene took a deep breath and looked at the black-winged angel in astonishment.

If a mere casual emission of energy from the angel was this potent, just how strong was the being before him? The black-winged angel offered a gentle smile and spoke calmly, "Tell me everything now. How did you get here, what is happening outside—tell me it all." Shaking his head bitterly, the black-winged angel sighed softly.

"I have been sealed here for far, far too long." Sirene replied, "I come from the Earth Federation. This planet is currently the battleground between us." Sirene's words flowed smoothly as he recounted the war between the Earth Federation and the Roman Kingdom, detailing the causes and consequences with perfect clarity. This included Gu Yechen discovering Paradise Star, Andre's fortunate discovery of the Thirteen-Star Cluster, and the ensuing massive conflict between the two nations—he told the black-winged angel every detail.

The black-winged angel stared blankly at the hall's dome for a long moment. After a while, he mumbled softly, "So, they are all dead? Every last one?

Wiped out? That is utterly... perfect!" Baring his teeth in an expression that was neither a smile nor a grimace, the black-winged angel looked at Sirene and said, "My name...

my name is... My name is..." After pondering intently for a while, the black-winged angel slowly declared, "My name is Mene-Mo, Archangel of Darkness. As for my surname...

I apologize, I have forgotten that as well." His mouth drooped slightly, Mene-Mo coughed a few times, and then spoke quietly, "Whether you wish to hear it or not, I shall tell you a story." The story began long, long ago. In this peaceful galaxy of the Thirteen Stars, on the thirteenth celestial sphere, a fourteenth-generation angel with a pair of wings was born. His parents named him Mene-Mo, which in the angelic tongue means 'blissful and harmonious love.' Mene-Mo was undoubtedly a genius.

Despite being a weak fourteenth-generation angel, lacking the inheritance of the higher ranks, he achieved promotion to a powerful six-winged Archon within a few centuries through sheer comprehension. This miracle stunned all the senior angels, and he was immediately inducted into the Angelic race's Holy Hall of Light, becoming a Glorious Angel. 'Blissful and harmonious love'—the beautiful wish of Mene-Mo's parents was soon realized.

He met a beautiful maiden who was also a six-winged angel, and the two fell deeply in love. What Mene-Mo did not know was that this six-winged angel was born with her six wings—she was the youngest descendant of a Second Generation Holy Hall Grand Elder! The romance between a lowly fourteenth-generation little angel and a noble third-generation six-winged angel caused an uproar in the rigidly stratified Angelic society.

Some reclusive First and Second Generation angels emerged, furiously denouncing this transgression of primal sin: disrespecting elders, disregarding laws, violating tradition, and betraying the ancestral rules of the Angelic race. Moreover, third-generation male angels who desired the angel maiden used their family power to relentlessly suppress and ostracize Mene-Mo. Easily, Mene-Mo was forced apart from his beloved.

Mene-Mo seemed reluctant to detail the exact process, but in the end, his lover married a third-generation angel of equal standing, while he was relegated to an exploration team tasked with finding new habitats for the newly born fourteenth and fifteenth generations, and those of even lower status. After endless wandering through the void of space, enduring countless risks until his comrades fell one by one to cosmic dangers, Mene-Mo discovered a perfect planet—Paradise Star, which the Daoists referred to as Wandering Immortal Star. Fortunately, the first Daoist Mene-Mo encountered was a benevolent Buddhist cultivator.

That cultivator was on the verge of Nirvana, and before he passed into ultimate peace, he bestowed his entire legacy upon Mene-Mo. An angel began to cultivate Buddhist Dharma. Even more astonishingly, Mene-Mo gleaned the Way of Samsara from the scripture of salvation left by the cultivator.

He broke past the innate Holy Light power inherent to the Angelic race and grasped the power of Darkness, which stood in opposition to Light. Compared to the power of Light, the power of Darkness possessed greater destructive force and faster cultivation speed. Furthermore, the combination of Light and Darkness mutually accelerated Mene-Mo’s growth; in just over a hundred years, he reached the level of a ten-winged angel.

Later, the war erupted—the war between the Angelic race and the Daoists. As a member of the Angelic race, Mene-Mo joined the fight without hesitation. Relying on his formidable strength and peculiar energy attributes, Mene-Mo achieved monumental success and rapidly rose through the ranks of the Angelic hierarchy, commanding a vast army of subordinates.

Facing the overwhelming assault of the Daoists, Mene-Mo generously shared his cultivation secrets with his followers, earning him a group of fiercely loyal brothers willing to die for him! A brotherhood that would shield him in battle, dedicate everything to uphold, support, and protect him. He dedicated everything to these brothers, and they, in turn, spared nothing for him.

Mene-Mo and his followers grew ever stronger, their contributions ever greater, until one day, Mene-Mo became one of the most influential heavyweights in the Angelic race. At this critical juncture, the Daoists, terrifyingly powerful, had reached the Thirteen-Star Cluster, on the verge of invading the entire sector. At this crucial moment, a bizarre transformation occurred: Mene-Mo and his brothers’ wings turned black, their hair turned black, and their eyes also became black.

Even the holy light they emitted shifted to the color of night. The angels, born from the substance of stars, loathed all darkness, and they could not tolerate such aberrations within their own kind! Under the secret orchestration of all the First Generation angels, a bloody purge erupted.