Citte’s flight speed was astonishingly fast; the short fissure in the earth was crossed in the blink of an eye.

A sudden brilliance blinded them, and Citte and the other high-ranking members of the Holy See were momentarily stunned by the massive space that opened before them. A gaping void, nearly a hundred miles in diameter, rose several jias high, within which a magnificent, palatial structure hovered silently, untouched by any speck of dust, like an immortal dwelling suspended hundreds of feet above the ground. Brilliant, ethereal light emanated from every pavilion lining the cavern walls, bathing the vast space in a kaleidoscope of colors, making it resemble a colossal, multi-hued gemstone. The light distorted everyone’s features, rendering them hazy and indistinct.

The massive figure of Gangelu charged out of a crimson pavilion whose massive doors stood wide open. In his hand, he gripped a crimson Sky-Piercing Halberd, seven or eight meters long. As this ponderous weapon swung, it cut the air with a deep huhu sound, clearly indicating its extreme weight. Occasionally, Gangelu put his full strength into a swing, and the halberd would erupt with ten thousand feet of roaring flame. Even from several miles away, waves of scorching heat washed over the onlookers, revealing the extraordinary nature of the weapon.

Seeing Citte and his entourage rush in, Gangelu smirked triumphantly toward them, squinting his eyes. “Birdmen, you’re late. The good stuff is mine!”

Waving the halberd in his hand, Gangelu roared with barbaric arrogance: “If you don’t want to be beaten into mince meat, then get lost!”

Just as Citte was about to reply, a towering, bull-headed man, several meters tall, burst out of a white hall in a frenzy of excitement. He shrieked Gangelu’s name, wildly waving his arms, showing off a massive nine-ringed broadsword, nearly four meters long, that gleamed with chilling cold and possessed an unnervingly sharp edge. The Minotaur, in a fit of excitement, flung his own original double-bladed battle-axe toward the sky, then brought the great broadsword down upon it. With a faint, almost inaudible crack, the battle-axe shattered into more than a dozen pieces.

“A fine blade!” Gangelu exclaimed in shock, then bellowed sharply: “Brothers, hurry and grab everything! Don't leave a single roof tile for these bastards!”

Before the words faded, Citte emitted a piercing whistle, streaking into the cavern in a flash of white light. Behind him, Andre and the others unfurled their brilliant white wings, transforming into arcs of holy radiance as they charged toward the groups of cyan and black halls where no one had yet entered. Among the high clergy of the Holy See, figures like the Pope and the Cardinal Archbishops already possessed a second pair of wings, while rising stars like Andre currently had only one pair. Nevertheless, the holy radiance emanating from all of them was exceptionally dense, increasing their strength by several times over.

Gangelu furiously swung his Sky-Piercing Halberd and charged forward, viciously attempting to use the heavy weapon to intercept the members of the Holy See. However, since gaining their wings, the high-ranking clergy possessed a speed and agility far beyond what a werewolf like Gangelu could match. In a short time, Gangelu was left panting heavily, having failed to stop a single one of them.

Frustrated, Gangelu roared: “Call up the brethren! Hurry up! Hide all the good things before these birdmen fly too fast!”

The members of the Pantheon scrambled in and out of the halls, carrying away everything movable. However, these halls were protected by extremely powerful magical restrictions; many objects could only be viewed, not touched. Forcibly moving them would trigger a massive backlash from the restrictions. As a result, nearly a hundred members of both the Pantheon and the Holy See were injured by the wards.

The restrictions within the cavern were formidable, and the methods of harm varied. These unfortunate souls were sometimes struck by lightning, sometimes scorched by fierce flames, sometimes frozen by profound ice. Worse still, some suffered injuries that left no visible mark, save for bleeding profusely from every pore. Citte and Gangelu, helpless to stop the internal chaos, could only dispatch subordinates to move the wounded outside the earth fissure.

From afar, Gu Xichen watched the Holy See and the Pantheon forces diligently tending to their wounded near the fissure entrance. He frowned slightly in dissatisfaction. Why aren't they fighting each other? That would save me so much effort. Oh well, it doesn't matter. Pursing his lips, he calculated his next move. Before Fuya Ming could react, Gu Xichen suddenly wrapped his arms around her waist and gently kissed her cheek. After the kiss, Gu Xichen felt the contact of his lips against her skin—soft, cool, and exquisite as a petal—and couldn't resist leaning in for three more quick kisses.

Fuya Ming felt her cheek flush hot, instantly coiling her body like a burning flame. She did not evade Gu Xichen’s successive kisses. Instead, with a purely feminine instinct, she stretched out her hands and fiercely pinched the soft flesh at Gu Xichen’s waist. Very carefully and deliberately, she gathered up a tiny portion of flesh, no bigger than a soybean, and slowly, deliberately twisted it one hundred and eighty degrees.

As the saying goes, hitting is affection, and scolding is love. Gu Xichen certainly offered no resistance to Fuya Ming’s pinching and twisting. He cooperated fully, letting out a drawn-out sound of pain as the true essence in the vicinity of that pinched flesh surged, sending a heart-piercing, throbbing pain surging like a tide, nearly forcing a scream from him. Gu Xichen’s senses were already hundreds of times sharper than normal. With his protective true essence dispersed, and Fuya Ming wielding the power of ten thousand true essences, the force in her hand alone amounted to several thousand jin. This level of pain was more than enough for him to handle.

“Fuya, your skin smells so fragrant!”

Gu Xichen gasped, wiping away involuntary tears, while simultaneously stroking Fuya Ming’s flank with a gaze full of tender affection. However, as he spoke, two large, yellowish tears escaped the corners of his eyes and dripped down.

“Oh? Does it?” Fuya Ming replied calmly. She pondered for a moment, then slowly released the flesh on Gu Xichen’s waist, gently rubbing the spot with her palm.

“Yes, very fragrant,” Gu Xichen said earnestly. “I’m planning to contact the biggest perfume company in the Federation and have them custom-blend a fragrance based on your natural scent.”

“Huh?” Fuya Ming looked at Gu Xichen in surprise.

Gu Xichen smiled tenderly and gently wrapped his arms around Fuya Ming. “That scent can make many women look ten times better.”

Fuya Ming’s blush deepened. She lowered her head, transforming from a hard, newly bloomed orchid into a delicate, dew-kissed herb.

Gu Xichen felt a surge of passion. He couldn't resist lifting Fuya Ming’s chin, puckered his lips, and prepared to kiss her—

A sharp cough suddenly erupted nearby. The sound was as unpleasant and grating as the final rattle of a long-term tuberculosis patient, catching in the throat, like dozens of shattered whetstones grinding against slices of rusty saw blades.

The tender atmosphere between the two was instantly shredded. Gu Xichen and Fuya Ming turned their heads in annoyance, only to see Cheng pinching her own neck in the room, coughing violently. This girl was merciless to herself; she had dug deep red marks into her own neck before emitting that hideous, breathless sound.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Gu Xichen asked, annoyed and angry.

“Please, have some professional spirit!” Cheng said, frowning as she released her hands. Her face was flushed as she spoke, “When our bandit group is robbing a place, who dares to engage in romance? They’d be immediately exiled to the escape pods. We are currently lying in wait, setting traps, and calculating outcomes. Please, Brother Xichen and Sister Fuya, be professional and focus, alright?”

Fuya Ming chuckled lightly and quickly stepped back a few paces.

Gu Xichen glared at Cheng with eyes spitting fire, muttering a vicious curse under his breath: “May you be perpetually single!”

Injured members continued to pour out from the fissure entrance from both the Holy See and the Pantheon. Those remaining outside immediately began treating the wounded using their respective secret arts.

However, it was clear that neither the Holy Light nor the Dark Healing Arts were particularly effective against the damage caused by the Daoist restrictions. Their desperate efforts could only temporarily stabilize their comrades’ injuries; they were clearly out of their depth when it came to healing the bizarre wounds afflicted upon them. Often, as soon as one patient’s condition stabilized, another would worsen, forcing the healers into frantic, sweaty chaos.

Inside the cavern, the depleted forces of the Holy See and the Pantheon finally converged before the central grand hall.

They looked at each other, and both sides couldn't help but laugh wryly. “We look exactly like scavengers.”

From Citte and Gangelu downwards, everyone was burdened, carrying, dragging, or hoisting anywhere from three to a dozen pieces of weaponry, alongside some glittering pots, pans, and tableware. Especially the bulky, immensely strong races among the dark creatures—the werewolves, minotaurs, and giants—they resembled hedgehogs, bristling with thirty or forty blades, spears, swords, and halberds of various lengths. If they hadn't spoken, they would have looked exactly like mobile weapon racks.

They glanced at each other, and finally, all eyes settled on the massive central hall, miles wide and long.

A dark mage from the Pantheon stared at the two characters above the hall door, shaking his head reverently. “They are ancient Eastern script. Great Works Hall—those three characters!”

A Cardinal Bishop from the Holy See, unwilling to be upstaged, also shook his head in awe. “It’s Tiangongwen Guyi. A very ancient script. Even the cultivators in the East don’t use these characters anymore. Clearly, this palace complex is incredibly old.”

He paused, then the dark mage and the Cardinal Bishop spoke in unison: “Perhaps its history is even longer than that of our Holy See (or the Pantheon)!”

Citte glanced at Gangelu. “The best treasures must be inside.”

Gangelu sneered, “But we’ve already seen that we lost quite a few comrades just in the outer structures.”

Citte frowned, adopting a thoughtful expression. “If we cooperate, perhaps we can obtain the treasures within!”

Gangelu continued to sneer, “I don’t trust your word! The last time we teamed up to attack those Easterners, you stabbed me in the back!”

Citte said gravely, “This time, I swear upon the name of our Ancestor. We will work together to break the defenses of this grand hall, and all treasures obtained will be divided equally.”

Gangelu hesitated for a moment, then slowly nodded. “You and I will enter a temporary Soul Co-existence Pact, otherwise, I cannot trust you!”

After a period of silence, Citte looked at the towering, magnificent, ancient, and majestic Great Works Hall. Ultimately, he could not resist the temptation of the Tiangong Hall, and slowly agreed, “Fine!”

A white figure, three chi tall with eight wings growing from its back, rose from above Citte’s head and slowly drifted toward Gangelu.

An equally three-chi-tall shadow, radiating a faint golden light and possessing a pair of enormous, oddly shaped fleshy wings, rose from above Gangelu’s head to meet the eight-winged figure.

Gangelu laughed strangely. “Your true form is actually an eight-winged Angel!”

Citte’s expression remained unchanged as he coldly retorted, “I never expected you to be a mutated Howling Moon Winged Wolf. You’ve hidden yourself deeply!”

Gangelu sighed. “Likewise. In this strange place, how can one survive without hiding some of their power?”

The white figure and the wolf-shaped shadow slowly made contact. Citte and Gangelu’s bodies trembled violently, and both spat out a stream of blood essence, which merged into their violently shaking souls. Nourished by the blood essence, their souls, like two viscous masses of glue, slowly fused into one. Finally, a figure eight chi tall, with a wolf’s head, human body, and twelve wings—two pairs of which were grotesque, black, fleshy wings—appeared before the crowd.

Citte swore a vicious oath in the name of their Ancestor: until the treasures of the Tiangong Hall were secured, he and Gangelu would share life and death, prosperity and hardship. After obtaining the treasures, all spoils would be divided equally. Should either violate the oath, Citte’s soul would be devoured by Gangelu’s soul, and all his power would become Gangelu’s.

Gangelu also swore an oath in the name of the Dark Gods, mirroring the contents of Citte’s vow.

As the oaths were sworn, a strange black-and-white beam of brilliant light erupted from within their fused souls. Citte and Gangelu’s physical bodies shook once more. Both sensed a surge of immense power pouring out from the other’s body, gradually merging with their own. Their strength had actually increased by an entire major tier simultaneously.

Eight white wings, each several meters wide, spread from Citte’s back. From Gangelu’s back drifted a pair of fleshy wings resembling bat wings, but covered entirely in dense, thumb-sized black feathers, with sharp, metallic barbs growing from the joints of the wings. The two stood shoulder-to-shoulder, their auras merging, gradually forming a peculiar fluctuation that outsiders could not discern.

“Very good, a formidable power!” Gangelu nodded in satisfaction. “It’s a pity you aren’t a beautiful Golden Wolf woman. Otherwise, I wouldn’t mind maintaining this soul bond permanently.”

“Indeed, it’s good. I like this power,” Citte sighed. “It’s a shame you aren’t a high-ranking female Angel. In the future, I’d very much like to try forming such a bond with them.”

Gangelu frowned, then grinned sinisterly, “The Angel race is all dead. Unless the mole within your Holy See lied to me, your people are gone, aren't they?”

After a moment of silence, Citte looked deeply at Gangelu. “Who can truly destroy the servants of the Great Heavenly Lord? Who can truly obliterate the Ancestor’s faithful?”

Citte’s words seemed to carry a deeper implication. Gangelu frowned, sinking into profound thought.

However, Citte gave Gangelu no leisure to ponder. He flapped the wings on his back and led the Holy See members in a swift dash toward the Tiangong Hall. Gangelu hastily shouted, shaking the scattered thoughts from his mind, and hurriedly rushed after them with his subordinates.

With a dull roar, Citte and Gangelu pushed the massive, heavy doors of the Tiangong Hall together. The door was exceptionally heavy; even with the merged power of Citte and Gangelu’s souls, both were sweating profusely as they managed to force a gap about two meters wide. As they tried to push the gap even slightly wider, they discovered with dismay that no matter how much force they exerted, the portal remained absolutely still.

Frustrated, Gangelu slammed a heavy fist against the hall’s entrance.