Chapter 263

Chapter 263

"Go on, do your best."

"Come on, give it your all!"

In various shelters across the world, both adults and children were fixated on their phone screens or other electronic devices, silently cheering them on in their hearts.

That was human nature; people could choose to believe in a religion or faith of their own volition, but they often resisted being forced into a choice.

Times had changed. If this were still an age of feudal oppression, if modern people hadn't tasted the light of democracy and freedom, if they hadn't been treated as independent souls, the false God might have received twice the amount of faith now.

But at this moment, seeing their fellow countrymen still fighting, no one was willing to surrender easily.

"Mommy, will they win?" A seven-year-old boy whispered in his mother's embrace, clutching a small cross in his hand—a gift from his father. Among those who died the most, apart from the immobile injured, were children. Their worldviews were yet to solidify, and few had grown up with a strong faith.

The blond woman didn't know how to answer. Her expression struggled. In her heart, she hoped that humanity would triumph—no mother would still entertain illusions about the false God after seeing their child killed by locusts. On the other hand, she wanted her son to survive.

"They'll win," the man dressed as a priest gently stroked his son's head. After catching his wife's anxious look, he patted her hand reassuringly.

"But isn't God all-powerful?" The child was confused.

"The all-powerful one is the God within your heart," the priest explained patiently. "He guides you to do good, restrains you, and cultivates your character… The God in your heart is invisible but truly exists within you, not outside."

"Really?"

"Yes."

The blond woman tightened her grip on her husband's hand, and the priest responded in kind. "Whatever the outcome, we face it together."

The blond woman nodded through her tears, her gaze still fixed on her phone screen.

Please win…

…

It was as if the prayers of the world were taking effect. After the initial panic, players with ample combat experience and dungeon-clearing know-how gradually managed to repel the locust invasion.

The number of player casualties far exceeded that of NPCs, but no one paid attention to such losses. Even if they fell in battle, players would quickly respawn and return to the fray with new cards.

Piles of corpses amassed, but the locusts were unable to breach the players' defenses, instilling hope in humanity across the globe.

Hope to survive.

If these two cities could endure, did that imply the God was not omniscient and omnipotent?

Baldur couldn't tolerate this notion.

The steadfast defense of those two cities seemed to slap him in the face. The dwindling faith was the best testament. Once absolute violence and terror showed cracks, human resistance would surface.

"So, this was your plan?"

Lahn and Ogul were in no state to boast. Ogul was missing an arm, with a gaping hole in his abdomen exposing his organs. Lahn's horn in his Pan form was shattered, his body charred and bloodied.

Halting Baldur's assault had come at a steep cost. The pressure they faced was incomparable to their previous tactic of fighting while dodging. Yet, they had indeed granted the humans below a chance.

In response, the players conveyed their gratitude. Though disheveled, they sensed a decrease in pressure.

It wasn't that they had grown stronger; rather, —Baldur was weakening.

Lan wore a brilliant smile, dripping with sarcasm. "Can you guess?"

"No need to guess," Bader looked down at them coldly. "No matter how many plans or schemes you have, they mean nothing before absolute power."

"Before the embodiment of a god, everything will descend into despair."

The bottomless abyss, opened by the angel, suddenly paused as an endless swarm of giant locusts emerged for a moment.

The angel responsible for sounding the Fifth Trumpet took a slow step back, as if faced with something horrifying.

From the seemingly infinite black smoke, a terrifying figure emerged gradually.

Like the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, this figure had a human form, adorned with bone-white armor. Behind him were six black wings, and his face was a macabre mix of a skull and a man's visage. As he appeared, accompanied by the black smoke and swarms of locusts, he was none other than Abaddon, the Angel of Death from biblical lore. He was the avatar that Bader had prepared in advance, a manifestation of the dark power that had split from Bader himself.

Upon appearing, Abaddon precisely locked onto two locations. His body split into two, darting swiftly towards Arkham and New Port.

At the same moment, the black cat was seized by an ominous premonition. Despite the current stability, a sense of unease lingered.

"What's wrong?" The Druid was the first to sense the black cat's unease. "Is there something wrong with this strategy?"

"…So far, I haven't detected any issues," the black cat reluctantly diverted its attention back to the battle at hand. Thanks to ample logistical support and players who were more than willing to sacrifice cards (or, rather, compete to do so), their bravery had managed to hold most of the locusts on the first line of defense. However, the black cat couldn't shake off an ominous feeling.

This premonition stemmed from an uncertain future. While the players could currently handle the locusts, the black cat didn't believe that the false God's arsenal was limited to just that. Besides, the Fifth Trumpet hadn't sounded yet.

The black cat clenched its fists. According to the Bible, the Fifth Trumpet wasn't just about locusts; it also mentioned the arrival of the demon king, Abaddon…

All players were aware of this fact, but discussions about the king were scarce. It was simple: until he actually appeared and they fought him, no one knew his true strength. If it turned out to be too powerful for the players to handle, such discussions would be meaningless.

But would He appear?

He would.

When the frontline players reported the presence of a six-winged demon outside the barrier, the black cat wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or on edge. The boss had finally arrived.

"Everyone, be cautious! This is the demon king Abaddon as recorded in the Bible. The vanguard team, go test his strength…"

Before the black cat could finish giving the order, its pupils constricted slightly.

There was the mighty Archdemon Abaddon, raising his hand even before reaching the barrier. A blade of black smoke spontaneously formed in his grasp, slashing fiercely downward at the barrier!

With a single strike, the players' painstakingly maintained barrier shattered.

Those in the front row were still in disbelief when, tragically, players standing in the path of the blade were bisected. The Black Cat and Druid's mouths gaped wide, but they had no time for further astonishment. The Black Cat quickly seized the walkie-talkie and shouted at the top of her lungs:

"Attention all, boss has appeared! Retract the defense line, the second line must escort other residents into the sanctuary. Apart from players, no one else is allowed to remain on the ground!"

"The boss has appeared!"

"Well now, this intensity... Could we be facing a wipeout?"

"No way, please don't qwq"

"Ahh, memories of some painful tabletop sessions come flooding back."

"Bring on the War God, create a miracle!"

The barrier's collapse meant that the locusts now had free rein. They would swarm from all directions, unleashing their assault.

The fragile equilibrium that the players had painstakingly maintained was shattered in an instant. At this point, their only hope for survival was to seek refuge in the underground shelters.

If the players managed to defeat the boss later on, Black Cat and her team could reestablish the barrier. But if they failed... at least those in the shelters would be the last to fall.

The players had their roles to play; defeating the boss was part of their mission, albeit a perilous one in a Lovecraftian game. Yet, the rewards were substantial, assuming they emerged victorious.

However, the NPCs had differing opinions.

"Aleksis, stop pushing me! I'm not going in there!" the old man fumed. "I was an investigator in my youth. I'm not exactly frail."

"Please, your herniated discs are more frequent than the sun's rise," Matcha Latte pointed out with surgical precision. "You won't be of any help here, just causing us more worry. It'd be best if you went down to the shelter."

"I know far more spells than all of you combined," Alders declared. "I can be of assistance."

"Professor, we can help too!" a MIT student argued, only to receive a stern glare from Alders, who held double standards. "What are you playing at? Are you wizards? How many spells do you know? Have you been on a battlefield before? Don't cause trouble here. The shelters need your assistance."

"Professor, precisely because you know the most spells, you should stay below," Matcha Latte said earnestly. "Please."

Alders met her gaze, sensing some hidden meaning, but unsure if it was a ploy. He then turned his attention to the command tower where Black Cat and the Druid were, his two initial proteges and now his proudest students. "...Very well."

Madman stood silently behind Larkin, who clutched the cauldron tightly. "I'm not done with this potion yet. I'll leave once it's ready."

"By then, we'll all be in trouble," Madman said, unsure whether to laugh or cry. "You've added nettle to the pot, which means another two hours before it's done."

"Literally, do you need to be so good at Potions right now?" Larkin grumbled, feeling embarrassed and angry. "Didn't you pay attention in class?"

"Please, Professor, let's go," Madman urged, trying to stifle his laughter. "We've provided a safe space for you to brew your potions. We don't have enough people to protect you. It's best to seek shelter in the sanctuary."

"Then come with me," Larkin reached for Madman's wrist, but the latter evaded him. "I can't leave. I'm 'War God,' here to create miracles for everyone. Professor, I won't die."

"Are you sure?" Larkin asked doubtfully.

Madman smiled. "Yes, we'll definitely come back, just like the last few times."

Only, by then, you might not even recognize us.

For this main quest, veteran players had brought out their strongest cards, usually the ones they had spent the most time with at Hogwarts, forming the deepest bonds with NPCs.

Players couldn't die; they could always start anew with new cards. It was the old, bonded cards that perished, carrying the sadness and memories of the NPCs.

The players were the ones shouldering this burden in combat.

The professors and students from MIT were coaxed or deceived into the shelters by the gamers. The remaining police officers and Black Poker members, while struggling to fend off the locusts, escorted the residents underground. Carrens brought up the rear, and as the last batch of people was escorted in by the police officer in front of him, his arm was tugged by someone from his family.

"Isn't it dangerous outside? Why have so many people retreated?"

"It's not too bad. Don't worry too much."

"Are you still going out there?"

"We're police officers, aren't we supposed to protect the citizens? We're able-bodied men, we can fight."

"He's right." Carrens nodded and placed both hands on the shelter door. "Then you'd better protect those below well."

With that, he closed the shelter door amidst the stunned expressions of the police officers and turned to look at the locusts charging through the players' defense line outside.

By now, those guys should be coming out, right?