Chapter 96

As the altar was about to complete its connection, Yang Yi abandoned further inquiry and shouted urgently: “Quick! Destroy the altar!”

Argos’s smoky body turned to ash; he lightly pinched his fingers, his tone indifferent: “Didn’t you say you’d give me anything for them?”

Yang Yi snapped back to herself, her heart sinking. “What do you want?”

“You should know…” He smiled faintly—a smile that bore a striking resemblance to Yang Yi’s.

In her mind sea, Yang Yi’s consciousness froze, plunging into a heavy darkness, as if suddenly shoved into an endless deep pool. She struggled desperately, but her conscious form grew weaker and weaker, sinking lower and lower, endlessly sinking…

On this desert planet abandoned by the gods, he stood before the dark green stone altar, his face once again expressionless. With a casual wave, a simple stone chair slowly rose from the altar’s center.

He walked onto the altar as if strolling through a garden; every carved pattern glowed faintly with starlight as he passed, as if welcoming their master’s return.

He caressed the chair’s backrest, as if remembering something, then slowly sat down.

The entire altar blazed with light, its intricate patterns shining brilliantly.

The altar’s projection had just completed its connection; a life source, drawn from nowhere, coalesced along the patterns and slowly flowed into him.

He smiled slightly, leaning back against the chair, his face filled with the blissful satisfaction of an addict…

$￥

The United Kingdom.

When the fifth missile struck the Wembley Giant Hole, the altar in the sky remained untouched, still continuing its connection.

Britain’s Chief of Defence Staff, Tony Carter, ordered two more hydrogen bombs launched. The massive explosions collapsed half the buildings in the capital, yet the altar’s glow showed no sign of stopping.

People had already accepted it: unless a miracle occurred, firing more missiles into that hole would be futile.

In the sky, the altar’s projection outline was about to complete its connection. At the instant the final two lines joined, the entire altar erupted in countless specks of white light, and countless voices heard a faint chant—

“Rejoice in the apocalypse! Our Lord’s descent is near. The gates of hell open wide; chaos, evil, and slaughter pour forth. The Lord rescues His faithful from this wicked world, and we shall gain eternal life in His heavenly kingdom…”

No—it was not a chant. It was a prayer, seeping into the mind, reaching straight into the soul. So fervent, yet so orderly. An unknown hymn, the collective cry of countless believers!

Perhaps because the capital lay at the altar’s center, its privileged citizens suffered first.

Countless still-active surveillance feeds broadcast the capital’s horror. When the altar first appeared, the chaos and madness had been terrifying enough—but now, people saw the true scene of the demon’s sacrifice.

In a corner surveillance feed, three people, too slow to reach the underground bunker, huddled beneath a trash bin. When the falling starlight touched them, they instantly fell into a daze. Their fear melted away, replaced by serene bliss—as if they beheld the most beautiful vision imaginable.

Their once-plump skin visibly withered before their eyes, like a time-lapse video sped up a thousandfold: a flower blooming and wilting in seconds, a fresh apple rapidly shriveling.

This sight was not confined to that small corner—it unfolded across every corner of the British capital.

These specks of white light ignored all structures, piercing through thick layers of earth and concrete in bomb shelters, directly merging into the bodies of countless people, draining their life sources and transmitting them through the sky projection to the altar in another world.

Countless livestreams broadcast the scenes from the British capital. People around the world felt their blood turn cold.

People could not see the life source being drained—but they watched, on screen, living, breathing human beings turn into gray-skinned corpses…

…

People in other regions of Britain also felt death’s call.

At Edinburgh Airport, the last plane, packed to capacity, was preparing for emergency takeoff. Crowds outside still surged desperately toward it, the entire runway choked with frantic people.

The pilot shouted: “The plane is full! Adding more will cause a crash! Get back! Get back! Get out of the way—”

No one listened. People’s minds had shattered under the altar’s presence; they acted only on instinct—to flee Britain.

The final line of the altar’s projection connected. The pilot, desperate, screamed: “Take off! Take off! I order you—take off now!”

The co-pilot cried in terror: “The runway is full of people! The plane will crash!”

The pilot grabbed the co-pilot’s collar, his face twisted with fury: “It doesn’t matter anymore! Take off and we might live. Wait any longer, and we all die!”

The plane slowly rolled along the runway, jolting violently—its rear wheels crushing countless people begging to be taken aboard. Yet no one in the cabin cared. As the plane lifted off, everyone aboard burst into tears of relief.

When the landing gear retracted, countless people who had climbed onto it fell like dumplings into the air, screaming, then landing as piles of corpses.

…

At Liverpool Port, the last cargo ship, overloaded with people, was slowly pulling away. On shore, countless desperate souls waved cash, gold, and diamonds, begging for a single ticket.

More still threw themselves into the sea, swimming desperately toward the ship, hoping to cling to its hull and escape this nation now covered by the altar.

Suddenly, a massive wave crashed over the ship. Overloaded, it rocked violently, then slowly tilted. People screamed and tumbled into the ocean.

Those on shore watched helplessly as the distant cargo ship sank slowly beneath the waves…

…

Across Britain, some took their own lives in despair, others spent their final minutes in wild frenzy, some lost their minds, others lay quietly in bed awaiting death, some bid farewell to their families, and some held their pets, staring blankly at the sky.

In a modest apartment, parents held their young child, kissing the baby’s soft cheeks, smiling through tears: “See you tomorrow, my darling…” the father and mother gently told the toddler.

In a rustic English cottage, an elderly woman, her hands covered in age spots, held her husband’s hand and kissed his forehead tenderly: “Being with you in this life has been my greatest honor…” He smiled back and kissed her lips. In their eyes, there was no fear— as if the altar in the sky were not a monstrous life-draining shrine, but a witness to their happiness…