Ashes Of Deep Sea

Chapter 290: Chapter 294: Near-Death Hallucinations

A dense, herbal scent suddenly filled the room.

No, it didn’t just fill the air—it appeared abruptly in their perception—as if this intense fragrance had already saturated the space long ago, yet had been shielded from the realm of reality. Only at this moment, as the old guard’s words came to an end, did this omnipresent aroma starkly reveal its presence right before the uninvited guests!

The two men clad in black reacted almost instantly. The shorter man suddenly raised his hand, pointing at the old guard standing beside the stove, issuing a low, hoarse cry that seemed a blend of two voices, while the other swiftly pulled out several soiled pieces of paper from his bosom and fiercely tossed them into the air.

The eerie, hoarse cry morphed into a barely visible, blurry ripple, spreading like an explosion’s shockwave, enveloping the space surrounding the old guard. The thrown papers rustled, splitting into countless silhouetted fragments that turned into countless black venomous insects and scorpions the moment they hit the ground, emitting a nauseating rustling noise as they surged toward the direction of the stove.

With a stooped back, the old guard silently watched these perilous attacks head straight toward him, showing no intention to dodge.

The shockwave shredded the shelf beside the stove, smashing all the containers with a tremendous noise, also crushing the burning stove, putting out the flames that were emitting a strong herbal essence. The dark, oppressive horde of venomous creatures crawled onto the old man’s body, frenziedly biting into his limbs.

The old guard was devoured by these attacks almost instantly, his stooped, aged body collapsing to the ground, becoming nothing but a disarray of filthy blood and tattered clothes.

All of this happened within a few seconds.

Only after the guard collapsed, with the residual heat from the stove’s ashes scattered on the ground, did the two black-clad men exchange a tense look.

Both faces carried the same confusion.

“Is that all it took?” the taller man incredulously looked at the remains on the ground and spoke doubtfully to his companion, “The legendary, mysterious, and dangerous gravekeepers… are they really this easy to deal with? Or was this old man the weakest among them?”

But the shorter man didn’t dare relax. He continued to stare intently at the spot where the old guard had stood, while his peripheral vision rapidly scanned the small cabin, his eyebrows gradually furrowing, “Strange… Do you smell that… The scent of the herbs is getting stronger? It’s like someone lit incense nearby… No, get out!”

The shorter man seemed to suddenly realize something, and immediately dashed towards the cottage’s wooden door. However, when he forcefully pushed the door, it was as immovable as the wall itself, with the seemingly fragile wood conveying a sensation akin to that of steel being cast.

An old, sinister voice then echoed through the cabin, “One of the illusions at life’s end, believing oneself to be trapped in a room, with the exit seemingly right before your eyes. Trying to pass through that path, yet unable to find the correct way to open the door.”

This sudden voice startled the two black-clad men, intensifying their already simmering sensation of fear, which often transformed into a helpless rage—the shorter man gave up trying to push open the door and turned around to shout at the air, “I don’t care where you’re hiding!”

As his words fell, layers of illusory ripples emerged around him, and within those ripples, one could faintly discern an ugly bird-like monster perched on his shoulder, stretching its neck to emit a shrieking sound—it was a “Death-Teller” demon.

The shrieking of the Profound Demon and the roar of the short man overlapped, and a translucent shockwave instantly swept across the entire room!

The loud splitting of furniture and the massive noise of decorations crashing to the ground rose and fell in succession. The already small guard’s cabin became chaotic in the blink of an eye. Nearly everything was smashed to bits by the invisible shockwave, except for another man in black who managed to keep his surroundings intact—he was tall and sturdy, erected a barrier, blocked the aftermath of the shockwave, and quickly scanned the area, trying to locate the hidden guard amid the distorted air.

He had guessed the guard’s trick—it was an illusion.

An illusion caused by burning some potent hallucinogenic.

The guard had used his Transcendent powers and herbs to disguise himself, playing tricks in the cabin. But since his voice was still here, that meant he was hiding nearby. Sweeping the whole cabin should eventually reveal him.

However, he found nothing. The shockwave tore apart everything in the room, stirred the air, but failed to force the guard out of hiding.

“Another deathbed illusion, where fear and anger are amplified, creating a strong sense of powerlessness, and occasionally making one feel omnipotent, as if they are on the verge of reversing life and death—but these illusions often dissipate in a very brief moment, then plunging into emptiness and greater fear…”

An elderly voice echoed through the cabin, and for some reason, the two men in black suddenly felt as if the voice became elusive, distant at one moment and near the next, like shadows through a curtain.

“The scent of demons—I now know who you are, the two annihilating heretics. Your disguise was good, escaping my sight, but not my intuition,” the old guard continued, “Why are you here? What do you want?”

“The Saint grants us courage and the essence of purity!” shouted the shorter man, forcefully suppressing the fear within him through his faith in the Profound Saint and slowly sinking into a frenzy of sacrifice, “You foolish mortals can gloat all you want! But your gloating will be brief!”

With those words, the Heretic suddenly drew a pitch-black dagger from his bosom and, without hesitation, plunged it into his own heart!

“The Saint grants me the power to transcend life and death!”

Knowing there was no hope and unable to confront the cemetery guard with his own strength, the Heretic chose to sacrifice his heart to the Profound Saint, to unleash fully the powers he had acquired through the “Covenant of Coexistence,” as a final attempt.

However, the anticipated death did not come.

He didn’t feel the intense pain that should have accompanied the stab of the dagger into his body.

Nor did he feel his own heart.

The bewildered heretic looked up and toward his companion nearby, only to see that the figure had already fallen to the ground with a huge hole in his back, his blood long drained.

In the last few seconds as his vision darkened and his mind became increasingly confused, he recognized the ghastly wound caused by a close-range blast from a double-barreled shotgun—his companion had already died, shot in the back by the old guard the moment they stepped into the cabin.

And himself?

The short heretic lowered his head and saw that he was actually sitting in a chair in the center of the room.

A red-hot pair of tongs was viciously inserted between his chest and abdomen, still emitting wisps of blue smoke where it touched the flesh.

He remembered, he had been killed by a pair of tongs in a brief and fierce fight—just ten seconds ago.

“So that’s it… one cannot… die twice…”

The heretic muttered, his head tilted, and he breathed his last.

“The death hallucination is over, may your souls now dissipate, without blessings or suffering.”

On another chair across the room, the grim old guard quietly watched the heretic who had completely stopped breathing, murmuring expressionlessly.

Beside him lay the reliable old double-barreled shotgun, with signs of a brief struggle all around.

The old man took a few breaths in the chair, regained some strength, then reached for the shotgun beside him and supported himself on his knees as he rose from the chair.

“I’m really getting useless… two heretics and ended up in such a mess, and didn’t even get anything out of them,” the old guard complained, stepping over the tall corpse on the floor and another in the chair, holding the shotgun as he walked toward the wooden door of the cabin, “There are still two more troubles outside, hopefully, there’s still time.”

He reached the door, extended his hand to open it, but suddenly his movements halted.

An eerie presence was approaching.

A wary look flashed in the old man’s eyes, he suddenly gripped the shotgun tightly, and the next second, a knocking sound came from the other side of the door.

“Knock, knock, knock—”

On this cold and silent winter night, the sudden knocking brought a jarring edge.

The old man remained silent, staring intently at the dark, old wooden door.

The knocking patiently continued.

There was no living person outside.

The old man narrowed his eyes. In his vision, a pale and dim silhouette stood outside, around which some twisted, chaotic shadows could be seen, yet it was unclear what exactly it was.

Not a living person—but definitely not a dead one either.

What was it?!

“Please, open the door, thank you,” a polite voice came from outside.

The old guard slowly raised his shotgun, aiming through the door at the vague silhouette outside.

However, before he could pull the trigger, a slight click sounded suddenly in his ears.

The door… opened by itself.

A dazzling and twisted array of stars rushed forward.