Chapter 546: Exotic Anchor Point, Re-entering the Demonic Apocalypse Dungeon

Chapter 546: Chapter 546: Exotic Anchor Point, Re-entering the Demonic Apocalypse Dungeon

Crystal Lynn stood at the side of the stage and gave Seraphina Sullivan an "OK" sign.

Seraphina Sullivan nodded.

The Phoenix-Feathered Lark flew onto the stage.

It hovered in midair for a moment, its multicolored feathers shimmering with a dreamlike luster under the fluorescent glow of the vines.

Then it opened its beak and sang the first note.

The sound was as clear as a mountain spring, as distant as the wind on the horizon.

There were no lyrics, just a simple melody, but that melody held something indescribable.

Like a mother’s hand gently brushing across a forehead.

Like long-awaited sunlight piercing through the clouds, like someone who had walked through darkness for a very, very long time finally seeing a glimmer of light.

Seraphina Sullivan sat at the very back of the crowd, leaning against the trunk of a Redwood Tree.

She could feel the Power contained within the song.

It wasn’t Magic, nor was it a Skill, but something purer.

It passed through eardrums, through bones, reaching the very core of the heart.

The scars left behind in the chaos, the fear from struggling on the edge of life and death, the exhaustion and despair that had been suppressed for far, far too long.

Now, they were all being soothed, melted, and dissipated by the song, bit by bit.

A woman sitting in front of her began to cry softly.

It wasn’t heart-wrenching sobbing, but silent tears, her shoulders trembling gently.

The man beside her reached out and took her hand.

The woman didn’t pull away, but simply squeezed his hand back tightly.

Farther away, a child leaned against his mother’s embrace, his eyelids growing heavier and heavier until he finally fell into a deep sleep.

It was the first time he had slept so soundly since the chaos at the Central Base. There were no nightmares, no screams, just a quiet, peaceful slumber.

The mother looked down at her child’s face, silent tears rolling down her cheeks, but the corners of her mouth were turned up in a smile.

Paul Payne leaned on Matthew Dawson’s shoulder, his eyes red-rimmed, muttering something like, "This bird sings so beautifully," but his voice grew softer and softer until it turned into the sound of even breathing.

Matthew Dawson didn’t push him away. He just tilted his head back to look at the night sky, his eyelashes trembling slightly.

Justin Brooks hugged his knees, burying his head in his arms, his shoulders twitching occasionally.

Flora Sullivan’s long hair hung quietly at her sides, betraying no sign of alertness, just hanging still.

Crystal Lynn stood by the stage, watching the Phoenix-Feathered Lark with a smile on her face, yet the corners of her eyes glistened with tears.

Seraphina Sullivan closed her eyes.

The song continued, like a relentless tide, washing over her in wave after wave.

She remembered many things.

The day the apocalypse descended, the fear of entering a dungeon for the first time, the pain of losing teammates, the endless days and nights struggling to survive in the Zombie Kingdom, the shock of seeing the pool of blood in the Demonic Apocalypse.

The song gradually faded, like a receding tide leaving behind a shore strewn with seashells and starfish.

The Phoenix-Feathered Lark folded its wings, landed quietly on the stage, and tilted its head, watching the people below who were crying, laughing, or sleeping.

No one clapped.

No one cheered.

There were only over ten thousand people, sitting together in silence, listening to a bird sing song after song.

But that silence held more Power than any cheer.

Seraphina Sullivan opened her eyes and stood up.

The evening’s event was over, but her work was far from finished.

The next morning, Seraphina Sullivan called Wesley Moore and Justin Brooks in and gave them clear instructions on all matters concerning Tomorrow’s Sanctuary.

How to distribute supplies, how to manage personnel, how to deploy defenses, and how to continue the planting efforts.

She went over every point in such detail that Wesley Moore couldn’t help but look at her a few more times.

"You’re leaving?" he asked.

Seraphina Sullivan nodded. "I’m going to a dungeon to find someone."

Justin Brooks didn’t ask any more questions.

He had already heard from Dexter Luther that something had happened to Sean Chandler.

It was clear now that Seraphina Sullivan was going to deal with Sean Chandler’s situation.

Justin Brooks just patted his chest. "Don’t worry. Leave the Shelter to us."

Seraphina Sullivan looked at him, then at Wesley Moore, and nodded.

Then she took out the Three Realms Compass.

On the Compass, the small golden point of light was still flickering faintly.

Realm Anchor Point—Demonic Apocalypse Dungeon: Central Divine Domain.

She took a deep breath, pressed her finger on the Compass, and poured her Energy into it.

’Achieving godhood.’

’The word had once been so distant, so far away she didn’t even dare to think about it.’

’But the words of the God of Cuisine, what happened to Sean Chandler, the conditions of the Imperial Crown—everything was telling her.’

’Achieving godhood wasn’t an unreachable legend, but the path she was now walking.’

’The Holy War is about to begin.’

’Those Divine beings are playing a grand game of chess, and she was already a Chess Piece on the board.’

’But she didn’t want to be just a Chess Piece.’

’She wanted to be the one playing the game.’

A golden light flared from the Compass, enveloping Seraphina Sullivan.

The next second, she vanished.

...

Sean Chandler was currently in a state between dreaming and waking.

His consciousness felt as if it were submerged in a warm spring. He was surrounded by a soft light. There was no weight, no direction; everything above, below, and all around was the same shade of gold.

He could feel that his body was still there, yet not entirely there.

It was as if he had become something lighter, purer—a being suspended in the void, like a motionless star.

Two voices intertwined in his mind.

One voice was ancient, distant, and carried an undeniable authority: "You are the new Demon God, Sean Chandler. Protect this world. This is your duty, your mission, the price you must pay for obtaining Divine Status."

The other voice was completely different—young, urgent, and filled with warmth: "No, this is not your world. You have to go back. Your friends are waiting for you. They’re waiting for you to come home."

The two voices alternated, washing over his consciousness like a tide, one wave after another.

The ancient voice spoke of "duty"; the young voice spoke of "home."

The ancient voice spoke of "mission"; the young voice spoke of "friends."

The ancient voice said, "You must stay"; the young voice said, "You can leave."

Sean Chandler wavered between the two voices.

He couldn’t open his eyes or move his body. He could only hang in the sky like a star, waiting in silence.

No one came to disturb him.

Or rather, no one *could* disturb him.

He was the Demon God of this world, floating high above the nine heavens, unreachable by mortals. Only those two voices kept him company, day after day, night after night.

He didn’t know how long he had been here.

It could have been a day, a month, or even longer.

Time had lost its meaning on this plane of existence. Only the two voices continued.

"Protect this world."

"Return to your friends."

"Protect."

"Go home."

The Demonic Apocalypse Dungeon.

The Demonization was over.

The moment Sean Chandler achieved godhood, a system announcement spread to every corner of the world.

It wasn’t just the Players who heard it, but every sentient being.

The demonic fog that had permeated the air dissipated, the crazed plants returned to normal, and the cursed animals reverted to ordinary beasts.

The pool of blood dried up, the poisonous mist scattered, and the twisted ruins stood silently under the sunlight, waiting for someone to come and rebuild.