Chapter 462 - 424: Bloated Holy Light

Chapter 462: Chapter 424: Bloated Holy Light

As the warmth slid slowly down his esophagus, he felt a tremor pass through his soul, as if pierced by the Holy Light. Each swallow was an ascension toward a supreme existence. What fell into his stomach was no longer common food, but the very bricks and mortar of divinity. In that ultimate feeling of fulfillment, he felt himself transcending mortal limits, drawing infinitely closer to the divine throne that haunted his dreams.

The next second, in full view of everyone, Moros made a move that made their skin crawl.

He snatched the solid silver platter from the table before him.

"CRUNCH!"

A teeth-grinding screech of twisting metal resounded. Incredibly, Moros bit a chunk clean out of the platter’s edge, as if it were a cracker!

His mouth filled with blood, gushing from gums shredded by the sharp silver fragments. Yet he seemed to feel no pain, chewing relentlessly, mixing blood and metal shards, his throat emitting guttural, gurgling swallows.

"Gods! He’s eating the platter!"

"Quickly! Stop him!"

The nobles at the head table finally broke into a terrified panic, shoving their chairs back and scrambling away.

By now, Moros had lost all control.

His stomach began to swell at a visible rate, like an overinflated ball, stretching his expensive Cardinal’s robes taut to the point of tearing. The Golden Threads embroidered on it snapped, exposing the deathly pale, blue-veined skin of his belly beneath.

"Guards! Holy Knights!"

Seeing this, several Templar Knights on security detail and their attendant High Tier monks immediately rushed forward, intending to restrain the frenzied Cardinal.

"Forgive us, Cardinal! Stop him!"

Yet, just as a Knight’s hand was about to touch Moros’s shoulder—

BOOM!

A blindingly divine golden radiance erupted from Moros’s body.

It was an exceptionally High Tier Divine Shield, one mixed with some kind of highly aggressive "divine impact."

"GET AWAY!!!"

Moros let out an inhuman roar. His eyes were bloodshot as he clutched the half-eaten platter and tablecloth to his chest, guarding them as if they were the world’s most precious treasure.

The powerful wave of Divine Art instantly sent the approaching Templar Knights flying. They crashed heavily onto distant tables, sending food and soup splattering everywhere.

"No one will take what’s mine... NO ONE!!!"

Roaring, Moros stuffed a grease-stained piece of the tablecloth into his mouth and began swallowing frantically. His stomach had already swelled to an unbelievable size, the skin stretched so thin it was translucent. The writhing of his intestines was visible, as if something were gestating and struggling inside.

At the guest-of-honor’s table not far away.

Prince Willandar’s silver fork fell from his hand, CLANGING against his plate. He stared, aghast, at the chaotic and horrifying scene, a chill running down his spine.

"This..." The Prince’s voice was strained. "Is this also Alchemy?"

Velin watched the Cardinal, bathed in that holy radiance, on the verge of devouring the entire platter. The hand he’d been using to swirl his wine froze in mid-air.

He rubbed the tip of his nose awkwardly, a rare flash of surprise in his eyes.

"Well... my apologies, Your Highness."

Velin lowered his voice, explaining with a hint of apology as he watched the utterly deranged scene unfold. "I honestly didn’t expect the Cardinal’s tolerance to be quite so low... It appears the dosage was a bit on the strong side."

As if to prove his point, the usually sanctimonious Cardinal Moros suddenly let out a shrill, bizarre laugh. He leaped onto the main table, which was laden with delicacies, and began to flail and dance. In front of tens of thousands of followers, he started tearing at the red robes that symbolized his sacred authority.

A dead silence fell over the square.

The crowd stared, mouths agape, having forgotten even to breathe.

The commoners who had been agonizing over the rumors about the "poisoned Holy Water" now found their minds completely blank.

’Is... Is that the Cardinal?’

’Is that the man who walks the earth as God’s representative?’

"AHHH—!!!"

Someone in the crowd was the first to react, letting out an ear-splitting shriek.

"A... a monster! The Cardinal’s turned into a monster!"

That shriek was like a drop of water hitting boiling oil, and the entire square erupted into pandemonium.

The noblewomen in the front rows fainted dead away. The Templar Knights maintaining order drew their longswords in a panic, the tips of their blades trembling. They had no idea what to do—that was their superior, a man closer to God!

"More... I need more..."

Moros’s eyes were no longer Crimson Red. They had rolled back in his head, his pupils dilated to their limit. He wore an unsettlingly bizarre, almost benevolent, smile. He delicately licked the scraps of flesh and viscera from around his lips as if savoring a Holy Meal.

His once-pampered hands were now transforming. His fingernails were lengthening rapidly, and his skin was taking on a translucent, gelatinous quality, revealing the dark, pulsing veins beneath.

"How wonderful..."

Moros let out a contented sigh, as if he had just heard a gospel from the Celestial Kingdom.

The sensation was one of ultimate greed, a desire to consume the universe and merge with all things. He felt as if his stomach were gestating a holy infant; every swallow was an acceptance of God’s grace.

He gently caressed the oak tabletop as if it were a lover’s skin.

CRUNCH.

He bit down on the corner of the table.

Not for sustenance, but for possession.

Splinters flew. The hard oak made a crisp, cracking sound in his mouth as if it were nothing more than a brittle cracker. But amidst this seemingly effortless chewing, shattered white fragments of his own teeth could be seen falling with the wood pulp. His mangled gums were already a bloody, pulpy mess.

"Stop him! Don’t let him get free again!" the Knight captain in charge of security roared, his voice raw. He had finally snapped out of his shock after seeing two attendants shoved aside by Moros, now sitting collapsed on the ground.

It was the second time they had lost control of him in mere moments. This time, two Templar Knights, no longer daring to be concerned with his rank, steeled themselves and charged again, attempting to forcibly restrain the ever-more-bizarre Cardinal.

"Do not disturb my... ascension."

Moros said softly, then waved a hand.

THUD!

The heavily armored Knight was sent flying like a rag doll. He slammed hard into a pillar several meters away, his breastplate caving in, and was knocked unconscious instantly.

The entire hall was in an uproar.

Fueled by his rapid metabolism and consumption, Moros’s body began to undergo a visible, grotesque transformation. In his own eyes, however, this monstrous change was a sacred metamorphosis.

CRACK. CRACKLE.

A series of sharp cracks, like popping beans, echoed from within his body. His once-slender back suddenly bulged, tearing his robes apart.

"Ah... Can you feel it?" Moros spread his arms, his face alight with a martyr’s fanaticism. "Wings... My wings are about to sprout..."

SQUELCH!

Two ghastly white bone spurs, trailing flesh and blood, tore through the skin of his back and into the open air. They were nothing like an Angel’s wings; they were hideous, spider-leg-like bone growths, dripping with viscous fluid.

Lumps of muscle swelled and twisted unnaturally, increasing his height by a full half-meter. His skin was stretched paper-thin, revealing the muscle fibers squirming like maggots beneath.

This was no Angel. This was clearly a demon hatching from its shell.

"So full... I’m filled with power..."

Moros knelt amidst the wreckage of the dining table, his inhuman, slit-pupiled eyes fixed on his left hand. On it, he wore a Ruby ring, a symbol of his power. But to the current Moros, it was the final step on the path to divinity.

"The body is a mortal cage."

He muttered to himself, his voice laced with a horrifying glee.

"I can become... a true Angel."

The thousands in the square could only watch as the Cardinal slowly raised his left hand to his mouth.

His face was a mask of devotion.

CRUNCH!

The crisp sound of tearing flesh and snapping bone was magically amplified, echoing to every corner of the square.

Moros bit off his own index and middle fingers.

Blood spurted out, splashing across his face. But he showed no sign of pain. Instead, he closed his eyes and began to chew delicately on the severed digits, a rapturous expression on his face, as if savoring the most exquisite delicacy in the world.

"Oh, Lord..."

He mumbled incoherently, his voice echoing through the silent night sky via magic.

"Is this the taste of the Holy Meal... How sweet... How complete..."