Chapter 142: King In Yellow Vs. King Of Angels Ian!
The instant Ian gripped the shortsword.
The entire Heaven seemed to tremble.
Invisible glory to the living bloomed, the holy flame burning on the sword blade surged instantly, burning the surrounding viscous air with crackling sounds. Dean and Sam had to retreat a few steps.
“！！！！！”
Sam and Dean stared dumbfounded at the scene before them.
Their mouths gaped open wide enough to fit an egg.
The brothers raised their hands to shield their faces from the oncoming heat wave with their arms. The heat wave wasn’t scorching, just extremely blinding, after all, Dean and Sam weren’t its targets for judgment.
“What the fuck is this thing?” Dean shouted with narrowed eyes. He only saw Ian grip the shortsword, then it burst into extremely dazzling white flames.
“It’s a one-sword 999-level limited-time experience pay-to-win top-ranked super weapon, but now that it’s in Master Ian’s hands, even if God teams up with giant beasts to bite me, they can’t take it back.” Ian looked down at the blazing shortsword in his hand, his expression carrying a firmness as if he was ready to run off and become Marvel Ian at any moment.
Interests move hearts.
He knew its origins better than anyone—God’s personally bestowed god-slaying weapon to Death Angel Azrael, theoretically the End Sword that only Lucifer could ignite.
It was said.
It was a weapon God crafted with his own hands, bestowed upon Death Angel Azrael to execute ultimate judgment. It possessed the power to sever all divinity and demonic nature.
It was the only weapon that could truly “kill” angels and “harm” Lucifer. Of course, the setting said it could also chop God, but anyone who believed that setting should sit at the table with Jordan.
God created so many things, all labeled with “can kill me.” Anyone with eyes knows God is lying; He must be the first fisher in the universe.
Of course.
Despite that.
It didn’t hinder this God’s Sword from having extraordinary attributes.
Even a mortal gripping it could slay deities, let alone in its ignited holy flame state, which could even split dimensions and tear reality. Now this thing was burning in Ian’s hand like a torch.
“The Winchester Brothers appearing here is definitely no coincidence; everything is arranged by some invisible hand.”
Ian glanced at the god-slaying gun in his left hand, then swung the God’s Sword in his right. He felt like the protagonist in an opening cutscene who directly gets the hero’s divine gear.
To call this a coincidence.
Ian wouldn’t believe it even if the Winchester Brothers were beaten to death ten thousand times. He was really worried God had a crush on him, after all, who knows if priests’ fetishes spread downward from the source as yellow meme pollution.
“What do you mean?”
Sam and Dean were both a bit confused.
“Look, I ignited this sword, which is unreasonable.”
Ian didn’t believe Old Man God wasn’t silently peeking, after all, this sword could normally only be ignited when personally held by Lucifer Morningstar.
However.
Now Ian had ignited this sword too.
But he was neither Lucifer nor God’s messenger. The holy flame on the sword burned brighter and brighter, surging to forty meters high in an instant. The searing white light enveloped the three of them, Ian’s figure faintly visible in the flames. Sam and Dean gawked at the scene, their jaws nearly dropping to the ground.
“You’re an angel, able to use an angel’s weapon, isn’t that normal? I think… you’re the Angel of Lies and Temptation, usually lurking in the human world waiting for opportunities?”
Sam’s idea carried a childish imagination. An angel’s item entrusted to them must be an angel’s weapon—this was very reasonable habitual thinking. Since he wasn’t very interested in occult knowledge usually, he could only improvise with his imagination, forcibly creating a heavenly position fitting Ian’s personality in his mind.
“？？？？？”
Ian was baffled by his image in Sam’s mind. Even Sam, with whom he’d only crossed paths four or five times, and Dean, with whom he’d had no real interaction in the past, seemed to have some complaints about him.
“I think he’s more like Cupid in his rebellious phase.” Dean, right in front of Ian, actually discussed Ian with Sam, his gaze occasionally flicking to the Colt Pistol in Ian’s left hand. The eldest Winchester didn’t know the gun’s power, but he knew how much his father valued it.
“Bullshit, you’re Cupid, your whole family is Cupid.” Ian’s cursing generally had three stages, and the speechless Dean had triggered the first stage.
Obviously.
Ian really minded being called a naked kid.
“Master Ian is now an Archangel, greater than the great Seraphim Ian.” He made the correction, created a new alias, and with a thought, modified his plain mimicry student outfit. Countless symbiote-like substances surged, writhing and extending over his skin like living things.
Flesh-like substances roiled over Ian’s entire body, the battle suit emerging, but the original Superman “S” emblem on the chest was replaced after a distortion with a brand-new symbol.
【King of Angels】
It had many small wings flapping on it, though the flesh wings were a bit less holy. No way around it, the mimicry absorbed symbiote, so it couldn’t simulate a sacred feel.
Under Sam and Dean’s wide-eyed stares, eight ferocious mimicry spider legs suddenly extended from Ian’s back, gleaming with a metallic sheen in Heaven’s sunlight.
“See? Eight-winged Seraphim!” Ian smugly floated into midair, spreading his arms as if to embrace the world, his back spider legs tracing dangerous arcs in the air.
Master Ian showed his most majestic posture.
Sam and Dean fell silent again.
They looked at those eight swaying spider legs in the air, suspecting they weren’t actually in Heaven. Thinking back, that big black angel’s skin tone alone looked like a fallen angel.
“Those things wriggling on your back are creepy, and they don’t look like angel wings.” If anyone had guts, it was Dean; he directly mustered courage to refute Ian’s display.
This contrasted sharply with Sam’s attitude of forcing insincere praise. To put it simply, honest people always get suffering; Dean was directly slammed on the head with a dunk from Ian.
He used the butt of the god-slaying gun Colt, the force precisely controlled—not cracking Dean’s skull or knocking him out, just leaving him clutching a huge lump on his head, grimacing on the ground.
“Have you ever been an angel? Spouting nonsense, assuming things, pure blasphemy. Angels are like this! Demons are the ones who need to look very pretty.”
“Angels need an extremely vicious posture to intimidate countless evils!” To avoid the other using his world’s most handsome face as an argument, Ian’s mimic armor activated full coverage mode.
A “ferocious” mask with a cracked gaping mouth covered Ian’s face, the eye area flashing crimson light. Ian reused his evil god’s extremely vicious visage as angel material.
“？？？？？？”
“！！！！！！”
Sam and Dean were clearly both intimidated. The complete “Seraphim Ian” stood before them, eight spider legs twitching in midair like angel wings shaking.
This look wouldn’t just intimidate evil; it could scare kids to tears no problem.
At that moment.
Dean’s expression suddenly changed.
He got it.
“No wonder! I’ve slept with sixteen virgins; how could I get to Heaven!” Dean turned to his brother, as if already judging this wasn’t Heaven but somewhere else.
Sam’s gaze switched back and forth between Ian’s ferocious faceplate and the corrupted Holy City.
He somewhat agreed with his big bro’s view.
“I-I confess something.” Sam’s throat bobbed, he took a deep breath, and began confessing. “At five years old, I stole the neighbor’s dog food to eat; that was definitely wrong.”
Good grief.
Self-exposing dark history.
Probably thought this could wash away his sins?
“？？？？？” Dean’s expression was like he’d been struck by lightning.
“You and old dad were out demon hunting then; if I didn’t eat, I’d starve to death.” Sam defended softly.
“We clearly left you money!”
“Reminding you again, I was five then!” Sam suddenly raised his voice. “Living in America’s messiest block, clutching a hundred US Dollar fortune, you think I dared go out to buy stuff?”
He really was a smart kid from a young age.
Ian empathized greatly.
“I think he really couldn’t go out with a hundred bucks, especially in a chaotic block; your dog-food-eating brother could easily become a brother scattered in parts around the world.”
Ian didn’t like watching people argue in front of him, so he took the initiative to mediate. “Stop arguing; this really is Heaven, and I really am Seraphim Ian.”
Seeing neither believed him.
“The one you met in the human world was just my skin; what he did has nothing to do with me.” When Ian got ruthless, he could even dissociate from himself.
This was true lack of emotion.
However.
Even this self-sparing speech still failed to earn the Winchester Brothers’ trust.
“My house’s sewer is cleaner than that; this is definitely a fallen Holy City, right?” Sam pointed to the distant black-mist-shrouded Holy City. He couldn’t see the mucus but could feel the ominousness within.
“That is indeed the fallen Holy City; you’re not wrong, but it’s just because of a small problem. That’s why Seraphim Ian was awakened from slumber.”
“I’ll go protect my beloved Heaven right now.” As Ian spoke, he inspected the god-slaying gun Colt, which had two manually loaded bullets inside.
Not a small number.
After all, this gun only had 13 bullets total. On that night in 1835, Halley’s Comet streaked across the night sky, and those demon-possessed people were executed under the cottonwood tree. In that extraordinary moment, Samuel Colt coincidentally crafted this gun for some reason.
And those thirteen bullets.
Only the thirteen bullets made back then, paired with the god-slaying gun, could unleash its true power.
The power to kill anything.
“Do whatever you want; my brother and I just want to return to the human world.” Dean rubbed his temples; unable to find his mom, he didn’t want to stay in this place either.
“You guys are clueless; entering Heaven before dying is absolutely a good thing, skipping years of detours. If it were me, I’d mooch here and refuse to leave.”
Ian pointed to a direction good for hiding.
“Uh…”
The brothers exchanged glances, weirdly finding this crooked logic reasonable.
“But I haven’t enjoyed the human world’s pleasures enough.”
Dean said weakly.
Sam immediately chimed in: “I haven’t even had a girlfriend!”
He might have some show-off repression too.
Ian just sighed softly, speaking earnestly, “Once you’ve enjoyed enough, you might not qualify for Heaven anymore. The flowery world is the fallen atmosphere crafted by demons.”
This wasn’t unreasonable; from the Demon King of Crossroads controlling the entertainment industry, plenty of demons likely had human industries attracting human corruption.
Such admonishment.
Full of reason.
Dean was somewhat swayed.
“But our old dad is still in the human world, all alone…” Ultimately, family won over Heaven’s temptation; Dean frowned, voicing his irreplaceable old father.
To this.
Ian just smirked crookedly, his huge-mouthed mask smirking perfectly.
“As long as your dad bankrupts himself buying atonement vouchers, I can definitely smuggle him in early.” Holding a holy sword that could split dimensions, Ian was more confident in expanding his immigration brokerage business.
Hearing this.
Sam and Dean were stunned again.
“This works too?”
This truly deviated from their common sense.
“Are you really an angel?”
Sam felt he couldn’t hold it together; if angels led in selling atonement vouchers, the source of medieval priests selling them was probably found.
“Don’t ask me such a stupid question.”
Ian used Batman’s low, gravelly voice.
Before Dean and Sam could react, Ian raised the holy sword high, his eight spider legs unfolding, floating up like a true angel.
Holy flame formed a halo around him. The flames weren’t ordinary fire but divine fire ignited by glory, each strand containing power to incinerate corruption and evil.
Extraordinary presence.
It did intimidate Dean and Sam.
While the two were still processing, suddenly—from the direction of the corrupted Holy City in the distance, countless viscous substances began surging in the city.
Then, a turbid, distorted song arose, like whispers from an unspeakable depth, striking the deepest fear and darkness in the heart.
Dean and Sam instantly felt dizzy, their inner darkness awakened by the song, negative emotions surging like tides. The two knelt in pain.
Covering their ears.
Trying to resist the mind-eroding melody.
“Children, looks like it’s time to say goodbye.” Ian’s voice suddenly rang out, low and sad, as if squeezing out this tragic tone with his life’s strength.
“What the hell?” The brothers barely looked up to see Ian’s back to them, his eight “wing” spider legs trembling slightly, as if bearing indescribable sorrow.
“I never thought even dying in battle and becoming an angel, I’d still face the fate of sacrifice again…” His voice choked slightly. “This might be my final resting place as a hero.”
Dean and Sam were baffled.
This sudden tragic drama made them momentarily forget the song’s effect, clutching their ears and staring at each other, completely missing Ian’s emotional shift.
Those emotionally charged words left the brothers utterly confused, temporarily ignoring the song’s influence.
“Can you say something we understand?”
However, when they looked up at Ian again, an even more shocking sight appeared—eight pairs of flesh-colored stockings had somehow been slipped onto Ian’s eight “wing” spider legs.
“Wh-what the hell?!” Dean’s eyes bulged, brain fully crashed.
Sam stared dead at the stockings fluttering in the wind.
Pupils quaking.
“Wait… this…”
He seemed to bear unbearable pain. At this moment, the smart brother of the Winchester duo looked like he’d realized Ian’s words weren’t for them.
A black box orbited Ian, glowing constantly.
Ian slowly turned back.
Close-up followed.
“Stocking Angel will never allow disaster to spread beyond Heaven.” With that, he fiercely flapped his （spider legs）, holy flame surging, turning into a streak of light.
He charged unhesitatingly toward the corrupted Holy City.
The floating black box followed closely. Dean stared blankly at Ian’s departing back, finally squeezing out: “What stocking angel? Didn’t he say he was a Seraphim?!”
Seraphim and Stocking Angel actually didn’t conflict.
Sadly, no one was left to explain.
Sam slapped his forehead hard, yelling annoyedly: “Damn! Ian is ‘Stocking Superman’! I even tipped fifty US Dollars on his《Superman’s Death》 video!”
He was obviously one of those who’d had his faith—and US Dollars—extracted by the great DC director.
“No way! Died on Earth, pops up in Heaven; this gets a sequel????” Sam slumped to the ground, dazed. In the distance, from the Holy City’s black fog came Ian’s hearty laugh.
“No turning back; Stocking Angel has no limits. To protect what must be protected, through light and dark—this is my heavenly path, no, messenger path, angel path!”
“Delete and redo.”
……
Though there were some interludes.
Still.
After the mutation, Ian really didn’t hesitate, charging straight into the Holy City.
Heaven’s Holy City should be a radiant holy land, but now it was eroded by unspeakable corruption. Fortunately, an invisible force bound the borders, preventing corruption from spreading outward.
Of course.
This also turned the interior into a twisted hell.
The instant he stepped in.
Ian’s vision suddenly distorted.
The air became viscous, like soaked in rotten liquid; every breath carried a mix of fishy sweetness and decay. The sky was no longer pure blue but sickly purple-black, clouds writhing like ulcerated wounds, occasionally splitting to reveal countless unspeakable faces behind.
They all coldly watched below.
The ground was no longer white marble but covered in writhing black fungal carpet, dense with tentacles and eyeballs.
Each eyeball gleamed with non-human cognition light; stepping on them produced teeth-grating sticky sounds, like crushing countless eggs.
Along the streets, once majestic angel statues were now twisted, wings broken, faces melted, stone bodies growing tumor-like protrusions.
Some even opened non-sculpture eyes.
Pupils flashing mad will.
Those towers symbolizing purity and order were replaced by alien structures, walls crawling with viscous runes, emitting low hums like ancient existences whispering.
“There’s a lot of invisible pollution too.”
More terrifying were the unseen existences. Ian could feel, at vision’s edge, in lightless shadows, countless twisted things approaching him.
They had no fixed form.
Even Ian couldn’t capture their exact trajectories.
Only faintly perceive them.
They were Cthulhu mythology’s most terrifying enemies—the unspeakables.
These existences were polluted reality itself; mere proximity made Ian’s mimic armor surface ripple unnaturally, as if slowly dissolving under some force.
“Urp~”
Ian couldn’t help dry-heaving a few times.
He’d only tasted Cthulhu mist once and never wanted to again; recalling it, he was sure it was the worst nightmare of his gourmet career.
“I’m disgusted by Cthulhu too.”
Ian could feel gazes from all directions.
He knew.
He was being watched.
They didn’t manifest directly.
But infiltrated hearts via perception, memory, and fear. They existed in reality’s cracks, invisible to the eye, yet could drive one to eternal madness in seconds.
No hesitation.
Ian directly swung the holy sword in his hand.
Movement light as wind.
But the holy sword erupted with world-destroying power. Surging and majestic, it turned into towering searing white waves, sweeping from Ian in all directions.
Holy flame flooded the entire Holy City like a flood.
Wherever it passed.
Air emitted sharp explosions, as if space itself burned. Those invisible twisted existences vanished to ash in the holy flame without even a scream.
They struggled, twisted, tried to flee, but to no avail. Holy flame swallowed them like a tsunami, purifying the reality they parasitized too.
The ground restored its original whiteness; writhing eyeballs and tentacles turned to nothingness in the blaze. The sky’s black fog dispersed, revealing a glimpse of true Heaven’s dome.
After one sword swing.
Winds rose and clouds surged.
The entire fallen Holy City trembled at that moment.
It wasn’t just purification.
More like judgment.
All sounds ceased.
“Some remnants left.”
Ian stood at the storm’s center, cape billowing, holy flame surging around him. A second wave of holy flame tide swept out, incinerating the last filth completely.
Holy flame mercilessly burned every inch of filth.
The entire fallen Holy City trembled under his feet, as if submitting to this self-proclaimed King of Angels. The buildings gradually shed their mutations, revealing angel carvings again.
The air’s decayed fishy sweetness was replaced by searing heat.
As if the whole world reset to initial glory.
“The culprit is probably inside.”
Ian stood in place.
Holy sword in hand.
Before him, a path paved by holy flame.
He didn’t look back or pause, striding forward along the holy flame-cleared path into God’s abode—the most sacred, inviolable place in Heaven.
It was a grand yet eerie hall, towering dome seeming connected to Heaven’s source, walls embedded with countless reliefs depicting angels descending and judging sins.
But now, these statues emitted nauseating auras.
They weren’t static decorations.
They were moving.
Along the corridor sides, countless twisted statues knelt, heads bowed, hands clasped over chests, as if in pious prayer, emitting low, turbid songs of temptation and madness.
The sound was like a call from Hell’s depths, pitch rising and falling, sometimes weeping, sometimes mad roars, each note eroding sanity.
Like an irresistible curse, crumbling the mind.
“Corrupted holy song.”
Ian muttered lowly, brows furrowed.
No hesitation, he raised the burning God’s Sword and swung fiercely!
A searing holy flame wave tore through the void, surging out!
Flames flooded the corridor like tides, swallowing the kneeling statues. They struggled, twisted, screamed in the fire, ultimately turning to ashes and purified.
Thus.
Beneath the statues.
True angels previously encased slowly emerged.
Their white wings bound in stone, faces pained and twisted; the instant they regained freedom, some invisible force tugged them, slowly sinking into the ground.
“Wait.”
Ian tried grabbing the bustiest angel among them but failed.
The angels’ fall seemed irreversible.
“Ian Kent…” Just as his fingertips nearly touched, that angel sank fully into the floor, leaving only a faint sigh.
All remaining angels, as if pulled by fate, unhesitatingly plunged into darkness, as if to fall to the human world, becoming part of the fallen angels.
Ian knew.
There must be a reason behind this.
An unspeakable reason.
“Replace that segment with different audio; she wasn’t calling me Ian Kent, but hailing me as the great King of Angels, saying they failed me, and in the next life she’d vote for me as new XX.” Perhaps Ian still lacked the guts, muting his own voice.
He turned and commanded his black box.
This was not just Ian’s filming but his test; if the black box worked normally in this environment, its true origins warranted deep scrutiny.
New Teacher Tony was just AI; 100% couldn’t make such a divine artifact.
“Are there more corrupted transformed angels inside?” Ian pressed forward; though holy flame purified the corridor, that annoying song still echoed from the hall depths.
Sword swing again.
This time, he clearly saw the holy flame halt abruptly before the hall doors, like hitting an invisible wall; the irritating song still echoed.
“No, my experience card hasn’t expired yet.”
Ian narrowed his eyes.
He strode toward the hall; no invisible force blocked him. Unlike the outer corruption, the hall interior was pristine.
Golden light poured from the dome, shining on mirror-like marble floors. Lifelike angel statues stood on both sides, faces serene, chanting holy songs—but for some reason, this normally calming song now irritated Ian immensely.
Same vibe as the corrupted holy song.
“What’s going on?” Ian shook the holy sword vigorously in midair; flames still burned, but couldn’t extend or slash tangible sword energy like before.
“Something… is affecting it.” Ian judged helplessly, his gaze sweeping the hall, finally landing on a throne ahead.
It was an empty throne.
At the hall’s center.
No majesty, just an ordinary seat’s plainness. Of course, a throne here could only be one existence’s exclusive seat.
“God’s majesty? Making it not dare offend…” Ian looked down at the supreme divine artifact in his hand, unrefined by him, thus not very spirited.
It was as quiet as the demon head playing dead behind his butt.
“There’s a stone pillar before the throne; is that Bible on it?” Ian climbed the high steps, making out the letters on the book before the throne.
“Death Note!?”
Had to say.
Ian was somewhat stunned.
The instant he subconsciously reached to touch, icy chill spread from his arm through his body; the book’s black surface writhed like a living thing, peeling away.
Revealing a yellowed ancient cover beneath. 《Death Note》’s gold letters twisted, reforming into older, more unspeakable script—《Necronomicon》.
The letters weren’t static but slowly writhed on the cover like tiny tentacles. Yes, those textures weren’t written but morphed from wriggling changes.
Like something alive crawling, twisting, reforming on the pages. This was no simple name swap but a hidden essence revealed.
More terrifying, the change wasn’t limited to the book—Ian blinked, and the holy hall shattered like illusion in his vision.
Replaced by a totally different world.
The entire hall environment twisted instantly in Ian’s sight.
Holy golden light turned sickly dark yellow, marble floors oozing black viscous liquid, side angel statues’ faces melting.
Revealing inner unspeakable twists.
“Oh! My God! What is God doing?! This is scarier than Hell!” A terrified roar came from behind; it was the silent Demonic Minotaur.
“Ian God! Run! Mainly take me with you!” The minotaur’s voice trembled, eyes full of fear; it sensed the hall’s singing angels were irreversibly corrupted.
The demon panicked.
But Ian didn’t move.
Because the moment he gripped the 《Necronomicon》, the throne direction changed too—the formerly empty throne suddenly held a perfectly still figure.
It was an existence in tattered yellow robes, hems embroidered with unspeakable symbols, each line writhing to escape reality’s bonds.
“What the ghost.”
Ian realized.
Perhaps It had always sat there.
Ian just couldn’t see before.
Air grew quiet.
“King in Yellow from Cthulhu legends, the unspeakable, lord of deep space stars…” Ian gradually understood everything, staring at the suddenly manifested entity.
About five seconds later.
“…”
King in Yellow raised its head.
Its face still hid in shadow, only a pair of bottomless eyes visible—not human, nor any known life form.
They symbolized infinity, reflections of truth.
King in Yellow sat quietly on that non-mortal throne.
Its existence was the space’s core, twisting time and causality. It neither spoke nor moved, just watched Ian with those bottomless eyes.
At that moment.
Ian advanced instead of retreating.
“I, King of Angels, bid you to death.”
Ian finished what he hadn’t after naming it.
He lunged forward.
Holy sword with sharp whoosh directly pierced King in Yellow’s chest.
However.
Nice stab, but holy sword didn’t kill it outright. The flames extinguished the instant they pierced. The blade impaled the yellow robe but like stabbing void phantom—no substance, no resistance, no damage. King in Yellow’s figure flickered between real and unreal.
As if in another dimension.
“Creak, creak.”
Its neck emitted teeth-grating “crack” as it slowly turned. Under the wide yellow hood, the unspeakable face seemed still watching Ian.
“…” Ian stubbornly poured divine power into the holy sword madly, but it rejected his power; dozens of stabs failed to reignite the flames.
Each pierce hit true, but each felt like air. The figure hovered between illusion and reality; physically, it didn’t connect.
This bugged the holy sword.
King in Yellow remained silent.
It slowly raised a gaunt hand, lightly patting its throne, as if telling Ian: sitting here, impossible for Ian to harm It.
“No, this setting…” Ian wanted to curse God too. Clearly, King in Yellow was a bug-exploiting genius, better than Ian the little bug hand.
Ian pulled out the sword.
Stabbed dozens more times frantically.
Still useless.
As Ian pained over possibly wasting a Colt bullet, King in Yellow’s raised hand didn’t lower but pointed directly at Ian’s brow.
Movement slow, even lazy, like casually brushing a leaf.
“Something’s off!”
Ian reacted fast, retreating dozens of meters instantly, but the hand ignored spatial barriers, still precisely, slowly, unstoppable approaching his brow.
“Damn…!”
Ian only managed those words.
King in Yellow’s fingertip lightly touched his forehead.
“Is this polluting me? Am I becoming Cthulhu Ian?” He’d seen its methods; this attack wasn’t ordinary “physical strike.”
Ian found himself not as shocked as imagined.
Even.
He was puzzled by the air’s quiet.
“No, what are you doing?”
No sound.
No other sensation.
Just—
A cold touch.
He looked puzzled at King in Yellow on God’s throne; at this moment, not just him stunned—the mute king seemed caught off guard too.
Air fell into eerie silence again.
King in Yellow remained enigmatic silence.
Hood’s void stared at Ian. In this deathly standoff, Ian reacted first: he suddenly bit the finger on his brow.
“Crunch!”
Shockingly, this bite hit substance. King in Yellow’s finger felt like decayed parchment, carrying a nauseating sensation.
【Warning: Contacting erroneous data】
【Target unparsable】
System alerts flashed in Ian’s mind.
But he ignored them.
No matter how gross.
Ian wanted to save a Colt bullet.
The always composed King in Yellow finally reacted—the silent king didn’t speak, but its frantic tug on the finger showed it wasn’t truly calm.
“Ha! Can’t keep up the act?”
Ian bit dead, yanked staggering forward.
At extreme close range.
King in Yellow’s robe hems fluttered without wind.
It suddenly raised its other hand, fingers like knives stabbing Ian’s chest. The hand warped mid-motion, becoming countless writhing yellow tentacles.
Straight for Ian’s heart.
“Tiga Bomb!”
Ian watched his chest roiling with flesh.
He shouted.
Next moment.
Not just internal divine power, but divine power stored in extra dimension erupted from Ian’s body—brighter than a supernova, white light swallowed the entire temple.
Shockwave spread spherically, disintegrating space itself. Twisted statues vaporized in the light, black stone floors melted and boiled like chocolate.
Most terrifying was the explosion center’s temperature—extreme heat to vaporize stars in a microsecond; King in Yellow seemed directly engulfed.
That eternal yellow robe cracked for the first time. Far off, the slacking Winchester Brothers on the ground suddenly heard a deafening explosion.
They jerked their heads up to see blinding white light shooting skyward from the Holy City, followed by a shockwave sweeping Heaven. Mushroom cloud slowly rose.
“As expected, to beat Cthulhu, gotta use Ultraman—Tiga Bomb!”
“Sun Soup resupply!”
“Tiga Bomb!”
“Sun Soup resupply!”
Truly unspeakable voices echoed in Heaven.
Angel’s Holy City.
Contours disintegrated in the light.
It was already in Heaven.
But now it was still bombed to the sky.
All angels might have become homeless children.
