Lord of Mysteries 2: Circle of Inevitability-Chapter 636 - Catharsis

636 Catharsis
In just over ten seconds, the two Beyonders locked in combat sensed an observer and instinctively distanced themselves, fixing their gaze on Lumian.

Casually leaning against the alley wall, Lumian chuckled and remarked, “Go on, keep fighting. Don’t mind me.”

With a heavy dagger in hand, the young native, his left palm slightly open, eyed the black-haired, green-eyed, handsome, golden straw hat-donning Lumian with vigilance.

Who is this?

What is he up to?

The short-haired man, armed with two odd-shaped scalpels, was equally vigilant.

He, too, eyed Lumian and the vigilant young native. Suddenly, he crouched, arms hanging loose, and black, sulfurous smoke enveloped him completely.

Lumian’s smile didn’t waver; his right eyebrow arched in mild interest.

Unfazed, the young native extended his slightly open left hand, releasing a shadow that expanded into a distorted “black cloud.”

This “black cloud” merged with the sulfurous smoke, swiftly clearing the alley. The crimson moon once again illuminated the scene.

However, the short-haired man, with dark-green eyes and an emotionless expression, had vanished.

Ran off? The young native was shocked, angry, and vexed.

As he sought clues, he instinctively turned his head to where Lumian had been.

No one stood before the wall.

When did he leave? Why didn’t I sense it at all? the young native, holding the heavy dagger, pondered in bewilderment, uncertain whether to pursue his target.

…

Relying on his spell-like abilities, Bram skillfully escaped the alley, stowing away the two odd-shaped scalpels. He navigated the dark, unlit paths, frequently changing directions in an attempt to lose his imaginary pursuer.

In the process, he pried open a shoemaker’s shop on the street, donned a pair of ill-fitting leather shoes, and discreetly handled any signs of his intrusion.

After circling three times, Bram returned to the alley, entering a simple apartment nearby, constructed from black stones and brown wood.

Bram opened his room and entered, closing the wooden door behind him.

He finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Then, he withdrew a transparent glass bottle from the grayish-white cloth bag hanging from his waist. The bottle held a nearly colorless liquid, faintly tinged with red. Suspended within, a blood-colored, well-defined mouth hung open, frozen in intense pain and fear.

As if admiring a masterpiece, Bram stared entranced at the glass bottle in his grasp.

After a moment, he averted his gaze, moved to the side of the room, and opened a cupboard.

Within the cupboard, seven or eight similar glass bottles awaited, each containing a unique lip. The hues varied, some slightly upturned, others in a pouting stance.

Bram positioned his newly acquired spoils in an empty spot, then used sticky blood-colored paint to draw an ominous symbol.

With the task complete, his fingers gently explored different lips through the glass bottles, as if assessing each piece in an art exhibition.

“How twisted.”

A mocking sigh suddenly resonated in Bram’s ears.

Startled, he whirled around, focusing on the source of the voice. A golden straw hat-donning young man with black hair and green eyes sat in an armchair by the table, the top two buttons of his white shirt now casually undone.

Him?

Bram’s pupils dilated as he recognized the man who had witnessed his clash with the Numinous Episcopate member.

The person who had witnessed his battle with the Numinous Episcopate member!

When did he tail me?

How did he pinpoint my location without detection…

Lumian smiled and cordially responded to the other’s unspoken queries,
“Hasn’t anyone informed you that the preservative in those glass bottles is quite noticeable?

“Moreover, you reek of blood after killing someone.”

Bram’s heart tightened.

“Are you a Hunter?”

As he spoke, he moved slowly and quietly.

“You seem to know a lot,” Lumian replied calmly. “So, why collect those lips, preserve them, and carry them with you? That doesn’t sound like the work of a seasoned Serial Killer. I get it. You have the urge and the necessity to gather trophies. Is it for your own satisfaction or part of a ritual? Heh heh, desire can be destructive. Even the most Coldblooded are prone to errors, despite their calculated demeanor, often wagering that they won’t be caught if they overlook the details.”

Observing the twisted murderer summon black, sulfurous smoke, Lumian deduced that he was a Sequence 7 Serial Killer following the Criminal pathway.

In the Devilology book of the New City of Silver, it was noted that upon reaching Sequence 8 Coldblooded, also known as the Unwinged Angel, individuals underwent inhuman changes, acquiring two or three Devil spell-like abilities, varying from person to person. Some wielded poisonous flames, while others inflicted damaging curses. The creation of black smoke was one such ability.

Combining the target’s actions in battle, Lumian concluded he was merely a Sequence 7 Serial Killer.

Bram’s brow twitched at Lumian’s mockery and sarcasm.

Maintaining his cool, he advanced and murmured, “Did you come here just to converse? What is it you seek from me?”

As soon as he finished speaking, dense black smoke billowed from the Serial Killer, carrying a pungent sulfuric aroma.

Within the shroud of the dark smoke, Bram’s eyes deepened as he unleashed another Devil spell.

His body morphed, adopting the color of a chameleon, seamlessly blending with the spreading smoke.

Swift and silent, he approached the door, opened it with precision, and lunged outside.

Bram’s vision distorted, and amidst the lingering black smoke, he glimpsed the green-eyed man in the armchair, grinning at him.

Suddenly, he found himself back in the room.

Contrary to his previous orientation, he now faced away from the door.

Bottle of Fiction!

Upon infiltrating the room, Lumian’s initial action wasn’t a pose but the creation of a Bottle of Fiction, one that prevented Beyonders from exiting!

Unfazed by the sudden wave of disappointment and frustration, Bram darted to the side within the obscurity of the black smoke obscuring his vision. Rolling to the bedside, he retrieved a six-barrel machine gun.

Raising the machine gun, he aimed it at Lumian and unleashed a barrage of bullets.

Amidst the rapid gunfire, Lumian disappeared from the armchair, the furniture torn apart by the storm of metal projectiles.

Gone? As this realization hit Bram, he instinctively glanced upward and witnessed the man in the golden straw hat descending from the ceiling. Surrounding him were numerous crimson, almost white, flaming ravens.

Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh! Fire Ravens assailed Bram before Lumian’s arrival.

Caught within the encirclement, Bram reluctantly abandoned the six-barrel machine gun. Attempting to evade the impending explosion, he sought refuge under the bed.

However, the crimson, nearly white Fire Ravens dissipated on their own. Lumian landed before him, adorned with a grayish-

white lightning brooch. He smiled and said, “Didn’t you just ask me what I wanted? What I want is simple. I haven’t vented for too long. I’m in dire need of a humanoid sandbag.”

As he finished speaking, Lumian swung his fist at the retreating Bram.

Instinctively, Bram raised his right arm to block.

With a resounding bang, a silver-white bolt of lightning surged from Lumian’s fist into Bram’s arm, coursing through his entire body.

Bram shuddered. Despite his inhuman transformation, a momentary paralysis gripped him.

Lumian’s other fist followed suit, crashing into Bram’s side profile.

Bang!

The Serial Killer’s head tilted, and a spray of teeth accompanied by blood scattered.

Once more, silver-white lightning enveloped Bram’s head.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Lumian unleashed a barrage of punches, turning the encounter into a tempest, making Bram feel like he was caught in a thunderstorm. The electric shocks made any form of retaliation or defense nearly impossible.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Lumian’s expression remained icy as he relentlessly struck Bram’s face, chest, arms, and head. The Criminal Pathway Beyonder’s chest caved, ribs cracked, face swelled, and skull fractured. Charred marks covered his upper body after the brutal assault.

After the relentless beating, Lumian clenched his fists and raised his arm.

He crashed into Bram’s left shoulder.

Bang!

Bram’s left shoulder crumpled entirely.

Collapsed on the ground, twisted and gasping, Bram’s breath weakened.

“That’s it? It’s fine. I can get my servant to treat you before continuing,” Lumian remarked, wearing a devilish smile that Bram recognized all too well.

Without awaiting Bram’s fearful response, Lumian removed the Fury of the Sea brooch, stowing it back into his Traveler’s Bag. In a gentle tone, he inquired, “Tell me, which family are you from?”

Bram, undergoing the initial stages of dehumanization with a robust physique, realized Lumian had purposely avoided vital points in his attacks, leaving him far from unconsciousness. His mind still functioned, and thoughts raced before settling on Lumian’s smile.

After a momentary silence, Bram weakly replied, “I’m a member of the Andariel family.”