Now, only she remained here.

Agatha slowly withdrew her gaze from the lantern, turned away from the cold, still darkness where she had left High Executor Winston, and strode towards the "branches" that crisscrossed the endless space, towards the giant, thorn-covered screen that resembled the dome of heaven and earth.

A dim lantern hung at her waist, her right hand gripped the walking stick that had been her companion for so many years, and her left hand still clutched the brass key from Winston—the key was no longer cold, but carried a warmth like body temperature, as if… it were gradually merging with her body.

But Agatha was no longer concerned about any changes in her body.

She simply walked in the darkness, feeling that her body was indeed moving forward, and as long as the surrounding chaos had not completely swallowed and assimilated her, she still had to advance.

She searched for a foothold in the void, and whenever she took a step, a path-like ground would appear in the darkness. She sought a way out in the thickets of thorns, and between the crisscrossing branches, there were often narrow openings to pass through.

The sharp "thorns" quickly tore her clothes. The dense "fabric" was as fragile as loose ashes and mist in the face of the Old God's mental spikes. The falling fragments condensed into wriggling black droplets in the darkness, merging into the path beneath her feet. She occasionally touched the sparks that leaped and wandered among the thorns—when she came into contact with those flashes of light, she could almost clearly feel something drilling into her mind.

That was the mind of the Old God, a murmur from the Sacred Lord of the Depths—without any malice, not even a complete intention, but for the weak mortal, even the briefest spark of thought was dazzling and piercing, like a magnificent candle in the dark night.

Another cluster of dim flashes quickly passed by from afar, sliding along the black thorn branches across her vision. A strand of Agatha's hair intersected with the flash, and for a fraction of a second, new "knowledge" appeared in her mind.

Agatha could not understand the information conveyed to her by these sparks—just as Winston had told her, do not try to fathom the minds of the Old Gods.

It would drive you mad.

She raised her head.

The magnificent structure formed by deadwood and thorn bridges shrouded her vision, countless dim flashes danced like fireflies in the thorn thickets, and a thin mist enveloped the outside of the thorn barrier. Deep in the mist, the massive limbs of the Sacred Lord of the Depths were swaying slightly—like an invitation.

It grew cold again—more distinctly and more piercingly cold than before, the coldness carrying a dampness that seemed to freeze her bones and seep into her body.

Agatha subconsciously tightened her clothes, only to find that her garments were already tattered, and the thorns along the way had left countless wounds, large and small, on her skin.

In the wounds, turbid, black, viscous matter slowly wriggled like blood.

But just when she thought the cold would completely engulf her, a faint, warm heat came from her chest again…

A small green flame quietly burned in Agatha's chest, its faint green light illuminating her face and the cold, damp sewer around her.

All sensations seemed distant, or separated from her reason by a thick veil. The temperature in her blood seemed to have faded with the passage of time, along with the weariness and pain accumulated along the way.

Agatha slowly shook her head, trying to dispel the numbness that occupied her mind, and in the swaying of her vision, she suddenly caught a glimpse of an unusual scene.

She saw the dim, closed sewer corridor in front of her suddenly widen, and a layer of mist floated in the hazy space, with things resembling branches or thorn thickets emerging and slowly spreading towards her.

But the next second, this illusion-like scene vanished, and she still saw only the dark, heavy corridor.

And a gate at the end of the corridor.

Thump… thump…

The moment she stared at the gate, Agatha seemed to hear a phantom heartbeat beside her ears, as if a huge heart was hidden behind the door, constantly beating and growing in the darkness.

Agatha's already sluggish and numb spirit suddenly perked up, and her gaze instantly focused on the door.

"Ah… I've found you…"

She put away the flame in her palm and stepped into the darkness. The nearly broken combat cane supported her forward for the last time. Her pace grew faster and faster, even gradually creating a whistling sound. She strode towards the darkness, leaving it behind her, and the low, terrifying heartbeat gradually struck her heart like a heavy drumbeat, even striking her mind.

Gradually, she heard something else mixed in with the heartbeat, as if thousands of people were praying, chanting, calling out to some dark and indescribable existence.

But she could no longer care about how much noise was mixed in with those mixed sounds—she was about to deliver the fire to the heretics' lair deep in the front.

The sound of the cane and heels striking the ground rang out densely.

Just then, Agatha suddenly heard another sound—not her own footsteps, nor the heartbeat and the chanting of the crowd gathered together from the depths of the corridor.

It was the sound of other footsteps, a large group of people. The dense footsteps seemed to be coming from another direction—very close to the corridor in front of her, but separated by one or two walls.

Gunshots came from the footsteps, large-caliber rifles.

Other people? Living people? Were there others acting with her in this Mirror City?!

Questions instantly popped up in Agatha's mind, but these questions did not affect her progress in the slightest—she almost instantly rushed through the last section of road in front of the gate and arrived at the door from which the heartbeat was constantly coming.

The door was slightly ajar, and an intense, unyielding darkness emanated from the crack. The darkness was tangible, seeping and flowing outward little by little.

But this was exactly the goal Agatha had been searching for all along. She braced her shoulder against the heavy door and slowly pushed it open with all her strength.

With a creaking sound, the door opened. A vast darkness appeared before Agatha—or rather, some boundless "shadow" enveloped the originally normal space, leaving only darkness before her eyes.

She could only barely make out that the darkness seemed to be a hall, the widest intersection in the sewer had been transformed into a sacrificial site for sacrificing and birthing Old Gods, and countless shadowy, formless things were wriggling in that darkness. The malice was like a stench, rushing towards her.

Then, before she could react, she heard a swift whooshing sound coming from the darkness nearby. Something was attacking her, and a familiar and disgusting voice rang out from the distant sacrificial site—with banter and sarcasm: "Ah, the last sacrifice has finally arrived—very good, the other you has also arrived at the appointed place just in time."

"Bang!"

The cane swung out, bursting into short, bright sparks in the darkness. A section of grotesque and strange limb was broken in mid-air and fell at Agatha's feet, and she almost lost her footing from the impact—after barely regaining her balance, she immediately raised her head and looked in the direction of the voice.

She could only barely see a tall, thin figure of a young man standing at the end of the darkness.

He opened his arms towards her.

"Come on, sacrifice, your arrival is part of the plan—now, it's time to build the channel."

Agatha supported herself with her cane and slowly raised her head in weakness and dizziness: "You are courting death…"

"Yes, we will all die here, but it doesn't matter, as long as you step in here, the ritual will have already succeeded—I admit, this is indeed a trap."

With a bang, a gunshot and fire tore through the dimness of the corridor. The powerful bullet blew the head off a twisted monster with three eyes. The latter's mutated, hideous body fell to the ground, rapidly melting and disintegrating into a disgusting black sludge.

However, more monster howls continued to ring out from all around, and more deformed and twisted things were constantly emerging—from the surrounding walls, pipes, drains, and even the cracks in the dome.

Mud-like substances were seeping and flowing out of almost every visible crack, turning into countless monsters that were similar to humans but not quite.

"I don't think we brought enough bullets!"

A sailor shouted loudly while quickly reloading his rifle, raising his gun, and firing. His shout was accompanied by the crackling sound of the ghost flames burning, sounding hoarse and dull.

Lawrence was too busy to respond to the sailor's shout—a swift wind came from behind his head, and he only had time to slightly turn his body to avoid the fatal blow, then instinctively grabbed back.

A humanoid monster wearing the uniform of the city-state guard from decades ago, holding a sword in his hand, was dragged down from behind him and fell heavily on the floor.

Lawrence stepped forward and heavily stomped on the chest of the counterfeit freak. The ghost flames on his body instantly surged, and the spreading flames almost instantly burned the non-human monster into a pile of ashes.

The next second, Lawrence, covered in ghost flames, raised his head and looked at the corridor in front of him that seemed to never end.

All he could see were blasphemous and deformed things.