Versatile Mage: Get the Desert Emperor clone at the start

Chapter 425 The Mark of Death, the Feeling of Fear!
Within this vast, designated area of ​​the Western Frontier, the geographical features are quite distinctive.

After crossing a relatively flat plain, still dotted with Gobi desert and scattered grasslands, the distant view reveals endless, undulating mountains.

The mountain is steep and shrouded in mist year-round, concealing countless ancient demon lairs and unsolved dangers.

The new city of the holy city rose from the ground here.

On the towering city walls, holy runes gleamed in the sunlight. Though not even a tenth as bright as the holy city of the past, they still rekindled the light symbolizing angels in this desolate place!
The establishment of this new city has attracted people from all directions to gather here.

Among them were not only local tribesmen and residents of small settlements who originally lived on this western land and struggled to survive in the face of demons and harsh environments, but also a large number of people who fled from other occupied territories.

For these people struggling to survive among demons.

Although the name of the Holy City is not as resounding as it once was, its towering walls, solemn hymns, and powerful archangels still represent a rare order and security.

A base city, which was beginning to take shape, gradually gained a foothold on this land.

The streets began to bustle with people.

However, beneath this seemingly well-established facade, an unsettling undercurrent is quietly brewing.

"Have you heard? That... Archangel Michael..." a man in a tattered fur coat said in a low voice.

"Shh! Keep your voice down! You heard about it too?" The person next to him immediately looked around nervously, then leaned closer and said.

"It is said that he was... left with the mark of death by the legendary black and white Grim Reapers!"

"The Mark of Death?!" The other person gasped, his eyes filled with fear.

"Doesn't that mean... he'll be taken away sooner or later?! Just like in those legends..."

"Can angels... also be marked by death?"

"But doesn't this black and white Grim Reaper only take away those who are about to die?"

"This archangel is still very young? Could he have suffered some kind of hidden injury?"

Similar whispers gradually spread throughout the newly built city.

When people looked at the tallest building in the center—the temple where the angels temporarily resided.

In addition to the usual awe, there was an indescribable emotion in his eyes.

At this moment, in the deepest prayer room of the temple, Michael himself was experiencing unprecedented torment.

He removed part of his armor, his face was pale, and his once bright eyes were now bloodshot and filled with barely concealed panic.

He could clearly feel a cold, invisible mark, like a leech, deeply imprinted on the very essence of his soul.

It wasn't pain, but a more chilling feeling of being watched.

It was as if no matter where he was or what time it was, there was always a pair of indifferent, empty eyes, filled with the promise of ultimate death, piercing through layers of space and locking onto him.

This feeling was driving him almost insane.

Unable to bear the pressure alone any longer, he urgently summoned Raphael and Shaka.

"Michael, your Death Mark is reacting?" Raphael looked at Michael's obviously abnormal state, and a look of worry appeared on his gentle face.

Although Shaja did not speak, his eyes held a questioning look.

Michael took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

But his voice still trembled slightly: "Raphael, Shaka... I, I feel very bad." He pointed to his chest, where there seemed to be nothing wrong, but in his perception, it was as if a black hole was spinning incessantly.

"There is a pair of eyes... a pair of cold eyes, always watching me, everywhere, all the time!"

Raphael and Shaka stepped forward, unleashing their immense spiritual and holy power to carefully examine Michael's soul and body.

A moment later, both of their expressions became extremely solemn.

They vaguely sensed the presence of the mark, but it was not an energy entity, and they did not understand how the mark came to be.

"We must try to eliminate it!" Michael said in a deep voice!
“Let’s try it together!” Raphael agreed.

The three archangels began to work together in this prayer room, attempting to dispel the death mark from Kindred.

Raphael pressed his hands together and chanted an ancient incantation. A purifying power, like a warm ocean current, slowly enveloped Michael, attempting to cleanse and heal the "wound" on his soul.

Shaka then activated the power of the sacred texts, and countless golden runes emerged, attempting to peel and correct the mark from Michael's body.

Michael himself fully cooperated.

He mobilized the vast holy light within his body, scorching the cold mark from within like a blazing sun, attempting to incinerate it with its pure, divine essence.

In an instant, holy light surged in the prayer room, as if a small sun was being conceived there, shining brightly.

The three powerful divine forces of the same origin were poured into Michael without reservation, in an attempt to resist the power of the mark from Kindred.

However intense the holy light may be, and however it may attempt to purify, it is not the case.

Those black and white marks remain as imprinted as a shadow deep within the soul, unmoved.

It seems to exist outside this dimension, yet its very existence seems to be rooted in a foundation far beyond the reach of holy light.

The feeling was like trying to attack a reflection with all your might, only to be futile.

Time passed second by second, and fine beads of sweat appeared on the foreheads of the three archangels. Michael, in particular, grew increasingly pale. The process of having his soul repeatedly washed by the three powerful forces was by no means easy.

Finally, Raphael was the first to stop, his face showing a hint of exhaustion and a deep sense of powerlessness as he shook his head.

Shaka silently closed the holy book, and the golden runes gradually dissipated.

The holy light gradually subsided, and the prayer room returned to darkness, with only Michael's heavy breathing remaining.

He looked down at his chest, which showed no abnormalities, then looked up at his two companions, his eyes filled with bloodshot veins and a sense of utter despair.

His voice was hoarse as he growled, "What is this?! Why... why can't we even budge it an inch?!"

However, no one could answer him.

Kindred's Death Mark is far more than a common curse or trauma.

It is directly imprinted on the soul, and unless the recipient's power level can completely surpass Kindred and forcibly rewrite it with an absolute advantage, any attempt to remove it will be in vain.

At this moment, Kindred's authority and power over death have far surpassed the realm that Michael could reach.

Therefore, no matter how much Michael struggles or how much he gathers holy light, he has no chance of erasing this mark.

This black and white mark is like a hanging sword, ready to fall at any moment.

(End of this chapter)