Becoming an Emperor Starting from the World of The Wandering Earth

Chapter 88 The Evil God

"Clatter".

Archbishop Jeff finally couldn't hold on any longer, loosened his grip on the attendant's fingers, and slid to the ground like a lump of mud.

It’s over.

It's all over.

That was the only thought left in his mind.

In the streets, squares, and ruins of the holy city, countless people who witnessed this scene, after a brief moment of deathly silence, suddenly... *thump!*

"Splash! Splash!"

Like dominoes that have been toppled, they fell to their knees in droves.

They bowed their bodies, pressing their foreheads tightly to the ground, their faces covered in dust and blood, tears mingling with indescribable excitement and ecstasy, streaming down their faces.

"The Father—it is the Father!"

"It's a miracle! It really is a miracle!"

"A thousand years have passed—the Father has not abandoned us! He has returned!!"

"A miracle! It's a miracle!"

Cries, prayers, and incoherent shouts merged into a surging torrent, breaking through the previous fear and chaos, and echoed above the holy city under the golden light.

A sudden burst of frenzied shouts erupted, a hundred times more intense than when Jeff had been welcomed.

Countless people were in tears, reaching out their hands towards the golden figure in the sky, as if doing so would bring them a little closer to that figure.

Just then, the captain of the guard force forcibly broke free from his initial shock, a lingering sense of duty and fear of the unknown overpowering his awe.

He cannot allow anything unauthorized by the Vatican to disrupt Advent, no matter how much it resembles "the Father".

He suddenly raised his pistol and fired into the sky.

"Bang!"

The gunshots were not very noticeable amidst the frenzied shouts, but the guards near the high platform still heard them.

Although their hands and feet were still weak, the long-term training and the prestige of the Vatican enabled them to barely raise their guns, the muzzles trembling as they pointed them into the air, trying to regain control of the situation.

"Silence! Silence! Protect the Archbishop!"

The captain roared at the top of his lungs, trying to drown out the clamor of the crowd.

Almost at the same instant the gunshot rang out, another unexpected event occurred.

High in the sky, the golden figure seemed to sense the captain's movement and turned its head slightly.

Two beams of red light shot out from its eyes.

The next second, the captain who had just been firing his gun screamed in agony.

Even though he was wearing exquisitely crafted armor, a bright, colored flame suddenly burst into flame.

The captain screamed and rolled on the ground, trying to extinguish the flames, but to no avail.

The flames were not extinguished; instead, they burned even brighter, within a few breaths.

The captain of the guard unit immediately lost his life.

"Put down your weapons."

A calm, gentle voice clearly echoed throughout the square. The soldiers who hadn't fired their guns were sweating profusely. They looked at the golden figure in the air, then glanced at the still-burning wreckage, and with a clatter, the guns in their hands fell to the stone pavement.

As if dominoes had been knocked down, the surviving guards threw down their rifles and retreated to the side in terror, or simply crouched down with their heads in their hands.

On the high platform, Archbishop Jeff watched all this unfold before him, his heart pounding.

But his cunning from years in a high position and a sliver of wishful thinking forced him to suppress his fear.

No, not possible!

The Holy Father is the foundation of the Papacy, their exclusive right!

This mysterious creature, no matter how convincingly it wears armor or how strangely powerful it is, must be some kind of evil disguise!

But no matter what, he had to expose that guy!

For the sake of the Papacy, and for his own sake!

Jeff took a deep breath, forcibly straightened his trembling legs, pushed aside the bishop who tried to help him, and stepped forward. Although his voice was still trembling, he tried to raise his voice so that everyone could hear: "Blasphemy! This is blasphemy!"

Jeff pointed at the light and shadow in the air and exclaimed excitedly, "The Holy Father has already returned to Heaven! You—what kind of demon are you, daring to impersonate the Holy One, disrupt the Holy City, and deceive my people! Guards! What are you waiting for? This is the embodiment of evil! It is a test!"

However, the sacred figure in the air did not make any move, and two more beams of red light shot out.

As the white flames reappeared, Jeff, amidst screams, turned to ashes just like the captain before him.

Immediately afterwards, the golden figure suspended in the pillar of light slowly raised the arm that was holding the spear.

"In the long, dark night, filth abounds. My return is not merely to manifest my divine power, nor is it solely for punishment."

His figure paused slightly, and the pale blue light beneath his mask swept over the ant-like beings beneath his feet, over the limp bishops, over the panicked guards, and finally landed on countless pairs of eyes filled with tears and longing.

"I will purify this world, cleansing it of all impurity, injustice, and unfairness. I will lead those who believe in me to escape this sea of ​​suffering and return to the eternal land of bliss, where they can share in the blessings of heaven."

As soon as he finished speaking, the raised right hand gently spread its five fingers.

The drizzle, without any warning, really did start to fall.

Countless misty droplets, shimmering with a pale golden light, drifted from the edge of the pillar of light, like a hazy veil of light, gently enveloping the square, the church, and everyone who stared in disbelief, looking up at the sky.

The raindrops fell on my face, carrying a strange coolness, but not coldness. Instead, they had a gentle, penetrating warmth that quickly dispelled the discomfort caused by the dust and bloodstains on my skin.

An indescribable, refreshing, almost sweet scent filled everyone's nostrils.

"Ah—" Among the crowd, an old woman with a wrinkled face was the first to groan.

She closed her eyes, tilted her head back, and let the golden raindrops fall on her face. "It is—it is the grace of the Holy Father—I, I feel it—my eyes—can see clearly—"

"My leg—it doesn't hurt anymore?" A man who had twisted his ankle in the chaos stood up a little straighter, his face full of disbelief.

"It's nectar! It's the nectar of heaven!"

A priest shouted excitedly, cupped his hands, and caught the falling raindrops.

Suddenly, the priest seemed to have thought of something, took out a book, and began to write quickly.

"In the year 1914, on Advent, God the Father returned to the world once again after being away from humanity for 1080 years, to save mankind."

I don't know if it was because I was writing too fast, or because of the drizzle.

The words "Holy Father" were somewhat distorted and deformed, making them look more like those of an emperor!

Of course, while there are those with fanatical faith, there are also those whose legs tremble and who almost kneel down.

That wasn't faith, it was fear.

It is those who have already benefited who are in fear.

But some clear-headed people quickly realized what was happening and quietly slipped out of the crowd.

They want to leave, they want to leave immediately.

God descended and swept away all evil spirits.

Given the current public fervor, the consequences are almost self-evident.