Can a Frankenstein's monster be an adventurer?

Chapter 126 Not Chosen by Fate

Just as Luo Lan and his group had adjusted to their surroundings, a sudden chaotic aura suddenly appeared.

The goblins' prayers showed no sign of stopping:

Our names are not in the book of destiny, but we remember—

Before the arrival of the void, Niu\Chun and ×Beiyi\

In the goblins' strange hymn, Luo Lan keenly caught a word—[Void].

Luo Lan felt an unsettling familiarity with this word; something in her mind was jolted by its presence.

Luo Lan, who was from the Northwest, was hearing this "North" for the first time.

But my mind was like it was covered with a veil, and I couldn't remember where I had seen or heard the word before. The memory was so blurry that I couldn't grasp the outline.

Puzzled, Luo Lan posed the question via [Psionic Communication]:

Enjoy the North × Many, the East and West are empty】How can ×”

Victor's usually monotone, neutral synthesized voice, for once, took on a serious, cold quality: "Warning: This is knowledge beyond the 'starry sky.' However, given that you have already directly confronted 'Mother of the Mourning Feast,' your soul strength and will have received a corresponding boost—"

Viktor paused for a moment, carefully choosing his words: "Explanation: Regarding the [Void], you only need to know that it is the greatest calamity in the universe. As for the other parts, with your current transcendental level, do not ponder their meaning, nor try to understand them."

Victor's cold, warning-tinged answer still echoed in Luo Lan's mind.

Before Luo Lan could even ponder the implications of those words, Bulin's voice became even more synchronized, full of polyphony:

Grant us more regret, let our wounds become our eyes, let the Yang Curse become...

Let our hatred

It becomes a spear that pierces through an unjust fate.

The chanting was shrill and jarring, like a black glare. As the goblins' commotion grew louder in the mine, Roland sensed that the ritual was likely nearing its end.

Immediately open the small bag of prepared [Exploding Crystals] for Emily and Rom.

The yellow crystals inside the knotted bag fell into Roland's palm. Roland spoke quickly, his blue eyes sweeping over Rom and Emily before finally looking at the skeleton hound approaching from the mine entrance: "The goblin ritual should be over soon—put these exploding magic crystals in the load-bearing pillars. If things get bad, detonate them. After you've placed them, we'll head straight to the mine entrance to meet up."

Luo Lan quickly passed one of the Exploding Crystals to Ellie and then gave it to Hou Bingkuan. Finally, he kept the remaining half for himself and Agou.

With these highly compressed explosives in hand, everyone sprang into action.

The group worked quickly, and one piece of crystal was wedged into the large rocks to support it.

Emily's petite figure quickly circled the base of each stone pillar.

He pulled out a crumpled piece of drawing paper from the [Fun Wreath], on which a large red fireball was drawn crookedly.

[Fairy's Warm Fire] Emily clapped her hands and flew back to Luo Lan's shoulder: "Alright! When you want to light a fire, I'll just pour a little bit of my spiritual energy into the painting!"

Just cut accurately. In those brief few dozen seconds of preparation time, deep within the mine, the goblins' final chant echoed:

We, in our humble state,

I do not seek salvation.

I do not seek rest.

We only ask for—

Let the world also taste what it's like to be chosen by fate.

The voices of the thirty-odd goblins were no longer so passionate.

Instead, it lowered to a whisper, yet it penetrated more clearly into the ears of everyone present than the previous loud recitation.

After the last verse, there was a long pause.

All sounds in the mine disappeared.

The goblins stopped chanting, the rock formations stopped trembling, and even the flow of air seemed to freeze.

The thick darkness began to spread from where the goblin shaman's vengeful spirit resided, engulfing the rubble, the pool of blood, and the goblins, slowly spreading in all directions.

Three breaths after the last glimmer of light in the mine had gone out, a small purple crack lit up in the depths of darkness.

It was very small, about the size of a fingernail, suspended in mid-air, its purple edge particularly dazzling in the darkness.

It was as if some powerful being had torn open a small opening from the other side of the darkness, and purple light poured out from the crack.

One fissure splits into seven, seven become forty-nine, and forty-nine become three hundred and forty-three.

Ones, tens, hundreds, thousands.

The exponential increase, in just a few breaths, covered the entire first floor of the dark mine, including the ceiling, rock walls, and floor, with dense purple fissures.

The fissures split open into cracks, which then curl outwards, and within each crack lies an eye.

Each eye, with its unique shape, stood out starkly in the darkness.

The first thing to appear was the majestic presence of the golden, vertical-pupiled dragon race.

Lava-like patterns of light flowed through his iris, and his pupils shrank into narrow slits. Within those slits were reflected flames, gales, and thunder.

Then there are compound eyes—the multitude of Zerg.

Hundreds of hexagonal lenses are pieced together to form a sphere, and each lens reflects the same image: a dense, overwhelming mass of writhing carapaces stretching from the horizon to the sky.

Red eyes dripping with sulfurous lava—the madness of a demon.

The scarlet sclera was covered with ruptured blood vessels, and the pupil was shaped like an inverted triangle pointing downwards, with sulfur burning inside.

A cluster of suspended, eerie blue light—the precision of the undead.

There was no white in the eye, no iris, only a suspended ball of cold flame. Occasionally, it would flash across the data array, only to disappear in an instant.

And the most ancient long-pupiled creature—the silence of the Elven race.

Deep within the pupils lay a vast sea of ​​stars, their light gradually dimming and extinguishing one after another.

And the ordinary pupils of the demi-human race, compared to the strange eyes of the surrounding extraordinary races, were so plain as to be almost negligible.

But they were the most numerous, densely packed with hundreds of fissures.

Thousands of eyes were open, staring at the four living creatures in the mine.

Luo Lan heard Rom's breathing beside her and paused for a moment.

Decades of adventurous life had allowed the veteran to endure severe injuries until now, but at this moment, the countless heterochromatic eyes everywhere had robbed him of his last bit of confidence.

Emily let out a very faint scream, her heterochromatic pupils contracted sharply, and her [Spirit Realm Vision] automatically went up to maximum power in that instant.

The little fairy saw it; those eyes were crying.

Each pupil brimmed with tears; the dragon's tears were golden nectar, the insect's tears were thick mucus.

Thousands of tearful eyes, as if drawn by some irresistible force, began to move.

They slowly converged toward the center of the mine, the spot where the goblin shaman's vengeful spirit had last dissipated.

Purple lights trailed long streaks, drawing thousands of arcs in the darkness, weaving into a dense, dazzling net.

Thousands of eyes were stacked together, their pupil colors mixed together—gold, red, emerald, grayish-white, and deep blue—all stirred into the purple light, like a thousand colors of paint poured into the same bucket of water.

The thousand eyes merged into one, and a huge purple vertical pupil emerged, hanging in the very center of the mine, its iris reflecting the afterimages of all the extinct races.

It slowly rotated, sweeping over Roland, over Rom, over Emily, and finally its pupils slowly reversed.

His pupils contracted at their deepest point, and a drop of jet-black liquid squeezed out from the corner of his eye and slowly dripped down.

Then, this suffocatingly beautiful purple eye disappeared into the depths of darkness and vanished in an instant.

If it were anyone else present, all they would see would be: a thousand eyes appear, transforming into a giant purple vertical pupil, from which a single black tear falls.

But in Luo Lan's True Sight eyes, which were covered by a pale blue glow, what had just happened presented a completely different picture.

When those purple cracks first appeared, what Luo Lan saw was not some scattered, strange eyes.

Those were the afterimages of thousands of extinct races, each carrying with it a resentment and bitterness that would make the world weep.

Behind the golden eyes of the dragon race are giant dragons.

Their wingspan covered half the sky, and starlight reflected off their scales. But the starlight was fading, their wings were petrifying, and from the tip of their tails, a greyish-white eternal slumber spread upwards along their spines.

Behind the Zerg's compound eyes lies an endless carpet of fungi.

A fleet of biomass stretched from the horizon to the sky, but the fleet was leaving the planet, leaving behind only scorched earth that had been devoured and a few forgotten feral larvae huddled in burrows.

Behind the demon's crimson eyes lie crumbling palaces.

His body, like a terrifying demon forged from obsidian and magma, once tore through the heavens to attack the silver moon, and his sulfurous fire scorched the ravaged earth. Now, however, there is no longer a true demon king in the world.

Thousands of scenes, the final chapters of thousands of races, all superimposed and ultimately converged into that enormous purple vertical pupil.

But in Luo Lan's [True Sight] vision, that was not an eye at all.

It was clearly a hunched, humanoid black shadow huddled in a crevice in space.

The shadowy figure's body had no intact skin at all.

It seems to be forcibly pieced together from the resentment of ancient creatures that died tragically and went extinct in several eras.

Its entire body was writhing and rolling, as if tens of millions of living creatures were struggling and burrowing wildly under the same dead skin, trying to tear off the restraints.

Seven arms of varying lengths extend from the torso.

Two thin, bony, humanoid arms hung at his sides, with long, hook-like nails.

The other five arms were twisted in a way that defied human aesthetics.

One was a thick, barbed claw of a giant beast; another was a tentacle that constantly secreted mucus; a grayish-white deep-sea fin with a translucent edge; and a giant insect appendage that looked like it had been broken and reattached; and even the very end of one of the arms was a huge, half-open mouth with layers of sharp teeth.

【Name: "Göshlakh the Despiser"】

Rank: ?

Specialty: ?

【Skill:?】

[Fate Skill:? 】

【law:?】

【field:?】

Apart from a name that may or may not be correct, all other information is unknown.

In the eyes of others, the last scene of Ghoshlach was a single black tear falling from his purple vertical pupil.

In Luo Lan's eyes, however, it was Goshlach's seven arms, and the thin, bony humanoid right hand slowly rose.

Between his hooked fingernails, he held a tiny, extremely thick black substance.

The amount of chaotic matter in this thing is many times greater than the chaotic mist that permeates the mine; it's so concentrated that light touching its surface is directly swallowed up.

As the fingertips tilted, black substance slid through the gaps between the fingers.

After turning this drop of resentment, which had been condensed over countless years and eras, into a drop of concentrated chaotic matter, he threw it down.

Goshlakh's hunched figure vanished silently into the pure darkness.

In the view of others, the enormous purple vertical pupil also closed and disappeared at the same time.

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