Chapter Forty: The Rabbit

In the vast heart of the Fiery Mountain, a gentle sea breeze swept across the endless expanse of the Bosh Sea. The deep blue waters were sometimes tranquil, sometimes roaring with fury; waves crashed against the surface and battered the shore, and occasionally, dolphins leapt gracefully above the sea.

Beneath the waters lay a colossal palace, almost invisible due to its hue matching the sea—a grand temple of the Sea God. Looking eastward from here, one could see another palace perched atop the summit of Fiery Mountain, ablaze in crimson. This was the Scarlet Fire Palace, the temple of Apollo, the Sun God.

Separated by only a few miles, these two temples stood in silent correspondence. Both were unique; Poseidon and Apollo chose only a select few for their divine favor, each one possessing extraordinary gifts and rare physiques among humankind. Thus, the temples housed but a handful of chosen ones, yet whenever the champions of the gods battled, their candidates always claimed the highest ranks.

In the latter half of the night, darkness had fully enveloped the sky, and the candlelight within the Scarlet Fire Palace and the Sea God’s Temple had long since been extinguished.

The sea wind at night grew colder, the waves more violent. Freya, weary from her day's journey, rode her little tricycle down to the beach. She had spent all her strength, but still she trudged toward the water.

A beam of white light rose from the center of the sea, and beneath it a figure could be vaguely discerned, though his face remained obscured.

“Freya, go back. Athena has already informed us of your intentions,”

Poseidon’s voice resonated with authority. The instant he appeared, the tempestuous sea became calm and still.

Standing in the frigid waters, Freya wrote on her drawing board: “Please grant Freya’s request.”

Poseidon replied, “You know well, whether for public or private reason, it is impossible.”

Another resounding voice boomed from the Scarlet Fire Palace, and a scorching wave of flame unfurled above its roof.

“No temple will grant the insolent request of a bastard child. Poseidon, send her away.”

“Please, let Aran enter the temple. Freya can relinquish his claim and return to the Divine Realm...”

As she wrote this, tears suddenly spilled down her cheeks, gazing pitifully at the white figure within the sea.

But the Sea God merely sighed softly. Without moving, a surge of waves rose and swept Freya and her little tricycle high into the air, flinging her far away.

Her body soared over the beach, over the sea, further and further.

The fiery wave above the Scarlet Fire Palace stirred slightly, and Apollo’s vast voice changed.

“Poseidon, where have you sent her?”

“The Wraith Walkway,”

Poseidon answered calmly.

Above the Scarlet Fire Palace, silence fell, the torrid aura congealing.

“Poseidon, though she is an illegitimate child, her crime does not merit death…”

“You know what her existence means for both gods and demons,” the Sea God replied, casting a meaningful glance at the Spirit-Binding Ridge before slowly sinking into the sea.

Fiery Mountain and Bosh Sea belonged to the Sun and Sea Gods, but the Spirit-Binding Ridge, which formed a three-way balance with Fiery Mountain and the Sixth Divine Temple, was the domain of demons and god-hunters.

On the west side of Spirit-Binding Ridge, the Wraith Walkway connected to the Dark Canyon, a place teeming with countless birds, beasts, and fierce monsters—a prime hunting ground for the god-hunters.

Sheer cliffs, bizarre rocks, wild beasts—an iron chain walkway stretched across the void, and below, monstrous god-hunters lay in wait along the cliff faces: man-eating plants, giant centipedes, enough to send chills down the spine at a glance.

Several dark-skinned god-hunters hung from the walkway, gnawing on blood-soaked spiders; the scene was grisly and terrifying.

On one side of the walkway, jagged rocks and low grassland hosted beasts and god-hunters, a wild and untouched landscape.

The other side was lined with houses, meticulously arranged, resembling human dwellings—more like a primitive human village.

This was the god-hunters’ enclave within Spirit-Binding Ridge, and in its center stood a towering idol.

A fifty-meter-tall, blue-faced, four-winged demon statue, fierce and imposing, its presence awe-inspiring and terrifying at a glance.

Two rabbitfolk emerged from the wilds onto the Wraith Walkway leading to the god-hunters’ gathering place.

A man and a woman.

The male rabbitfolk wore a silk shirt, rabbit ears atop his head, his face delicate, but there was none of the gentleness typical of his kind—only a wicked air.

The female, a young maiden, dressed much like a waitress from Torrent City’s restaurants, her face alluring yet cold.

The god-hunters hanging from the walkway and clinging to the cliffs glanced at them and simply let them pass.

But as they reached the middle of the walkway, a sudden gust sounded overhead, and a shadow sped toward them from afar.

“Hiss-hiss,”

“Jie-jie, gods…”

The figure had not yet fully descended, but the god-hunters scattered across the mountains seemed to awaken abruptly—tongues licking lips, sniffing noses, the sound of saliva dripping below the walkway. All had caught the scent that stirred their instincts.

It was the scent of gods.

The figure in the sky grew larger, and they gradually saw the wind-shrouded, mud-like second-generation god and her strange little tricycle.

Freya’s eyes brimmed with terror, as if she already knew her fate. She clutched her drawing board tightly, and under the force of the wind was hurled onto the Wraith Walkway.

“Whoosh,”

“Roar,”

Both cliffs erupted, figures soaring into the air, a stench of blood flooding the senses.

Twin trails of tears streaked Freya’s face; she curled up in fear, trembling, her tears falling to the ground.

The rabbitfolk waitress revealed a cruel smile, a short knife slipped from her sleeve, and a chilling nursery rhyme began to hum.

“Little bunny, be good…”

“Pfft,”

But this time, before she finished, a sudden change occurred—a jade-hued blade pierced through her body.

“Damn you, be good my ass,”

Aran’s knife plunged through her back, and without pause he kneed her, sending her flying.

“You bastard, get down here! I’ll kill you!”

Not far away, the male rabbitfolk was pinned down by Wang Li and his bicycle, cursing and struggling, but Wang Li simply raised the handlebars and slammed them down again.

Aran twisted his body, generating a fierce wind, and shot to Freya’s side like an arrow loosed from a bow. He grabbed her and her tricycle and bolted, but by then the walkway was already swarming with darkness—the god-hunters, laughing wildly, swooped down upon them, their forms swallowed by the terrifying blackness.

“Hmph, troublesome,”

In Torrent City, deep in the fourth layer of the underground nest, a woman in purple robes and violet hair looked up, snorted coldly, and let a haze of purple mist seep from her body. Twin beams of violet light flashed from her eyes, shooting out of the nest.