On the clock tower of the East Balein Docks, wearing a clown mask and hidden in profound darkness, Klein silently watched the dormitory of the Dockworkers' Association and the airship hovering above it.
He couldn't see the specific details of the battle, let alone know how far the operation inside the brick-red building had progressed. He could only force himself to wait, judging whether the situation was good or bad from the changes in the surrounding scene and the occasional black dots passing by.
Just then, he saw the street lamps in that area abruptly go out.
All of them went out!
It was plunged into pitch blackness!
Immediately after, a feeling that left a deep impression on him burst out from the brick-red building. Even from a great distance, Klein couldn't help trembling all over, his legs going weak, his back bending down.
It was a feeling of looking down on and crushing living beings from the essence.
It was a feeling that could not be fought or faced!
No, one must not look directly at God... In a trance, Klein felt as if he had returned to the past, to the hall of the Blackthorn Security Company, as if he was about to use Spirit Vision to peek into Megose's mental state, into the baby in her belly.
That feeling was exactly the same as now!
No, now it was more extreme, more terrifying!
How could this be? Didn't Lanuris only have a little bit of divinity granted by the "True Creator"? At most one or two corresponding items! Why did it feel like a foul god was descending?
Before Klein could shake off his body's trembling and his runaway thoughts, he suddenly sensed a deep, quiet, profound darkness engulf the previous feeling that could not be looked at, probed, or resisted.
Both vanished simultaneously, and one after another, the street lamps around jumped back to life with fairly bright flames. The airship that had just been falling uncontrollably rose again.
Everything, absolutely everything, returned to its original state, as if nothing had changed.
But Klein didn't think so. He forced himself to stand up straight, understanding that something crucial had happened in the brick-red building.
The feeling that surpassed Beyonders in essence and level was gone, and the feeling of a foul god descending was gone. This meant that the "True Creator" or Lanuris's scheme had failed... But the Nighthawks must have suffered a heavy blow as well; they might not have strength left... At this moment, Klein had a thought. He quickly unfastened the pendulum from his left cuff, held it in one hand, and said in a low voice:
"Lanuris is no longer dangerous at present."
After repeating it seven times quickly, he opened his eyes and saw that the citrine pendant was rotating counterclockwise, but not fast and with a small amplitude.
This indicated that Lanuris was still a dangerous figure, but the degree was rather low.
What Klein was more concerned about was another point:
The divination had not failed!
This meant Lanuris had separated from the divinity granted by the "True Creator" — essentially separated!
A bone-chilling cold wind blew past, and Klein suddenly shuddered, feeling as if an electric current had shot from his soles into his brain.
Maybe I can do something! The thought flashed through his mind. Without hesitation, he walked four steps in reverse on the dark top floor of the clock tower and entered the Gray Fog.
He didn't waste time. He sat down right away, materialized a yellowish-brown parchment, and materialized a divination statement:
"Lanuris's escape route."
Klein leaned back, quickly recited it silently, and sank into a deep dream.
In that illusory, fragmented, hazy world, he saw drainage channels with sewage, saw dim and dirty passages, and metal pipes with some rust.
It was cramped and enclosed.
It was the sewer!
Klein woke up instantly. He immediately covered himself with spirituality and sank into the Gray Fog.
As soon as he returned to the real world, he stepped back a few paces, coming to the side of the clock tower facing away from the airship.
Klein didn't take the spiral staircase. Instead, he climbed over the dark-yellow railing and, using the platforms, bumps, and decorations on the surface of the building, jumped down floor by floor, maintaining his balance as if walking on the ground.
In a very short time, his feet landed on the thick street stones.
…………
Inside the brick-red building, two Nighthawks in Red Gloves lay by the door, unconscious. The ancient silver-plated mirror had rolled into a corner, but now it no longer had any special properties, not at all resembling a Grade 1 Sealed Artifact.
But one could clearly sense that it was slowly recovering.
Crestet Cecima knelt on one knee at the intersection, with a liquid that seemed both blood and tears flowing from the corners of his eyes.
His golden-brown hair hung limply, and the collar of his trench coat and shirt was tattered, revealing his rather sharp chin and thin, firm mouth.
As he panted, on each of his teeth appeared a twisted, semi-transparent face.
Cecima supported himself with his left hand, which was in a Red Glove, propping up the ground, and with difficulty straightened his neck to look ahead.
Directly in front of him was the staircase leading to the second floor, and on the stairs stood Lanuris, his linen shirt completely open.
Lanuris