The Weeping Serpent (Part Seven)

It was as though a sun had burst forth.

Blazing crimson flames, imbued with boundless heat and an aura of destruction, suddenly erupted from Ewan Campbell’s body.

Deep beneath his skin, the demonic fingerprint mark ignited once more, glowing like molten lava.

The rainwater pooling on the ground instantly evaporated. The Dark Moon Mist, which had enveloped the area, surged violently as if encountering a natural predator.

“What—”

The Siren’s eyes widened instinctively, her mind struggling to comprehend the sudden shift. Her seductive face, illuminated by the intense light, appeared surprisingly pale and delicate.

Just then, a large hand, breaking free from the shadows, reached out from the crimson flames and seized her by the neck.

“Your caution truly serves you well, Miss Siren.”

Ewan Campbell lifted his gaze, fixing it on the Siren with a mocking smile. “No, perhaps ‘cowardice’ is a better word. After all your calculations, you’ve only managed to do me a great favor. Are you pleased?”

“Why… the Flame of the Withering King? Ewan Campbell—you?”

As a devotee of the moon, the Siren immediately recognized this aura, which felt like that of a mortal enemy. Yet, the more she understood the origin of this power, the more incredulous she became.

Ewan Campbell… a heretic?

This renowned son of a Duke, born into the highest echelons of society, was a follower of the Withering King?

“Don’t misunderstand. I don’t worship that great eye. This is merely a transaction of equal value.”

Seeing through the Siren’s thoughts, Ewan Campbell offered a sinister smile.

In that moment, he resembled nothing so much as a villainous scoundrel tormenting an innocent maiden.

“A transaction?”

The Siren froze, her eyes instinctively drawn to Ewan Campbell’s.

His eyes were no longer the deep, tranquil blue of a lake. Instead, they burned with a fiery crimson. At their core, several black hole-like vortices slowly spun. Around these abyssal centers, layers of coronal ripples scattered, intertwining like myriad rays of dawn, exuding an ultimate majesty.

Simply by being gazed upon by those eyes, the Siren felt as though her soul were burning. The intense agony even made her forget the humiliation of being throttled like a helpless chick. Her body trembled uncontrollably.

This almost crushing disparity in power finally made her realize the fundamental difference between Ewan Campbell’s strength and her own.

Both came from an evil god.

Both were powers obtained through a transaction with an evil god, exchanging something in return.

However, Ewan Campbell’s power was not the low-level pity bestowed upon her, gained through countless acts of worship and prayer, offering everything she possessed.

It was a divine favor!

It was a partial manifestation of a deity’s authority, representing the god’s presence walking the earth—a ceaseless, inexhaustible power of law, like living water.

From a purely conceptual standpoint, it utterly dwarfed her, who claimed to be the moon’s closest priestess, by several magnitudes.

But…

Could an evil god truly bestow favor upon an ordinary human?

Such an occurrence was unheard of in human history!

The Siren could not comprehend it.

Yet, she knew that if this continued, she would surely die.

“No! I cannot die like this! I cannot!”

The Siren suddenly struggled violently. She found a burst of strength from somewhere, managing to break free from Ewan Campbell’s grip. She twisted, crawled, and scrambled away from him.

“No, I haven’t received the eternal life promised by the great moon. How could I possibly die!”

The Siren crawled desperately across the ground, oblivious to the tiny crimson flames that had burrowed beneath her scales, now wantonly incinerating her flesh and blood.

With a gasp, the Siren suddenly coughed up a large mouthful of blood.

She lowered her head blankly, looking at her reflection in the pool of blood.

Her seductive face was already paper-white, and her disheveled hair clung to her forehead with sweat, making her appear utterly wretched.

Even more terrifying were her eyes. Those serpentine pupils, once capable of instilling endless fear, were no longer cold. Instead, pinpricks of fire gradually ignited within them, like fireflies twinkling on a summer night.

It was not beautiful at all; rather, it carried an unspeakable sense of desolation.

The flames had begun to consume her soul.

“No… no!”

Feeling the scorching pain from her soul, the Siren raised her head in terror, looking up at the sky already obscured by dark mist, and prayed devoutly.

“Moon, great moon, please save me, please grant me sufficient power…”

“I am your most loyal follower. I am willing to give everything for you. Please save me…”

“My soul, I can even offer my soul. If you can save me, my soul can be sacrificed to you…”

The Siren’s eyes widened with fervent hope as she continued to pray.

She knew that the moon’s dark mist could not possibly obscure the moon’s own gaze. Therefore, if the moon would only cast its sight upon her again, all problems would cease to be problems.

Even if Ewan Campbell possessed the divine favor of the Withering King, how could even divine favor contend with a god’s personal intervention?

So, if the moon could just cast its gaze, even for a split second, then I could…

“It seems you’ve been abandoned.”

Ewan Campbell had appeared beside the Siren at some point, scrutinizing her disheveled face with an air of composure.

“That moon of yours is just as cowardly as you are, and currently struggling to protect itself. How could it possibly save you?”

“Nonsense!”

The Siren roared in fury.

“I am the moon’s priestess, its most devout follower! I am the one promised eternal life by it! How could the moon abandon me, how could—”

Her scream abruptly cut off before she could finish.

She suddenly felt cold.

Incredibly cold.

It was as if something was slowly being drained from within her body.

“This is…”

The Siren trembled as she looked down at herself.

Her alluring, curvaceous body seemed to lose all its moisture, gradually becoming shriveled and grotesque. Her fair skin visibly began to rot at an alarming speed, emitting a pungent stench.

The moon was reclaiming its power.

Having offered all her internal organs and survived solely by the power of an evil god, she was now inevitably heading towards death as the moon withdrew its strength.

“No… why… I…”

The Siren was utterly terrified. She raised her head once more, but this time, no matter how hard she tried, she could not find the bright moon in the sky covered by the dark mist.

The moon had truly abandoned her.

Abandoned her… so completely.

“I hate… I hate it!”

With her faith utterly shattered, tears of blood suddenly streamed from the Siren’s eyes.

The greater her prior devotion to the moon, the more intense her hatred became in this moment.

But if hatred were useful, she would have long been drowned by the countless wronged souls who had died by her hand.

Thus, consumed by agony and torment like a thousand insects gnawing at her heart, the Siren could only watch herself slowly decay, her soul included, towards a desolate end.

Born of the moon, died by the moon.

This was the most painful death Ewan Campbell had granted her.