Unholy Player Chapter 495 The Third Gate

The Astra Path’s Dawn Raven marked the first step of his evolution. The second was the Aether Path’s Mindrake, followed by the Ignis Path’s White Shroud for the third.

Each of these three transformations belonged to distinct paths, possessing unique characteristics and developmental forms; however, a singular commonality linked them all.

During every evolution, Adyr would inevitably absorb a portion of the instincts and memories belonging to the Spark he was manifesting. It always felt as though he was claiming something from the Spark’s very essence—not merely on a physical level, but mentally and spiritually—as if fragments of their being were being carved into his own soul.

Yet, this fourth evolutionary step was different. A strange, ominous weight permeated the process from the very start.

The crimson energy surged into Adyr’s body and disappeared. It then began to grind against his internals in a lingering, agonizing procedure that felt as if it were rebuilding every fiber of his existence.

His blood boiled within his veins, his bones felt as though they were being filed down by a rasp, and his skin seemed to liquefy under the intense heat. However, these physical sensations were mere background noise compared to the upheaval occurring within his mind.

He was consumed by a hunger, a desperate craving, and an addiction more powerful than anything he had previously endured.

It felt as if a hollow void had existed inside him all along, and only now was it screaming to be satisfied.

Each breath he drew was thick with the scent of blood. It was heavy and metallic, yet paradoxically sweet and mouth-watering, sticking to his lungs with every gasp.

Whenever he struggled to open his eyes and peer through the haze of his shifting vision, he saw nothing but a deep crimson. The color was both seductive and captivating, painting the entire world in a solitary hue.

Within his consciousness, the past, present, and future had ceased to exist. Only a single thought remained, cycling endlessly like a wheel that refused to stop... Blood.

Adyr had dreaded this exact outcome.

He had prepared himself for any physical agony his body might face, but his mind was utterly unequipped for this specific brand of torment.

Slowly, he felt his sanity eroding, slipping away from his grasp one fragment at a time.

"Is this what happened to those Lunari ancestors?" The question forced its way past his cracked, hemorrhaging lips, sounding tattered and hoarse even to his own ears.

He could taste his own blood inside his mouth, feeling it sit warm and viscous upon his tongue.

Never before had it tasted so magnificent or divine. A novel sense of worship toward blood began to take root in his mind, manifesting like a distorted form of religious devotion.

According to Zephan, this was precisely how his ancestors had been lost.

They had surrendered their identities and their original Paths, beginning to deify blood until they eventually succumbed to the Blood Path. It became their sole belief and pursuit, while all other things were cast aside.

Now, the same fate was overtaking Adyr. A burgeoning love and reverence for blood were rising within him, transforming into his only purpose in life, with every instinct he possessed being funneled toward that singular goal.

"No, it is not blood." Adyr forced his eyelids apart. His eyes now appeared as though they had transformed into spheres of fresh, wet, crimson blood, shining with an unnatural light in the gloom.

He realized his error. The feeling of worship swelling inside him wasn't aimed at anything physical, but toward something distant and unattainable, like a powerful will exerting pressure from a great distance.

A million voices began to resonate within his skull.

Though he could not decipher their speech, they were enchanting him and obscuring his clarity. They were as gentle as a mother’s lullaby yet as haunting as the final gasps of a man in his death throes, overlapping in a chaotic chorus.

If he had to define that voice and those words, it would be the sound of a God speaking. It felt like an entity so vastly superior to him that even its quietest whispers carried the weight of absolute law.

As the sound became intolerable, Adyr pressed his hands against his ears, desperate to flee the echoes vibrating in his brain. It was a futile hope that blocking external sound could quiet something rooted in his very consciousness.

But the whispers persisted, relentless and unceasing.

Driven by hatred and a frantic need to escape, he clamped his palms over his ears. With a wet, tearing sound of snapping cartilage that pierced the silence, he ripped both ears from his head and cast them aside. The bloody remnants fell somewhere nearby. Yet, as expected, even this failed to silence the voice. Instead, the voice now introduced visions, sharpening the torment.

Visions of his own history.

Images of him standing over piles of corpses, the earth beneath him transformed into a widening pool of gore.

Scenes of his victims howling in pain, begging for their lives.

And scenes where no one asked for mercy, but only pleaded for death to end the unbearable agony they suffered, their eyes devoid of all hope.

Every moment of his past flashed before him, driving his thirst to new heights. His mind drifted further into the abyss, each memory pushing him closer to the precipice until the pressure became too much to bear.

He opened his mouth wide, baring white, orderly teeth behind his mangled lips, and sank them into his own arm. He bit into his own flesh as if it belonged to a stranger.

Skin, muscle, and then bone groaned under the pressure of his teeth. A massive piece was torn away with a nauseating rip.

He chewed the meat, allowing the searing hot blood to flow down his throat. He relished the ecstasy of the flavor as if it were the most exquisite thing he had ever encountered.

Adyr swallowed the flesh and immediately took another bite like a famished predator, then another and another. He consumed his own body without hesitation, his frame trembling with a mixture of agony and perverted bliss.

He was so lost in his own psyche and so focused on devouring himself that he failed to notice the shifts occurring in the surrounding space.

The environment was changing while he remained a prisoner of his hunger.

To his right, a colossal gate had swung open. It appeared to lead to a realm of grace and light, its interior filled with a soft, radiant glow.

A massive head appeared at the threshold. It gazed down with eyes full of infinite light at the bloody spectacle, its expression serene and detached, as if viewing a mere curiosity.

Another gate manifested on his left. It was filled with an eternal, heatless fire that swirled within. Another giant head, this one as dark as a void without stars, watched the scene with an equally blank face, acting as a shadow counterpart to the first.

These were the two gates that had appeared when Adyr utilized the Synergy Crystal and transitioned into a Nephilim.

They had returned to observe with interest, standing like mute witnesses to his fall.

While they remained there, silent and tranquil like two inquisitive Gods who had descended from their thrones to watch a mortal eat himself alive, a new change began to occur in the space between them.

A third gate started to take shape directly in front of Adyr. It was just as grand as the others but entirely different in design; its frame was deep crimson, and it exuded a heavy, suffocating scent of blood.

Once the third gate solidified, Adyr finally seemed to recover a shred of his senses.

He stopped mid-bite on his arm—now mostly stripped to the bone—with blood streaming from his chin. He lifted his head and stared into the depths of the gate.

This path did not lead to light or fire. Instead, it opened into a realm where only crimson existed, a world submerged in red.

A blood-red moon hung in the sky beyond the threshold. Beneath it, stretching to the horizon, everything was submerged in a sea of blood that rippled with a slow, disturbing motion. In the center of this crimson expanse, a figure stood atop the sea. Its presence was firm and unshakable despite the moving tides.

It was not as gargantuan as the figures from the other two gates. Nevertheless, it appeared no less potent or majestic. Its smaller stature only made it seem more concentrated and dense.

Staring at the figure, Adyr tried to comprehend its nature with his flickering consciousness. The longer he gazed at the entity, the more bewildered he became, as if he were losing his existing knowledge while his thoughts were meticulously dismantled piece by piece.