Slaying God: I, the insane and witty god

This question is less a question to the heavens and more a question to one's own battered soul.

Claude's knuckles turned white from the force he exerted; the Holy Grail, which carried infinite possibilities, now felt as heavy as a mountain in his hands.

He once thought that as long as he obtained it, he could make up for everything, bring his fallen comrades back to life, and restore the homeland that he had indirectly destroyed.

But what's the price?

He looked around at the scorched earth, the collapsed buildings, and the innocent civilians who had been reduced to ashes in the flames and thunder.

In his quest for the Holy Grail, he attracted covetous eyes, bringing the flames of war to the city he was supposed to protect.

Now, with the powerful artifact in hand, the city has become a living hell.

Regret and pain were like two venomous snakes, frantically gnawing at his heart.

No, it's not too late!

The power of the Holy Grail is limitless, as long as you make the right wish...

"In my name, Claude, I make a wish..."

He took a deep breath, pouring all his hope and determination into his voice, about to shout out his wish to reverse everything.

The moment he opened his mouth, an extreme coldness and emptiness exploded from his back without warning, instantly engulfing his entire body!

That wasn't a physical attack, but a far more terrifying form of stripping away.

His spirit, his will, his soul, seemed to be suddenly sucked away by an invisible black hole.

My mind went completely blank for a moment, and I couldn't even think about the simplest things.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The wish that was about to come out was stuck in his throat, turning into meaningless syllables.

"Uh……"

Claude's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, the Holy Grail slipping from his hands and rolling twice on the ashes-covered ground.

The light in his eyes quickly dimmed, replaced by an unprecedented, pure despair.

He's done.

A shadow silently emerged from behind him and stood in front of him.

He was an ordinary-looking man with a strange yet satisfied smile on his face; he was none other than the imposter codenamed 22.

In his hand, a scepter covered with ancient patterns and topped with a dark purple gemstone appeared out of nowhere.

The gem at the top of the scepter was now emitting an eerie light, as if it had just had a hearty meal.

"This is truly...delicious spiritual energy."

Number 22 squinted contentedly, enjoying the look of utter agony on Claude's face.

"Former agent Claude, do you really think you can win this game with brute force?"

"You'll never understand until you die that all your so-called resistance and sacrifices were just a stepping stone for me."

Claude's pupils contracted sharply, and regret and resentment erupted in his heart like a volcano.

So that's how it is. From the very beginning, he was treated like a treasure-hunting hound.

His sacrifice and killing cleared all obstacles for the true hunter.

"Why...why..." He used his last bit of strength to squeeze out two words.

"Why?" Number 22 grinned and leaned down, his [Scepter] flashing out like lightning, but stopping an inch from Claude's brow.

Instead of killing him outright, he reached out with his other hand.

With a slow, deliberate yet incredibly cruel gesture, it forcefully ripped its way into Claude's chest!

puff!

Warm blood splattered all over Number 22's face, but he didn't care at all, instead revealing an even more fanatical expression.

He slowly withdrew his hand, and in his palm, a still warm, slightly beating heart was making its final struggle.

He slowly cast the heart into the Holy Grail not far away, as if offering a sacrifice.

The heart fell into the light golden liquid at the bottom of the glass, and the blood instantly spread out, like an eerie red lotus blooming in divine brew.

The entire Holy Grail trembled violently, its golden light intensified, and an aura of blood and holiness, a hundred times more intense than before, surged into the sky!

"You lackey of the gods, you should use your heart to begin this great revenge!"

Number 22 laughed maniacally as he picked up the Holy Grail, which had been fully activated by the blood.

With his other hand raised high the scepter, his eyes burned with an overwhelming hatred for all the gods in the heavens.

"Watch closely, watch how the world you created is reduced to ashes by your own divine artifacts!"

Before he finished speaking, he moved!

His figure transformed into a streak of crimson lightning, rushing into the distant crowd of civilians who had miraculously survived the disaster and were now embracing each other and weeping.

"Do not--!"

The survivors screamed in terror, but it was too late.

With a gentle wave of his left hand, Number 22 wielded his scepter, unleashing an invisible mental shockwave.

The first few dozen people instantly lost their focus, like puppets whose souls had been ripped out, and fell straight down.

The Holy Grail in his right hand tilted, and beams of blood-red light shot out from it, precisely piercing the hearts of each fleeing person.

massacre.

A one-sided massacre with no suspense whatsoever.

On the streets of Wucheng, surviving residents lay dead in droves, like harvested wheat.

One second people were celebrating their survival, and the next they were turned into cold corpses.

Blood flowed into streams, staining every inch of the scorched earth red.

The piercing wails and desperate cries echoed through the sky, but then quickly faded into deathly silence.

The entire city-state became a tomb shrouded in fear and death.

at the same time.

Countless miles away, in the deepest, most secluded section of the Gods' Mental Hospital, a place forgotten by the world.

This is the most heavily guarded area in the entire hospital.

The walls were cast from a special alloy that could isolate divine power, and the air was filled with a calming gas that could put ordinary gods into a deep sleep.

In the center of a pure white hospital room

A burly figure was firmly bound to the metal throne by countless chains engraved with runes.

His eyes were covered with a black cloth, and his mouth was also covered with a silencing device.

He sits here like a silent sculpture, unchanged for centuries.

It was Gilgamesh, the oldest hero-king.

suddenly!

boom--! !

The "sculpture," silent for hundreds of years, suddenly trembled.

The chains binding him were instantly stretched taut by an unimaginable force, groaning under the strain!

"who is it?!!"

A roar, seemingly from the primordial chaos, broke through the silencing device.

The sound waves, almost tangible, exploded loudly within the restricted area!

"Who dares to be so insolent in my courtyard?!"

Gilgamesh struggled frantically, his handsome face contorted with rage.

Two blinding beams of blood-red light emanated from the black cloth covering the eyes, as if they were about to burn through the cloth completely!

"Intruder... I will tear you... to pieces!!!"

The entire confinement area, and even the entire underground structure of the mental hospital,

They all trembled violently under his terrifying divine power, as if they might collapse at any moment.

The piercing alarm sounded in every corner.

Countless caregivers in white uniforms rushed toward the confinement area, their faces ashen, only to be blocked at the door by the violent aura emanating from them.

No one knows why the bloody massacre in Wucheng would ignite such a raging fury in this imprisoned king.

At the same moment that Gilgamesh became enraged.

The deepest part of the director's office at the Gods' Mental Hospital.

That one, hanging on the wall, was simple and unadorned.

The brass bell, which is said to have never made a sound since the hospital was established,

Without warning, it emitted a deep and resonant hum.

The sound wasn't loud, but it seemed to strike directly into the depths of the soul, carrying an undeniable, highest-level warning.

The bell for calming the spirits rang.