"Wah!" The infant inside Meiguo cried out, moving and pushing to be born, seeking to help its mother escape the predicament. The slender, black, cold, and slick threads seemed startled, as though pulled by an invisible force, retreating backward in unison. "Wah!" Both Dunning and Caine suddenly felt a sharp dizziness, their throats tightening automatically, their airways compressed continuously, making breathing suddenly difficult. Blood dripped from their nasal ends, their eyelids, and their ears—every capillary seemed to rupture. Had it not been for Caine's recurring murmurs and cries before entering the gray mist, and had it not been for Dunning holding Saint Serenella's ashes in his hands, they would surely have fainted, just like Leonard Mitchell. Mei Gao-ou's headless body turned toward Cline, and the crisped, falling patches of skin and flesh, along with the holy yet eerie white bone blades, clearly filled his eyes. Cline, who had just managed to escape the influence through sheer experience, instantly felt a sharp tingling sensation at the crown of his head, momentarily forgetting the pain in his right chest. It seemed as though Mei Gao-ou had surged forward in a flash, charging wildly without giving him a chance to recite incantations, channel his spirit, or hurl a "Yang-Yan Seal." As Cline prepared to roll aside, he suddenly observed Mei Gao-ou pause—seeing Duan N. Smith's black wind coat fluttering backward, and noticing the captain to his diagonal rear lowering his head, with broad, pulsing, serpentine streaks emerging along his back, as if hiding serpents, tendrils, or monsters beneath! Duan was using his "Nightmare" ability to actively disrupt Mei Gao-ou. Thud! Thud! Thud! Mei Gaoe was merely struggling—when the thick, ribbon-like forms emerging from Duan's body simultaneously exploded! A torrent of fresh, bright red blood sprayed out, cascading like a storm upon every corner around. Despite the dramatic outcome, Duan, pale-faced, showed no sign of dismay, for the blood was being absorbed by the slender, black filaments created from Saint Serenela's ashes! Absorbed! Those countless cold, slick, tentacle-like threads instantly surged into violent motion, reversing their flow, surging upward, and tightly ensnaring Mei Gaoe, wrapping firmly around her swollen, beginning-to-quiver abdomen. Opportunity! Kline felt both tense and elated, already forming the ancient Hermes word corresponding to "light" in his throat. "Ah! Ah! Ah!" The infant's cry rang out once again, more continuous and more urgent than before! The countless, nearly invisible black filaments suddenly stilled, as if struck by lightning, trembling and quivering, then retracting inward. Dunne watched the scene and saw that Meghios was about to free herself. His expression shifted slightly, and with hardly any hesitation, he withdrew his right hand, spread his fingers, and with a soft *puff*, plunged them into his own chest—on the left side. His right hand quickly pulled out, now stained with blood, tightly clutching a heart that still beat and pulsed, one that carried the quiet stillness of night and the ever-changing sensations of dreams. Captain Kline watched in stunned silence as Dunne Smith placed the heart, still contracting and expanding, into the urn containing Saint Serenela's ashes. His vision blurred rapidly. Ah! Ah! Ah! Like the cries of a nightmare heard deep in the night, the countless threads of black tightened again, now unusually cold and serene, firmly and tightly binding Meghios. Even when another infant cry emerged from within Meghios, the threads showed no loosening—indeed, they locked that dreadful sound within their own embrace. Caine's tears, mingled with blood, dripped one by one. With a low, resonant utterance of an ancient Hermes word, he whispered: "Light!" Light that illuminates the darkness! Light that brings warmth! His remaining spirit was nearly entirely poured into the thin golden slab etched with mysterious patterns, leaving his head hollow and dizzy. Drawing on his last strength, Caine launched the "Yang Flame Seal" toward Meghios, who was bound by countless fine black threads. This time, the threads did not retreat prematurely—they no longer followed instinct, as though guided by some deliberate will. Thump. Thump. Within Saint Serenella's ashes, Dune's fresh red heart continued to beat steadily. Sunlight once again pierced the great hole in the ceiling, flooding the third floor and shining into Black Thorns Security Company, forming almost tangible pillars of light. Drawn by the "Yang Flame Seal," the light reflected toward Meghios. The two elements fused above the lifeless creature, erupting like a blazing sun! Boom! In the blazing white light, Caine closed his eyes, etching into his mind the final image: Meigouros had lost his left arm, his head, and much of his flesh, blackened and charred, instantly dissolving. Within him, a terrifying entity—part illusion, part reality—lost its grounding in the physical world, unable to complete the final transformation. With reluctant fury, it turned into dark vapor, dissolving into the light and flames. Boom! Boom! The entire house shook violently, yet this was only a fraction of the lingering aftermath of the "Yangyan Seal." Unlike a conventional bomb, its power was concentrated and focused! Caine managed to steady himself and opened his eyes a few seconds later, gazing forward. He saw walls collapsing. He saw a circle of blackened remains where Meigouros had stood, and the floor had only melted halfway. He saw there a blood-stained, curled, charred umbilical cord, the figure of Denne Smith in a black lightweight coat still standing in place, the heart within Saint Celine's ashes continuing to beat slowly, and Leonard Mitchell lying motionless across the room—either dead or alive. Eagerly, the weary Cline felt as though he might yet salvage the captain with ritual magic, sensing that Meghios and her unborn child had truly been resolved—no, more precisely, the latter had been broken, expelled. At that moment, Denne Smith turned his head toward Cline, his pale face radiating a gentle, relaxed smile, his voice as rich and steady as ever: "We have saved Tinggen." Then, as if returning to his twenties, he no longer seemed so composed or formal, and gave Cline a playful squeeze of his left eye. Klein's expression froze on his face, witnessing the heart within Saint Celine's casket cease its beating, transforming into brilliant points of light that dispersed outward, and seeing the captain's body arch backward, hands finally releasing. All of this unfolded like a series of vivid scenes, yet impossible to resist. Thud! Saint Celine's casket landed on the ground, just as Klein's heart had. Gurgle! Gurgle! Though the casket remained uncovered, the deep darkness within sealed off the opening, preventing a single grain of luminous dust from escaping. The casket rolled, rolling steadily toward Klein. Dunne Smith lay motionless on the broken ground, his deep gray eyes losing all luster, fixed upon the broken opening where sunlight streamed in. Captain! Klein's vision blurred again, and though he wanted to call out, the word and the following words stuck in his throat: "We also don't want to let you go..." At that moment, Saint Celine's ashes rolled to his feet. Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced his chest, his pupils constricted, and he froze in place. He lowered his head, staring in stunned silence as a slightly pale hand emerged from his left chest, stained with blood. Meagheous hadn't died yet... no, a new enemy... the one behind all this... was I dying? Klein's thoughts scattered rapidly, his gaze losing focus, his body slowly collapsing to the side. His breathing gradually ceased, and finally, he only felt the hand abruptly pulled back, revealing a pair of fresh, bright boots and a pale hand reaching down, grasping Saint Celine's ashes. Darkness enveloped him, and Klein lost all sense of awareness. ……… Inside the black thorn security company, now reduced to ruins, the scene was marked by scorched traces and shattered objects, yet there was not a single sound—like a tomb. After a few minutes, Leonard Mitchell stirred slightly, his eyes slowly opening. He struggled to sit up, gazing around and seeing Dean Smith lying on the ground, and Kline, whose eyes were wide and fixed with shock, both with clear wounds on their left chests. Not… a single word managed to escape Leonard’s throat. He wobbled, half-crawling, half-walking, eventually reaching near Dean and then beside Kline’s body. He kept verifying, moving back and forth between them, yet ultimately had to accept the unchangeable truth. Leonard’s legs gave way, and he knelt down. Tears streamed down his emerald eyes, one after another, washing away the blood and the dust. He leaned forward, listening intently for two seconds, then suddenly hunched down, roared, clenched his fists, and slammed them hard onto the floor. Thud! Thud! Thud! Leonard kept weeping and pounding the floor, his sorrow now laced with clear resentment and a growing sense of self-disappointment. Dashing up the stairs, the sound of quick footsteps came, and Leonard lifted his head, seeing through blurred vision the newly arrived "Substitute" and "Heart of Mechanism" members.