Chapter 1544: Chapter 1544

The Jenkins in the dream knew the other was right, but he refused to concede defeat in a battle of words.

"While I may not possess the power of a god, you can't completely control this dream either. Your true form is sealed away, isn't it? Right now, you're nothing but a fragment of power. What right do you have to speak to me like that?"

As he spoke, Jenkins tried his hardest to break free from the dream but found it impossible. He slammed his right foot down and launched himself into the air. From above, the sight of thousands of souls swarming below was both magnificent and terrifying.

In its spiritual state, the Eye of Reality could see even more. He saw surging tides of psychic energy rolling like an ocean within this small dream world, and he watched the statue rapidly siphoning that energy to empower its shell.

He could also see the Enchanters from the Perfume Appreciation Committee, who had fallen into a coma after the Sin Nightmare projected their consciousness into the dream. Now, their souls had joined the crowd kneeling below the altar. The immense power formed from their collective whispers was injecting new vitality into the faceless statue.

"I have no wish to be your enemy, God. But if you refuse to yield, I don't mind showing you the true power of an ancient calamity." The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the novel_fіre.net

"Actually, I'm more curious as to why you're so rational, unlike the other Beasts of Calamity I know, which are completely insane."

Jenkins scoffed. Then, right in front of the statue, he shoved the translucent, crystalline apple into his chest. He truly did "shove" it in; his soul was so powerful that temporarily acting as a vessel for an item composed of illusory consciousness was no difficult task.

He suddenly felt he had a deeper understanding of dreams, of the very form psychic energy took within them. With a dazed expression, he gently clenched his right fist. The chaotic psychic energy scattered throughout the space was easily absorbed, converted into power he could wield.

"Just as I thought," he mused. "With the help of the Sweet Dream Crystal, the Lie Godhood truly does have influence over the dreamscape. Both share the characteristic of falsehood."

As he was thinking, he saw the statue, amidst the prayers of millions, split open down the middle, revealing a boundless, formless shadow of chaotic colors enshrouded within.

It was like staring into a starless night sky; though no light was visible, you could be certain that behind the darkness lay a terrifying, multicolored truth. This was the essence of the Sin Nightmare, the most fundamental power drawn from "sin" and "nightmare"—the worst thing one could possibly encounter in the dream world.

Having willingly discarded its "shell" to directly absorb psychic energy with the essence it had painstakingly leaked from its seal, the mass of indescribable shape and color rapidly expanded its power.

At the same time, Jenkins, who had gained a degree of power over dreams by absorbing the Sweet Dream Crystal, also began to absorb the dream world's psychic energy.

For a moment, the raging tide of psychic energy was like an ocean being drained by two massive pumps. Though one was an incomplete god and the other an incomplete Beast of Calamity, the psychic energy of thousands of mortals was, in their eyes, nothing more than a trivial "dessert."

Eventually, both sides accumulated power to their peak, but the Sin Nightmare gained more thanks to the mortals' prayers. The sleeping mortals continued to provide a ceaseless supply of psychic energy, and the absorption rate of the two beings barely maintained a balance.

The amorphous mass began to move. It stretched and extended, transforming itself into a writhing, circular aperture. Its immense size nearly blotted out the entire sky. The sight of the dim, inverted river of stars pushed the unknowable terror to its absolute peak.

But Jenkins himself possessed the heteromorphic ability of the nightmare race, Nightmare Entanglement. Far from affecting him, the fear instead sparked even more peculiar ideas in his mind.

Stacking a Fear Aura on top of Nightmare Entanglement, and considering that sleeping people are more susceptible to mental interference, a fear of the same form but a fundamentally different principle—powered by lies—also began to radiate from the glowing Jenkins.

The two fear auras from two different high-dimensional beings overlapped, and the already fragile, shared dreamscape shattered.

In the cracks between dreams, the mortals who had been drawn in by smoking the tobacco screamed and wailed. What they saw were the most terrifying illusions, capable of driving anyone mad—the deepest fears of humanity.

These two fears clashed with one another, but because they operated in the same way, their power seeped from the dreamscape into reality even as they fought.

Above Bel Diran, an ocean of chaotic colors churned, producing strange optical effects. The Enchanters of the Orthodox Churches, gathered near Bel Diran for various reasons, all felt it at almost the same instant—a sudden, distorted ocean of psychic energy appearing in the sky.

It somewhat resembled the aurora phenomenon that only appeared in the skies of the far north. But this was Bel Diran, in the heart of the continent. In all of recorded history, a natural aurora had never appeared here.

Still awake due to some unresolved matters, Papa Oliver stood at his inn window, squinting at the ambiguous glow in the night sky. He recalled that strange phenomena had appeared several times in the skies above Nolan over the past six months. Earlier tonight, he had also vaguely sensed an abnormal fluctuation of spirit above the city.

But the phenomenon appearing now was not energy or spirit; it was pure psychic energy warping space itself. This was highly unusual, because any individual possessing such psychic power, were they to appear in a city, would inevitably turn the entire metropolis into a city of madmen.

Back in the dream world, though Jenkins and the amorphous shadow of chaotic colors had made no physical contact, they had already clashed countless times. The mixed dreamscape had completely shattered from their conflict. The concept of "cracks in a dream" should not have existed, but it had been temporarily made manifest by the onslaught of psychic energy and illusions.

Above the boundless ocean of dreams, tens of thousands of worshipers who had smoked the tobacco floated. Influenced by the Beast of Calamity, they howled madly from the dual fears while, with their hysterical screams, providing the beast of nightmares with the purest psychic energy.

It was right. This was the dream's home turf, and Jenkins was gradually losing ground.