Chapter 144: Storm of the Forgotten

Abel and the others moved cautiously through the endless ocean of blue petals, each step sinking slightly into the soft, shifting ground beneath them. The surreal environment hummed with an otherworldly energy, heightening their senses and setting them on edge. There were hills of petals towards one direction while on the other way, the horizon mountains made of petals could be seen almost ripping through the sky.

Above them, the strange rose-shaped light source that had bathed the dimension in an eerie glow began to dim. Its petals slowly unfurled, giving the appearance of a blooming rose. Abel’s sharp gaze lingered on it, his mind swirling with questions.

Its light carried traces of star mana—a rarity that piqued his curiosity. Could this enigmatic flower-like sun be somehow connected to the celestial bodies?

The group pressed on, their eyes flicking between their surroundings and the sky, ever watchful for danger.

Suddenly, from the east, a looming threat emerged—a massive pollen storm, its swirling mass of yellowish hues advancing toward them with ominous intent. The storm was vast, its edges flickering with an unnatural glow.

Abel felt the weight of the storm's presence, almost a suffocating pressure that hinted at the power it carried within. He could sense multiple entities hidden in its depths, each radiating the energy akin to a pseudo apostle. There were many, far too many for comfort.

Mr. Zero’s face contorted in panic as he barked out a warning. “This is bad—really bad. A pollen storm of this size? We’re in for big trouble. Brace yourselves!” His voice carried a tremor, betraying the fear that gripped him.

The tension among the group thickened. Abel, ever vigilant, felt the storm’s malignant presence closing in, the scent of flowers growing overwhelmingly intoxicating.

It wasn’t long before the creatures within revealed themselves— at least ten grotesque, winged baby heads, their hollow eyes staring blankly, mouths agape and slobbering. Their backs sprouted wings of petals, and from their nostrils, a constant stream of pollen drifted lazily, adding to the suffocating air around them.

“These are the cursed of this world,” Mr. Zero muttered grimly, eyes never leaving the descending horrors. “The flagbearer’s notes mentioned them. They’re the heads of children whose families defied the Flower Princess, condemned to roam the storm forever, mindless and bloodthirsty. They’ll kill anything that gets near.”

The heads circled above, their hollow eyes locking onto the group with eerie precision. One by one, they began to dive, their wings flapping with unnatural speed, pollen trailing behind them like a deadly mist.

Abel’s grip on his knife tightened, the starry energy around it sparking to life. He cast a glance at his companions, each one readying themselves for the battle ahead. The storm roared around them, its winds howling with malicious glee. The cursed creatures were upon them, and the fight for survival had begun.

Abel's mind raced as he analyzed the grotesque baby heads swooping down from the storm.

Their bizarre, malformed bodies intrigued him, as it was only a flying head and he fully intended to collect samples for study. His bag of vials and tools was ready, but now was not the time to indulge in curiosity. Each of these creatures, though seemingly minor threats, could prove deadly in numbers.

One of the winged heads dove at him with feral intent, its hollow eyes fixated on his throat. Abel leaped back, knife flashing in the dim light.

The creature snapped its teeth at him, but he sidestepped with practiced ease, slashing its face. Dark blood spattered the petals beneath them as the head shrieked, writhing in pain. With a swift, calculated thrust, Abel drove his knife into its skull, silencing it for good.

No time to rest—another head zipped toward him. Abel’s hand moved in a blur, the starry energy around his blade coalescing into a brilliant slash. The air hummed as the arc of light sliced cleanly through the creature, bisecting it. The severed halves fell lifeless at his feet, and he took a moment to survey his surroundings. A head came flying from behind a gripped its teeth on his shoulder as he bisected one, and although Abel felt a sharp pain, nothing too major as the creature couldn't penetrate his skin.

He gripped the hairs on the head that was gnawing at his shoulder and with a stab pierced its forehead with his knife allowing its grip on his shoulder to weaken and for it to fall over dead. Abel noted that although he had his mana pool to support his use of magic, he couldn't do it forever as there was a limited amount of mana within his pool, and hoped the storm could pass quicker rather than not.

Nearby, Dirt grappled with a particularly aggressive head, his body already showing teeth marks and some fingers were missing from his hand. The blue goblin-like form strained as the creature’s teeth clamped onto his leg, dragging him upward toward the storm with each flap of its petal-like wings.

Dirt’s panicked screams echoed as he flailed, trying to dislodge the creature. Abel clenched his jaw, knowing he needed to act quickly, but the onslaught of heads was relentless as more seemed to be flying towards him.

Veiled Rot fended off two heads with surprising agility for his frail appearance, weaving between their snapping jaws and countering with quick, precise strikes with his gauze which seemed to come to life in his protection.

The Murman brothers and Ursa were locked in their own fierce battles, their movements a blur of brute strength and ferocity. Yet, for every head they vanquished, more emerged from the swirling storm, their hollow eyes filled with malice.

Suddenly, the petal sea beneath them trembled violently. Abel’s eyes darted to the ground as a new threat surfaced—a massive seahorse-like beast, its grotesque form even more twisted than the previous ones. Its tail coiled into a flytrap-like appendage, pulsating with malevolent energy. Its flower-shaped ears were a sickly green, exuding a more potent aura of danger. This creature was closer to an apostle-level monster, its presence radiating a palpable threat.

The beast roared, its flower tail snapping open like a grotesque maw, ready to devour.

Abel narrowed his eyes, assessing the situation. He couldn’t rely on the others—they were all locked in combat. Dirt’s plight drew his attention again as the baby head carried him higher into the storm, his screams of terror growing fainter.

Abel gritted his teeth, this was going on for too long.

With a precise motion, he unleashed a starry slash at the monstrous seahorse.

The glowing arc of mana shot forward, colliding with the creature’s raised tail. The impact resounded with a deafening bang, petals, and debris flying in all directions. Though the tail absorbed the brunt of the attack, Abel noted the damage—part of the tail was scorched and injured, though it still writhed with dangerous intent.

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The storm raged around them, the battle intensifying.

The seahorse beast showed a hint of intelligence as it feinted toward Abel, its grotesque tail lashing with deceptive speed before veering sharply toward Mr. Two who was in a battle with a flying hed himself.

The Murman brother reacted a second too late. The monstrous flytrap-like tail clamped down around him, the gnashing petals swallowing him whole in one swift, sickening motion. The other Murman brothers cried out, their faces twisted in anguish as they watched their kin devoured before their eyes.

"No!" Mr. One's voice cracked with despair as he and the others tried to intervene, their weapons flashing against the tide of baby heads. But the relentless onslaught of the winged monstrosities kept them pinned, forcing them to fend off the aerial assault instead of rescuing their brother.

Abel's focus narrowed. He sidestepped a diving head, his knife still gleaming with starry energy. The battlefield was a chaotic blur of combat, each participant locked in their own desperate struggle.

Abel’s eyes flicked toward Veiled Rot, who stood still for a moment, his raspy voice calling out into the storm.

"Come forth, Rot. Lend me your strength," he murmured.

The gauze wrapping Veiled Rot’s body began to unravel, revealing the shriveled form beneath.

His flesh was a grotesque, desiccated mass that emanated a copper-like gaseous aura, an unsettling miasma that clung to the air around him. As the aura intensified, Veiled Rot’s power surged. His withered body seemed to pulsate with an unnatural energy, exuding an aura of decay that made the petals around him wilt and darken.

Abel could feel the shift in power—Veiled Rot had unleashed something deeply sinister, something potent and ancient.

Hollow Mask followed suit, his transformation equally eerie. The faint purple glow of his mask deepened into a darker hue, almost black.

The aura congealed around him, enveloping his entire form until only the floating silver mask remained visible. He stood as a black silhouette, his presence a void-like figure radiating malevolence. His transformation put him on par with Veiled Rot, their combined power creating an oppressive atmosphere that made even the storm seem pale in comparison.

Abel, undeterred, raised his hand, calling upon his own magic. Lights flickered from his fingertips, spheres of pure starry energy manifesting and orbiting around him in a radiant dance. With a gesture, he sent them soaring above the battlefield, each one casting a faint glow amidst the swirling chaos.

The winged heads, drawn to the luminous orbs, converged in droves. Abel clenched his fist, and with his command, each sphere unleashed concentrated beams of light. The sky was illuminated with a series of piercing rays, each beam finding its mark with precision. One by one, the flying heads were obliterated, their grotesque forms vaporized by the starlight.

Though this technique wasn’t optimal for a single powerful opponent, it was perfectly suited for the swarming heads. The battlefield was now a canvas of destruction, Abel’s beams reducing the storm’s numbers rapidly. His gaze remained sharp, calculating each move, aware that this was only the beginning.

The others were locked in their desperate battles, too consumed by the immediate threat to fully notice, but some took note of Abel’s display of power even in the middle battle. In addition, all registered the aftermath—the grotesque heads falling lifelessly to the ground, their forms splattering upon impact, missing vital parts where Abel’s beams had struck.

The seahorse beast, despite its injuries and fear of Abel's sudden power, launched a desperate attack, its tail snapping toward Abel with deadly intent.

Abel jumped to the side and rolled, the starry energy coursing through his blade as he delivered a precise slash across the creature’s torso which cut deep, releasing corrosive fluids toward the petals below, which sizzled ominously. The beast let out a final, guttural screech before collapsing in a heap, its life extinguished.

Abel’s spheres of light, their purpose fulfilled, slowly retracted, dissolving back into the tips of his fingers. The storm’s fury was subsiding, the yellowish hue of the pollen beginning to thin as the world around them started to calm.

The group stared at the dismembered heads strewn across the petal-strewn ground, their hollow eyes and nose still leaking faint traces of yellowish pollen. Each monstrous head bore the evidence of Abel’s precise and lethal strikes, their grotesque features now lifeless.

All eyes turned toward Abel, who methodically gathered samples, placing pieces of the creatures into vials and sealing them with care. His movements were calm, almost clinical as if the carnage around him was merely another day’s work. While everyone else felt as if they had just gone through a life-and-death battle.

Ursa’s eyes flickered with a glimmer of admiration, the ferocity of her earlier transformation giving way to a subtle nod of respect. Mr. Three, still catching his breath, couldn’t hide his fascination, his eyes darting between the defeated monsters and Abel. Both recognized that Abel was no ordinary participant in their perilous journey.

In stark contrast, Veiled Rot’s gaze darkened, the flicker of jealousy unmistakable beneath his gauze-covered visage. The old man’s body, still radiating faint traces of his eerie power, twitched with frustration.

Hollow Mask, too, seemed uneasy, his fingers clenching into fists as his eyes narrowed behind the purple-glowing mask. The air around him shimmered faintly, betraying the restrained energy simmering beneath his composed facade. This bastard holds way too many mysteries... When I get a chance I should sneak attack him and take it all for myself!

A heavy tension settled over the group.

Each of them, seasoned and hardened by their own struggles, could sense the immense power radiating from Abel—whom they knew only as "Blue." The thought gnawed at their minds: was he merely a peak pseudo, or had they unknowingly aligned themselves with an Apostle?

The idea sent shivers down their spines. Apostles were rare, their power often bordering on myth, and the notion of one being here, walking among them, seemed almost too far-fetched.

Yet, the undeniable display of skill and power Abel had shown cast a long shadow of doubt.

Hollow Mask’s voice broke the uneasy silence, muttering under his breath, “Impossible… Those creatures weren't as strong as we thought.”

Veiled Rot shook his head slowly, his thoughts racing. “No one reaches that level without something… unnatural.”

Ursa, however, remained quiet, her sharp eyes fixed on Abel with a mixture of curiosity and respect. Whatever Abel’s true nature was, she knew one thing: having him on their side might be the only thing keeping them alive in this perilous world.

Surveying the aftermath, Abel noted the toll the battle had taken. Ike clutched his arm, a fresh gash visible through the torn fabric. Mr. One stood with blood trickling from his lips, his expression dark and simmering with rage. Mr. Five, however, seemed untouched—an oddity that didn’t escape Abel’s notice.

Veiled Rot staggered, his breath ragged, as the gauze covering his form began to reattach, the strips of fabric floating from the ground as if drawn by some unseen force. Hollow Mask, now returned to his human form, crouched low, visibly struggling with the overwhelming side effects of his transformation.

Mr. One’s anger boiled over as he stalked toward the seahorse’s corpse, slashing at its bloated stomach with fury.

He was desperate, hoping against hope to find some trace of Mr. Two. But as the creature’s innards spilled out, all that greeted him were corroded bones and decayed flesh, the remains unrecognizable.

Mr. One shook his head, grief and frustration etched into his face as he gave one last look towards Abel, almost blaming him for the fall of his brother, before silently retreating to join his family who also seemed to be in a terrible mood. However, they expected casualties in this expedition, therefore, they held strong and focused on the true goal.

Ursa limped towards Abel, her body battered and bleeding from multiple wounds, although the teeth of the flying head couldn't damage Abel, the others saw huge danger in them. Her once-imposing form now looked worn, every step a testament to the brutal fight they had endured. Blood seeped from gashes, staining the ground with her struggle.

Mr. Zero, his voice grim, surveyed the group. “We can’t linger here. If we stay, we’ll be dead next. We move now, or we die.”

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air. Despite their injuries, the group knew there was no time to rest. The dangers of the Flower Princess’s domain were far from over, and every moment spent idle brought them closer to ruin.