A few minutes later.
As Orsaga's sacred scripture neared completion, amid a cacophony of ghostly wails and howls, streams of pitch-black mist began to seep slowly from Jason's body, eventually condensing into a grotesque, large-headed boy.
The moment the figure materialized, the surrounding officers felt the air temperature around them plummet.
An eerie, inexplicable sense of dread crept into everyone's hearts.
Instinctively, one officer chambered a round in his gun and raised it, training his sights on the dark figure, ready to fire at a moment's notice.
The rest of the police, influenced by the tension, followed suit—nervously watching as the situation unfolded.
Yet at the center of it all, Orsaga showed no concern.
He remained focused on carving the scripture into Jason's chest, unfazed by the standoff.
As the sacred text neared its end, more black mist surged from Jason's body.
The mutated, oversized-headed boy locked eyes with Orsaga for a long moment—then silently burst into a puff of black smoke.
The infamous killer of a hundred—Jason—was officially dead.
But the black mist didn't disperse.
Instead, it began to reform.
Eventually, a floating book emerged in midair, shrouded in black fog, with a twisted human face embedded on its cover. Its very presence exuded ominous dread.
Orsaga's eyes lit up with a faint trace of interest.
He casually put away his dagger, stood up, and reached out his hand.
Under the intense gaze of the nearby officers, he calmly caught the strange book.
The moment his fingers touched it, without needing any explanation, Orsaga instinctively understood its name.
The Book of Death.
A strange, distorted voice echoed in his mind—twisted, ancient, and dreamlike.
"New wielder… submit to me. In return, you shall receive…"
It was the ancient malevolence bound to the Book of Death.
Even someone with an iron will could be subtly warped over time—until they became nothing more than a puppet of the book.
But after whispering to Orsaga for a while, the will bound to the book began to sense that something was... off.
In the past, even the most strong-willed individuals who resisted its corruption would feel at least a twinge of discomfort.
But Orsaga was different.
His will was like a constantly spinning vortex—he offered no resistance to the book's whispers.
Which should have been good news. Yet strangely… the book was getting nothing in return.
It felt like tossing bait into the gaping maw of a great beast—only to be met with silence.
"???"
The ancient evil residing within the Book of Death couldn't help but mutter, "Can you at least react a little?"
Then, it sensed something shifting in Orsaga's soul.
Immediately, the Book of Death assumed its influence was finally taking hold.
Yes! Its whispers weren't in vain!
It eagerly intensified its efforts.
But seconds later… it noticed something even more wrong.
"This guy's... flavor is off. He doesn't taste like a human at all…"
Before it could dwell on the realization—
The true form of Orsaga, hidden deep within the Abyss, suddenly lit up with billions of glowing runes.
Their power automatically triggered a formidable spell.
A small, crimson vortex spun into existence beside Orsaga's avatar, linking directly to his true self across time and space.
In the next instant, before the Book of Death could even react—
It was forcefully sucked in and teleported into the Abyss.
Just like that, Orsaga sent it as a long-distance express delivery to himself.
At that exact moment—
The world where Orsaga's avatar resided quaked inexplicably.
A muffled roar echoed across the entire planet, reverberating inside the minds of every living creature.
Panic and fear surged in their hearts.
But Orsaga (the avatar) merely patted his head and returned to normal.
He could sense it clearly: the roar, though intense, faded just as quickly as it had come.
The creature behind it likely wasn't even physically present in this world.
In fact, this world seemed to have some kind of internal force that blocked the being's arrival entirely.
So apart from screaming angrily from afar, the being had no way to do anything.
This realization made Orsaga chuckle lightly—he had briefly worried that his avatar might be destroyed.
Looking at the scattered officers who had been knocked over by the roar, he thought with amusement:
"Looks like this world still hides many secrets… It's not as simple as I thought."
Meanwhile, deep in the Abyss—
Orsaga's true form received the "zero-cost delivery."
Though the Book of Death was but a speck of dust in the hands of his seventy-meter-tall body, that didn't lessen his interest in it.
When the book tried to corrupt his avatar, Orsaga's precognitive instincts had immediately warned him: this thing might be useful.
That alone was reason enough for him to personally seize it.
As for the ancient malevolence inside the Book of Death, it was completely stunned by the current situation.
A moment ago, it had been in the human world.
Now, it was somewhere utterly unfamiliar.
'What the hell just happened?'
Even worse, it had lost all connection to its creator—the Beast of Apocalypse.
From its perspective, the foreign laws of this world were like potent sulfuric acid, constantly corroding and dissolving its power.
If no one intervened, it would soon be completely disintegrated by this world's natural laws.
This was the inevitable rejection caused by clashing rules between different planes of existence.
That was exactly why Orsaga wasn't at all concerned about whether the Book of Death's original owner would come looking for him.
No matter how strong a native being was, they were still bound by their universe.
Unless they had a proper method—or enough power to brute-force their way through the barriers between realms—they were no different from beasts trapped in cages.
No matter how loud they roared, they posed no real threat.
And according to the hints provided by his precognition, the Book of Death's original master didn't possess that kind of power.
Now, as the book found itself being scrutinized by a massive, unknown demonic god, it mustered its courage and shouted:
"I don't care who you are or how strong you think you are—put me back where I came from! Or else, my creator, the great Beast of Apocalypse, will tear you to shreds!"
Toward the end, its tone turned desperate.
It could feel it—if it didn't escape soon, it was finished.
But thoughts are just thoughts. Hopes are just hopes.
Once Orsaga noticed that its strength was rapidly dissolving under the Abyss's laws, he simply tossed it into his mouth.
No hesitation. No interest in what it had to say.
He'd get all the answers he needed once it was digested.
No need to waste time listening.