As for Thomas, his Chinese name is Miles Foster. In the 1990s, he moved from Bayard Street in Brooklyn to Sheepshead Bay, where he now lives, and opened a funeral home there called Ghost, specializing in arranging funerals.

Chris is not Miles Foster's biological son, but an adopted child from a relative's family.

He was not born in the United States, but on the other side of the ocean, in the Magic City.

In the late 1990s, Miles Foster returned to China to visit relatives, brought a large sum of money, adopted the infant Chris, and then brought him back to the United States, helping him change his nationality. Chris thus became an American.

It should be said that Chris was quite lucky.

Miles Foster loved him very much, treating him as his own.

He provided him with the best conditions for growth, all the way until he was admitted to college.

As for Miles Foster, he respected him greatly and loved him as well.

However, he didn't know much about Miles Foster, only that Miles Foster ran a funeral home and was not short of money.

For many Americans, getting into college means the beginning of a lifetime of toil.

College tuition and fees in the U.S. are very high, and many students are burdened with heavy debt from the day they enter university.

But Chris did not have this burden.

He could do whatever he wanted, pursue whatever major he liked.

There was only one condition: no matter what he studied, he had to obtain a degree in Funeral Service, because Miles Foster hoped that after graduation, he could inherit the funeral home. As an old Chinese saying goes, this is called "the son inherits the father's business."

Chris did it!

But what he never expected was that Miles Foster would actually sacrifice him to an evil god named Aduma!

Miles Foster transformed the basement into an altar.

The sacrificial ritual was performed there.

Wesley Brown clearly remembers that when he woke up, he saw the four walls glowing red, as if magma was surging. The place was filled with a strange, pungent smell of sulfur. Miles Foster was completely naked, his body seemingly transparent, so that the blood flowing inside him, like magma, could be seen clearly, glowing with a demonic red light. He was lying in a pool of blood, and Wesley Brown vaguely remembers hearing wailing and howling sounds echoing endlessly in the basement.

But now, only some broken reliefs and blurry symbols remain on the walls...

At that time, Wesley Brown had just woken up, his soul extremely weak. So it wasn't long before he fell into a coma again.

When he woke up again, he was already lying in a hospital bed.

After more than thirty days of recuperation, Wesley Brown absorbed all of Chris's memories.

So, he is no longer the once-mighty, renowned junior priest of the Grand Temple.

Now, his name is Chris.

A poor soul living in New York, who just survived a sacrificial ritual that, in the eyes of many, was utterly absurd.

The soul-nourishing lamp was rusted and devoid of any spiritual energy.

Chris could only fiddle with it in his hand while observing his surroundings.

On the ground was a damaged and blurry hexagram.

He remembered that when he woke up, he was lying naked on this blood-soaked hexagram, with his limbs nailed to the ground.

But now, his limbs were intact, without any wounds.

Looking up at the ceiling, he saw a charred piece of wood.

Chris is about 190 centimeters tall, so by standing on tiptoe and reaching up, he could touch the wood.

He vaguely remembered that, in the moment before he lost consciousness, he saw a red glow emanate from the wood, as if something shot out from inside and lunged at him.

A snake's shadow?

It seemed to be a snake's shadow!

Thinking of this, Chris immediately took off his T-shirt, revealing his well-built body.

On his chest was a snake-shaped tattoo, not very obvious, but if you looked closely, you could make it out.

He remembered very clearly that Miles Foster had stabbed him in the chest.

But now, his chest was perfectly smooth, with no sign of any fatal injury.

He rubbed his chest a couple of times, but the tattoo didn't change.

Aduma!

Chris let out a cold laugh, already understanding the reason.

It must be the evil god that Miles Foster worshipped.

As a former temple sorcerer, Chris knew well that this Aduma god—who knows what kind of wild god it was.

Miles Foster worshipped it, but he would not!

A wild god?

Chris was not afraid!

Two thousand five hundred years ago, there were at least eight hundred, if not a thousand, wild gods and depraved cults that died by his hand, including some powerful demons.

As for the tattoo on his chest, it was probably the mark of that so-called Aduma god.

In other words, this matter was not over yet. Who knows, one day, this Aduma god might come looking for him.

Chris took a deep breath and snorted.

He stood on tiptoe, reached up, grabbed the piece of wood from the ceiling, turned off the light, and walked out of the basement.

This body was not bad, but compared to the former Wesley Brown, it was still somewhat lacking.

He needed time to resume his cultivation.

As long as he could regain his former priestly powers, even if the Aduma god came for him, he would not be afraid in the slightest.