A man and a woman crept through the night, swiftly leaving the small town behind. As the last few streetlights faded into the distance, the surrounding darkness deepened.
Beyond the town's borders, the trees loomed like grotesque apparitions, their twisted branches moaning in the wind like the mournful wails of countless lost souls. A nauseating stench of decay permeated the air, mingling with the cloying scent of damp earth.
But before long, a faint emerald glow pierced the gloom, starkly visible against the inky night. It was the cultists!
In Herta's Main World, cults like the Eldritch Concord had once caused Elysia a minor inconvenience, but nothing more.
This world, however, was different. Here, cults ran rampant, defying all laws and indulging in unchecked depravity. The root of their audacity lay in the very real existence of Evil Gods—not merely abstract background figures, but tangible entities residing in specific locations within this reality.
A century ago, He descended from the Void. In the instant of His birth, He utterly destroyed a nation, corrupted an entire continent, and transformed it into a living hell—a forbidden zone for all life.
The ultimate goal of every cultist in this world can be summarized as expanding the influence of this Evil God across the globe. Therefore, whatever the specific purpose of their current cult ritual, it undoubtedly serves to advance this grand scheme.
Returning to the present, in the heart of a desolate wasteland, a group of figures clad in black robes formed a sinister circle. Their faces were hidden beneath hoods, revealing only their swarthy chins and cracked lips. Each held a candle burning with an eerie, pale green flame that flickered erratically, threatening to extinguish yet stubbornly clinging to life, casting an unsettling, cold glow.
At the center of the circle, a massive Pentagram Formation was etched into the ground. Its twisted, intricate lines radiated from five sacrificial offerings placed at each point: a rotting sheep's head, a severed hand, the decaying corpse of an infant, a mass of flesh still writhing faintly, and a glass bottle filled with dark crimson liquid.
As soon as the two Secret Keepers arrived, they could hear the cultists chanting in low, guttural voices. The rasping, beast-like sounds seemed utterly beyond human capability.
The male Secret Keeper drew a flintlock rifle from his coat. "They've started," he whispered urgently. "We can't wait any longer! We have to disrupt their ritual!"
Of course, with only two of them, slaughtering the entire group of cultists was impossible. But disrupting the ritual itself seemed relatively straightforward. Destroying just one of the sacrifices positioned at the five corners of the summoning circle would surely break the spell.
The cultists would then need time to find a replacement sacrifice and restart the ritual, giving the Secret Keepers—the official organization the pair belonged to—ample time to send reinforcements.
As for how they would escape unscathed after destroying the sacrifice? The male Secret Keeper likely hadn't even considered it, nor did he have the luxury to dwell on such details.
Without hesitation, they sprang into action. A crisp gunshot rang out, and a crimson hole blossomed in the skull of the outermost cultist. The rhythmic chanting faltered momentarily.
But almost immediately, a voice rang out: "Take her down!"
Like well-trained soldiers, the ten cultists surrounding the perimeter turned simultaneously, their icy gazes fixed on the uninvited guest: a woman with long black hair and a scar over her left eye, Eve.
Sensing the danger, Eve swiftly retreated, but instead of running straight back, she moved in a curved arc toward the side of the cult ritual.
Her objective was simple: to draw as much of the cultists' attention as possible, giving her companion a better chance to succeed.
Her companion, a young man named Hector, burst from the shadows in a single bound. He leaped into the air, landing on a cultist's shoulder before the others could react, and used it as a springboard for another jump.
Hector raised his flintlock rifle, aimed at the least damaged of the five lost artifacts, and pulled the trigger without hesitation.
The effective range of a flintlock rifle was only about eighty meters, and hitting a small object with pinpoint accuracy required even closer proximity. With only one shot available, this was his only chance.
Hector moved with fluid grace, but his palms were already slick with sweat, and his heart hammered with tension.
"Did... did it work?!"
But in the next instant, the cultist nearest the Pentagram Formation—the ritual's leader—felt his arm swell violently. The sleeve of his black robe tore open, revealing a grotesque mass of flesh that blocked the path of the vial.
The flintlock rifle's bullet pierced the fleshy growth, leaving a small, bloody hole. Hector's eyes narrowed. "A Corrupted?!"
Landing in the midst of the crowd, Hector struggled to escape, but he was just an ordinary agent. The surrounding cultists quickly subdued him.
As they prepared to kill Hector, the leader with the mutated arm intervened. "No, there's no need! The ritual is almost complete. Once he witnesses the Great Lord's divine miracle, he'll become one of us. Treat our future colleague with respect!"
The ritual continued. As the chanting grew more fervent, the Pentagram Formation on the ground began to emit an ominous red glow.
The cultists chanted in unison:
"Great Lord!"
"You are the original form of life!"
"The first scar upon this world!"
"The fleshy cradle of all living beings!"
In the next instant, a black vortex tore open directly above the ritual site. The Cultist Leader's face lit up with feverish excitement. "It's working! I can sense the Great Lord's presence..."
But his voice trailed off, confusion flickering across his features. He realized he couldn't actually detect the Great Lord's aura emanating from the vortex.
Seconds later, in the center of the Pentagram Formation beneath the swirling darkness, a cute girl with tea-colored hair materialized out of thin air.
Cultist Leader: "?"
Hector: "?"
Herta Puppet: "?"
An eerie silence descended upon the cult ritual arena. After a moment, the Herta Puppet suddenly spoke: "Hostile entity detected."