The warehouse, drenched in blood and flesh, glowed an ominous red, its light reflecting off the great Door and Caesar's pale face.
The Blood and Flesh Abyss—one of the evil rituals of the Secrets Suppliant—was known as one of the most depraved and deranged ceremonies in existence. It demanded the sacrifice of countless lives as raw material, harvesting their extreme suffering to pray for the descent of the evil god, the True Creator. Its success was simple in theory: the more sacrifices offered, the higher the probability of response.
Afterward, the descending evil god would continue to strengthen, devouring the lives of everyone in the city until it fully descended upon the world.
Only then did Caesar finally understand why the Aurora Order had involved itself in the South Continent's human trafficking trade.
"Isn't it spectacular?"
Ms. M said wistfully, "But it's still such a pity. My original plan was to keep only the purest young boys and girls from each transport until I had enough for the ritual. Who would've thought you'd discover it so soon and cut off the transport routes? I had no choice but to use all the slaves to make up the numbers."
In other words, the Aurora Order had merely been reselling the peoples —someone else was the true buyer in need of such quantities.
"Then where were these peoples originally going?" Caesar asked.
"They were supposed to be sent to…"
Ms. M trailed off mid-sentence as realization struck her. She smiled faintly at Caesar. "You don't need to know anymore."
Swish!
She lifted her hands toward the mass of flesh and blood, chanting reverently in Ancient Hermes:
"The Lord that Created Everything,
The Lord who Reigns Behind the Curtain of Shadows,
The Degenerate Nature of all Living Things"
As she called out the honorific name, all the mouths on the writhing flesh chanted in unison:
"Lord! Great Lord!
May Your will cover the earth!
May all corruption be born from you!"
The mass of flesh trembled violently, splitting open down the middle. Within it, a grotesque seat formed—a throne of flesh and blood, waiting for its chosen occupant.
And that "chosen" person's expression was anything but pleased.
Caesar could hear a phantom tide roaring in his mind. His body, once controlled by Ms. M's golden eyes, had regained its autonomy. Yet the woman remained engrossed in her prayer, unaware that Caesar had already broken free.
What now? Should I kill her?
The thought flashed across his mind, and despite the dire situation, Caesar nearly laughed at himself.
Me, fighting a Shepherd head-on? Is that real or just suicidal?
Then… should I run?
His hand instinctively touched his chest pocket, where Mr. Azik's bone whistle rested. The undead it summoned might hold her back for a moment, and Ms. M was at the most critical stage of the ritual.
But just as he thought of retreating, his eyes fell on the three Nighthawk corpses strewn across the floor. Ms. Daly's warm smile was gone. Leon—the new recruit—lay headless. Edward's face was still twisted with anger, frozen in death.
I've always been selfish, with barely a Nighthawk's sense of duty. Edward even hated me.
Then his gaze shifted to the mass of flesh, where the faces of countless innocents twisted in agony.
How selfish I am… What do other people's lives have to do with me?
As the flesh continued to writhe, a face that had been hidden in shadow came into view—a very young girl, her features delicate, her eyes faintly resembling Cecilia's. Beside her was an older boy, the two clearly siblings.
Even in death, even as part of the ritual, the boy's arms still wrapped protectively around the girl.
If Caesar hadn't transmigrated, the Cardini siblings would likely have met the same fate.
Caesar stared blankly at their faces. Then, suddenly—boom!—something exploded in his mind. Rage flooded his chest.
Damn it, damn it!
Kill her. Kill her!
To hell with her—and her "divine" opinion!
Whatever the reason—rage at being toyed with, frustration at helplessness, or vengeance—it didn't matter. He just couldn't stand this lunatic anymore.
But the cold touch of the bone whistle reminded him to think.
Calm down. Think. How can I kill her?
Could I use the ritual against her, like Lanevus before?
Yes… I have the bone whistle. She doesn't know I've broken free. If the summoned undead can restrain her for even a few seconds… it might work.
But what if she has another substitute? More powers I don't know about?
To hell with it. So what?!
Resistance means death. Obedience means death. At least I'll make sure she bleeds for it!
Having made up his mind, Caesar's expression turned cold as he looked at Ms. M.
Her chanting was reaching its climax.
"...Great Lord! Please accept the sacrifice of Your humble servant. For now, descend into this unworthy vessel and guide our path!"
The mass of flesh shuddered violently. A vast and insane will descended, as if an invisible, monstrous eye had opened above the void, gazing down upon all creation.
"The Lord… The Lord is about to descend!"
Ms. M's voice trembled with fanatical joy. "Caesar, what are you waiting for?"
She gestured toward the fleshy throne.
Oh, right. What was he waiting for?
Caesar nodded slightly and stepped forward, appearing to comply.
But the moment he passed Ms. M—when her vision was momentarily blocked—
His left hand darted into his chest pocket and pulled out the bone whistle, hidden behind a spiritual wall.
He pressed it to his lips and blew with all his might. No sound came out—but his spirituality surged like a breaking tide!
Creak—!
A grinding noise, sharp enough to make one's teeth ache, echoed through the warehouse as a colossal bronze Door materialized behind Ms. M. It swung open—and a gigantic white skeletal hand reached out from the void beyond.
Ms. M, wholly absorbed in her prayer, didn't even notice. By the time she realized something was wrong, the hand had already gripped her in its bony claws!
From within the bronze Door, a towering skeleton emerged. Its hollow eye sockets glowed with faint blue fire, its aura ancient and suffocating.
"You—!" Ms. M screamed in disbelief.
Caesar didn't stop to look. He blew the whistle again. From the depths of the Door, a pale, rotting eye floated outward. Each eyelash burned with a ghostly flame. It fixed its gaze on Ms. M—freezing her body in place, her lips unable to move!
"Throw her into the flesh!" Caesar shouted, his spirituality nearly depleted.
The skeletal hand obeyed instantly, hurling Ms. M's beautiful body into the throne of blood and flesh.
"Ah—ah—ah! Lord!"
The blood and flesh greedily surged into her body, trying to merge with her. A dreadful will enveloped her form. She was quickly buried, leaving only her face exposed.
Her expression twisted between joy and fury. "My humble body is unworthy to serve as Your vessel! Please, release me—I will find You a better one!"
Some of the flesh hesitated and began to retreat, but much of it continued clinging stubbornly to her form.
"Kill her!" Caesar roared, seeing the undead's success.
But when he turned, the bronze Door was already closing—the summoned creatures had vanished, having done only what was permitted by the whistle.
Damn it!
He cursed, rushing toward the center of the warehouse. Grabbing the ritual dagger, he sliced open his finger and pressed it to the ground's magic circle, attempting to modify and disrupt the ritual.
He could flee now, but—to hell with that!
Blood dripped from his wound, soaking into the engraved symbols. The circle distorted slightly and began to change shape.
Caesar felt the feedback through his spirituality. The good news: it was working. The bad news: it would take at least one or two minutes to complete—and Ms. M would be free long before then.
"It's useless," she said mockingly.
Caesar ignored her, fully absorbed in his work.
Ms. M wrenched an arm free from the flesh, pointing at him like a pistol.
Bang!
An air bullet tore through Caesar's chest—but he didn't even glance her way. Through the hole in his clothes, one could see his wound rapidly healing.
"Blasphemer!" she hissed. Her lips moved slightly, and an invisible disease spread through the air. Caesar soon began coughing violently, feverish and weak, his vision swimming.
But he refused to stop. This was all he had left.
Even so, Ms. M was nearly free. Half her body had escaped the flesh, her face regaining its cruel calm. And Caesar still had one final line left to draw.
"You've worked hard," she said softly. "You deserve praise."
Her hand reached out toward him—
Thud!
The sudden dull sound made her pause.
At the doorway, the gravely injured Captain Edward knelt on one knee, clutching a black, translucent, gem-like staff. With the last of his strength, he tapped it against the floor once.