Chapter 378: Trapped

In the otherworldly realm where spirits hold dominion, menacing groupings of shadow began their reluctant retreat, gradually fading into nonexistence. The transition within the spiritual world was profound, marked by a haunting tranquility that seemed to echo in the void.

Agatha, a custodian of this mystical orb, gently lifted her left hand, her gaze fixed silently on the incapacitated heretic who had collapsed at the boundary of the sacred geometric symbol, the triangle. The heretic presented a picture of agony and desolation, and his body writhed in severe pain on the harsh, unsympathetic terrain. The black chains, emblems of his sinister commitment, had been violently broken. The shattered remnants of these chains sent forth plumes of smoke, slowly dissolving into a powder-like residue, an amulet of their past potency and binding power.

The demise of his tethered demonic canine companion signaled the heretic’s impending death. His life force was rapidly depleting, yet he was not entirely spent, still possessing the ability to respond to some pivotal questions.

Agatha bore no illusions about this obstinate heretic’s willingness to cooperate, yet she approached him at a leisurely pace, stopping at the periphery of the mystical triangle. She peered down, her penetrating gaze focused on the hapless devotee of the darkness.

“I find it quite astonishing,” she started, her voice methodical and unvarying, resonating in the ethereal environment with a grave-like echo capable of eroding even the most formidable mental defenses. “You infiltrated an important establishment and assumed control, all while under the watchful eyes of the Death Church. Moreover, you replaced all the priests... How did you accomplish such a feat?”

On the brink of death, the heretic made an effort to lift his head, managing only a derisive smirk. His emaciated face showed no trace of fear: “Guess?”

Agatha, unfazed by his rudeness, continued, “Is your secret headquarter concealed within Frost?”

The cultist’s answer came in the form of a weak, contemptuous laugh. Laboriously, he adjusted his position, lying back flat on the starkly white terrain, his defiant gaze locked with Agatha’s probing eyes. “Don’t trouble yourself... Even if it’s in Frost, you’ll never find it... By the time you chance upon our sanctuary, our triumph will be a foregone conclusion, naive priestess...”

Agatha’s face remained expressionless. With no discernible emotion, she lifted her staff, aiming its end at the cultist’s chest, “What is your grand strategy? To infect the city-state with your so-called ‘elements’? Or maybe you aspire to replace the living populace with your volatile ‘counterfeits’? How does the power concealed in the deep sea contribute to this? Is it connected to the Abyss Project?”

A spectral blaze ignited at the tip of her staff, radiating an eerie glow. This flame possessed a power that could scorch both the tangible form and the intangible spirit, imposing a degree of suffering that was simply intolerable. The cultist contorted under the strain, yet his dedication to his dark cause did not waver. His teeth were set on edge, his stare unflinchingly fixed on the imposing figure of the gatekeeper. His unsettling laughter, rasped out through his gritted teeth, struck a chilling chord: “Ha... ha... The prophecy... is nearing its completion... No one... No one can escape it...”

For the first time, a hint of displeasure marred Agatha’s stoic countenance. She gradually raised her arm, her staff serving as a conduit to lift the heretic into the air. The phantasmal flames engulfed his form, a body long warped due to its unholy symbiosis with the demonic hound. He hovered in mid-air, reminiscent of a ragged fabric flag fluttering amidst the ghostly inferno.

Agatha’s voice echoed, bearing a bone-chilling coldness that matched the stark, desolate reverberations of a crypt, “I pose one final inquiry: how do you blasphemers dare to utter the name of our Death Deity?”

Amidst the spectral flames, the skeletal silhouette of the cultist emerged, a slow, self-satisfied grin gradually spreading across his features. His pleasure was so intense that the pain from his ongoing immolation seemed to diminish by half, particularly at the sight of the church’s gatekeeper being momentarily confounded by his audacious statement.

“Indeed, the Lord of the Underworld reveals hidden realities... All world religions blur into a single indistinct entity... We, who have been enlightened, have transcended such petty differences... Dear foolish gatekeeper, do you truly believe there’s a difference between your god and our Lord?”

Agatha’s visage underwent a swift transformation in response to this brazen proclamation. The offender before her had dared to draw a parallel between the Nether Lord and the God of Death. His irreverence ignited a rage within her. Yet, the heretic allowed himself a final, self-satisfied grin within the conflagration consuming him, affording her no chance to extend her interrogation. He breathed his last, leaving behind only his rapidly deteriorating remains.

Agatha’s brows knitted together tightly. She moistened her eyes, relieving their dryness while cautiously surveying her surroundings, then slowly headed towards the nearby exit. There, she found the rusted metal gate slightly ajar, indicating a hurried departure.

Following a harsh metallic screech, she pushed open the metal gate to find a corridor devoid of warmth despite the burning gas lamps to the sides.

“Tap... tap... tap...”

The rhythmic sound of her staff and heels striking the floor echoed sharply and hollowly in the corridor as Agatha steadily advanced.

The entire sewage treatment center was desolate, utterly devoid of any human presence.

However, there were also no adversaries in sight.

Unhindered, she moved through the factory area and emerged into an open space outside the facility.

The sky above was a suffocating, heavy sheet of dark, tumultuous clouds that obscured the city-state. Only a few feeble, lifeless rays of light managed to filter through the cloud cover, providing a dim hint of daylight. All visible structures were submerged under this gloomy expanse, emanating a frigid, deathly, spectral aura.

Agatha vividly remembered that when she had first arrived at the sewage treatment center, the day outside was brilliantly sunny—the sun was proudly perched high in the sky, and the city-state was beautifully unblemished by a single cloud.

“The sun?”

A minuscule seed of doubt began to sprout in Agatha’s mind, rapidly evolving into a pronounced sense of cognitive dissonance. She abruptly stumbled upon a realization. Driven by it, she again raised her gaze to scrutinize the sky overhead.

The sky was solely lit by an unidentifiable, chaotic light, devoid of any celestial body that could be recognized as the “sun”.

Agatha strained to recollect the appearance of the “sun”, the concept of the “sun”.

She found herself unable to recall as if a thick fog had settled over her understanding, obscuring her memories of the “sun”. However, one detail remained glaringly distinct—there was meant to be a celestial body in this world, dubbed the “sun,” which ordinarily dwelled in the sky, emitting light and warmth to illuminate all existence!

“Cognitive disruption, influencing even a gatekeeper... Its intensity is impressive, encapsulating the entire environment...” Agatha murmured to herself. After an initial moment of disbelief, she quickly gathered her composure and started to scrutinize her surroundings with renewed focus.

“I am in a different realm.”