Chapter 427: The Sacrifice

In a gruesome act, a sharp and wicked spike brutally pierced the skin, adding another painful, senseless injury to a body that was already severely beaten and bruised. The eerie whispering and animalistic howls that filled the surroundings suddenly surged in volume as if the horrifying swarm of beasts was exulting in their successful strike. Their macabre merriment rang out like a discordant symphony of victory.

Agatha raised her arm in defense, using her staff as a barrier against the harrowing figure, a monstrous creature that was more akin to a bone spike than any recognizable human form. A startling, splintering sound echoed by her ear.

Caught off guard by the noise, it took her a moment to realize it was the final breath of her trusty staff. It had finally succumbed to a terminal break, irreparable and definite.

Her faithful companion through numerous combats had met its doom. Against an invincible enemy, it had persisted until it could no longer resist its impending destruction.

“Well fought, Gatekeeper,” sneered a hateful, conceited voice once more, “A ready sacrifice enhances the ritual, but overexertion risks ruining the dish.”

With the fragments of her shattered staff still clutched in her hand, Agatha gradually lifted her eyes. Dried blood had crusted around her eye, limiting her sight to a narrow, bloodshot view. Yet, through this restricted vision, she was able to take in the entirety of the grim spectacle unfolding before her.

The chilling shadow realm had receded, revealing the central area of the sewer system that had been grotesquely remodeled into an arena of sacrifice. The walls and entrances were defaced with grimy symbols and signs of corruption. Suspended from above were sharp, stalactite-like formations and withered branches that threatened ominously, while the floor beneath had morphed into a sprawling “pool.”

Where once there had been solid ground, there now gaped a wide chasm, hollowed out to accommodate a substance as black as the blackest night. The tarry mire seemed to possess a repugnant life of its own, emitting waves of sickening, squelching sounds.

The hall was swarming with disciples of the harrowing figure, each one accompanied by their own shadow demon. They huddled around the black pool in the center of the hall like nauseating insects flocking to a rotting carcass, chanting unholy prayers and growling wildly. In response to their chaotic invocations, the black pool stirred, its movements becoming increasingly vigorous.

This was their sacrificial site. They impatiently anticipated their final tribute, the “sacrifice” these deranged individuals revered: the gatekeeper of Frost.

They had already created a counterfeit of another gatekeeper, who was being directed towards a similar gruesome fate.

“Your supposed acts of free will are nothing more than steps leading you towards a preordained outcome. Don’t you find this grand scheme... artistic?”

Emerging from the epicenter of the black tar pit, a blond man stretched out his arms towards Agatha. His face possessed a remnant of attractiveness, but his lower half had morphed into a monstrous, writhing mass. At this moment, he resembled a grotesque “tentacle beast,” a vile mutation birthed from the tar pit, grotesquely mimicking a human form.

“Very well, the time has arrived. You’ve grown acquainted with your surroundings. Proceed now, the hour for the sacrifice is upon us.”

At the brink of the tar-like pool, a structure akin to a tentacle slowly started to rise. As it emerged from the muck, its tip began to harden and gradually took on the form of a dagger.

The sacrificial tool, a sinister herald of imminent disaster, edged ominously closer to Agatha.

However, Agatha maintained an air of tranquil determination, whispering to herself, “Just a little longer... right there...”

Her hand ascended slowly towards her chest.

“Every unholy ritual depends on the vitality of life’s essence—I’ve drained mine.”

“Do... do you comprehend the repercussions of your actions?!” The fanatic, eyes wide in disbelief, pointed shakily towards Agatha. “You... you have...”

“Rest assured, it’s merely a minor setback,” Agatha retorted, her head shaking almost imperceptibly, her smile persisting. The flames radiating from her grasp began to intensify. “As long as I could kindle the flame...”

“What are you implying...”

As the cultist stewing in the sludge pool attempted to counter, his voice was abruptly drowned by another seismic roar originating from the remote corners of the assembly hall. The deafening rumble instantaneously shattered the remaining bonds of the sacrificial ritual—a colossal portal, deeply anchored within the congregation and the towering wall it was affixed to, was obliterated by powerful explosives!

“Boom!”

Shards of stone and concrete were hurled through the air, the remnants of the portal blending with a peculiar black substance, launching into the assembly hall like deadly projectiles. The cultists closest to the blast were instantaneously vaporized.

“They’ve breached the portal!”

“Unthinkable! They’ve been repelled for generations... How could spectral warriors break their own cycle?!”

At the heart of the sludge pool, the blond cultist leader whirled his gaze in disbelief towards the origin of the explosion. However, before he could distinguish the figures surging through the remnants of the shattered portal, a towering pillar of green fire exploded into his peripheral vision.

His attention snapped back, only to witness the sacrificial offering, destined for the Nether Lord, now enshrined in flames, radiating brilliantly in the mesmerizing tableau of spectral fire!

The instant the colossal portal within the congregation was shattered, Agatha had managed to extricate herself from the shackles of the sacrificial ritual. Capitalizing on this transient window of opportunity, she had kindled the emerald fire, using her own spirit as the catalyst.

A spiritual conflagration erupted!

In the unexpected panorama, awash in the ethereal glow of green flames, Agatha spotted a massive breach in the wall opposite the “sludge pool”. A squadron bearing a striking resemblance to sailors, alight with the same emerald flames, stormed into the hall.

The flames enveloped them, and the spark ignited within her resonated with an intense harmony.

A grin spread across Agatha’s face as clarity draped over her and comprehension flourished.

Amidst the cavorting flames, she slowly extended her hands, lifting them in a gesture of welcome.

“The beacon has been kindled.”