nownovels Chapter 244 Bloody Sacrifice
Chapter 244 Bloody Sacrifice
Chapter 244 Bloody Sacrifice
"Mr. Randolph, can you take me away from here?"
"I'll give you all my allowance. If that's not enough, I'll add Elena's and my father's as well. He'll definitely thank you."
"My father said that the White Agate would set sail after dawn, and if I couldn't get back to the ship before dawn, I would be left alone on this terrifying island."
"Before dawn..." Sirion took out a pocket watch and checked the time.
"There should be enough time."
As he spoke, he pulled Peel up from the ground:
"So, do you want to hide here until I deal with these cultists and then come back to take you away, or do you want to follow me?"
Peel glanced at the body on the ground, gritted his teeth, and said firmly:
"I'll go with you!"
Cyril nodded, then looked at the other people who had been captured and brought as human sacrifices, and asked:
"And you?"
"The security bureau of Bansi Port is not far from here. You can hide here for the time being, or you can escape to the security bureau."
"Those believers are all gathered together preparing for the sacrifice, so there won't be many people guarding outside. It shouldn't be a problem for your group to break through."
Those who had been arrested looked at each other, and finally an elderly man, over fifty years old, stepped forward:
"Sir, may we come with you?"
Cyril nodded: "Okay, but I can't guarantee your safety."
"If you follow me, we'll definitely encounter cultists, and I won't be able to take care of so many of you when a battle breaks out."
After a brief discussion, the old man said in a very respectful tone:
"Then we'll hide here for now, and leave with you after you've dealt with those evil guys."
Cyril nodded, then added:
"If you hear a series of loud noises later, it means you can leave."
After saying that, he left with Pierre, who was clinging tightly to his clothes.
After Born Walker died out of control, his flesh and blood were taken as offerings by the cultists who left earlier, but his remaining spirit was collected into a painting by Sirion.
With the remnants of Born Walker's spirit as a medium, Cyril easily located the altar.
It was a rather spacious basement, with square stone pillars standing on both sides, painted with blood-red ink to depict strange and eerie scenes.
In the center of the basement was an altar made of red bricks, piled with dark red chunks of meat in the shape of a small mountain, and topped with a lit candle.
Around the altar, people wearing black cloaks formed three circles, one large, one medium, and one small.
The people in the middle circle sat cross-legged, chanting strange incantations in unison, while the people in the outer circle struck various poses resembling hunting or being hunted.
There were only four people in the very center, each occupying a corner, holding a ceremonial silver dagger, stabbing themselves again and again as if they felt no pain.
The blood flowing from their bodies was as red as lava, soaking their robes and dripping onto the ground with a sizzling sound.
As the hissing sound became more and more frequent, a thin layer of blood-red mist gradually filled the basement, and a faint smell of mottled rust could be seen in the air.
Sirion frowned; he felt his hearing, smell, and even his spiritual intuition becoming dulled.
At the same time, his emotions were surging, as if there was a provocative voice whispering in his ear, instigating him to become increasingly arrogant and reckless.
"I, um..."
He stopped Pierre from speaking just as he was about to.
Fortunately, the worshippers who were performing the ritual were also affected by the fog, and all their senses were impaired. They did not notice the commotion here, nor did they notice that two more people had appeared at the edge of the basement.
He pushed Pierre to the corner, withdrew his hand from the other man's mouth, made a sound, and then pulled the corner of his clothes out of the other man's hand.
Under the adoring, eager, and somewhat worried gaze of Pierre, he slowly walked toward the altar.
After getting close enough, he snapped his fingers.
Snapped!
An air bullet left a mark in the thin, blood-red mist, precisely striking the candle in the center of the altar.
The reddish candlelight went out instantly, and an invisible force surged, stirring up a fierce gust of wind in the basement.
The sudden turn of events startled the worshippers who were performing the ritual. Then, bright red blood welled up in their eyes as anger overwhelmed their reason.
"Who is it?"
"Blasphemy! This is blasphemy!"
"Kill him! Kill him!"
Amidst the near-screaming shouts, the bodies of those who were worshipping twisted and deformed to varying degrees.
Some of them developed rusty red lividity, while others' bodies cracked, oozing pale yellow fluid and crimson, magma-like liquid...
Cyril continued to walk forward at a leisurely pace, his arms outstretched as if to embrace.
At the same time, a phantom book, slowly turning its pages, was reflected in his eyes.
"I came, I saw, I recorded."
As he recited, a sacred, clear, brilliant, and pure radiance appeared.
The moment they were touched by the holy light of the solar domain, the bodies of those mutated cultists turned bright red as if scalding hot oil had been poured on them, and they kept making sizzling sounds.
Immediately afterwards, golden, illusory flames spontaneously ignited around them.
These flames emanated a pure, sacred, and intensely powerful aura belonging to the sun, densely stretching like an ocean, engulfing all the mutated cultists rushing towards him.
Then, drops of golden, translucent liquid fell from mid-air, making the pure, sacred golden flames burn even more fiercely.
"Ah~"
"Heretics, damned heretics!"
Ignoring the agonizing screams and curses of the mutated cultists trapped in the "Lightfire," Cyril snapped his fingers, raising his right hand.
"Solar halo!"
A warm golden light rippled from his body like water, thinning the surrounding crimson mist considerably.
Peel, hiding in the corner, stared wide-eyed at the scene. It was more exciting than any picture book or performance he had ever seen or any story he had ever heard.
As the golden rays, like ripples on water, fell upon him, he felt the warmth of the spring sun, and a surge of courage welled up within him. At the same time, the whispers that had been constantly nagging in his ear since earlier disappeared.
On the other side, the illusory book reflected in Sirion's eyes was still turning the pages.
"I came, I saw, I recorded."
As he chanted in a deep voice, the entire basement was suddenly illuminated by a layer of clear and holy morning light.
As the silvery dawn appeared, the surrounding crimson mist seemed to be stimulated and surged violently.
Sometimes it sprouts twisted, ferocious faces; sometimes it shrinks, coalescing into a slowly rotating vortex; sometimes it spreads out, transforming into a red curtain covering the entire ceiling.
Ultimately, the crimson mist surged into the bodies of the four cultists who had previously mutilated themselves, causing them to undergo further mutations.
Their heads, dragging a pale white spine that had separated from their bodies, lunged at Sirion from different directions.
Their headless bodies were covered with a layer of mottled rust, and every movement made a creaking sound. They smelled of gunpowder and were like headless metal puppets.
Cyril watched the scene calmly, a glint of electricity flashing in his eyes.
"Mental piercing!"
The invisible spirit, under the influence of extraordinary abilities, pierced out swiftly like an electrified spike.
But neither the heads flying through the air towards him nor the headless bodies covered in rust and grime were affected in the slightest.
They are no longer human, or even biological beings; they no longer possess the mental capacity that a normal life should have.
Frowning, Cyril rubbed his fingers together, creating flames.
Before the heads that were lunging at him could touch him, his figure disappeared into the flames that rose from beneath his feet.
In the blink of an eye, he leaped out from the raging flames on the other side of the basement.
After using "Flame Leap" to create distance, Cyril brought his hands together and dragged a silver-white, sharp, sturdy, heavy, and broad two-handed greatsword from the air in front of him, formed from pure dawn light.
The "Sword of Dawn" from the "Knights of Dawn"!
call!
With a sharp whooshing sound, a head that was flying towards him was cleaved in two diagonally.
The purification effect from the "Sword of Dawn" makes it impossible for a severed head to be restored.
As his battle against these flying heads began, Steve, who had been hiding among the cultists, also stepped forward.
A emaciated cultist, clutching a scroll, his skin charred black and red from scalding, shouted at him:
"Great master, I'm here to help you!"
As he spoke, the mutated cultists around him, who had already died from the successive blows of the holy light, holy water, and fire of the solar domain, stood up one by one.
They all became active users!
Perhaps due to the power of the solar domain, these undead awakened by Steve are exceptionally fragile.
They could hardly do anything to the headless corpses, only using their fragile but fearless bodies to slow them down.
Because these figures have no heads, they cannot see Steve in the painting, nor are they affected by Steve.
Less than half a minute later, Steve Howe, the last remaining zombie used to retrieve the scroll, shouted:
"Master, help!"
"Your most loyal servant is about to make a heroic sacrifice."
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