Chapter 95: The Vessel of the Abyss
The final cultist let out a gurgling scream as fire consumed his body. The corrupted chamber shook, the lingering stench of blood and rot thick in the air.
Philip hovered in the air,
Philip stood amidst the smoldering wreckage of the temple's lower levels.
The last scream had already faded. The final heartbeat gone. Not a single cultist remained alive. From the wailing acolytes to the decorated commanders, all had been turned to ash.
Even the man who had given the order to target his sister had not escaped his wrath. Philip had burned him slowly, made him watch his limbs turn to cinders before the final mercy of death. His aura still hummed with residual anger, flames licking his arms like a second skin.
But something… shifted.
Just as he turned to leave satisfied that no rats had escaped the inferno a sharp, radiant surge of divine energy struck his senses.
His body froze mid-step.
"…What?"
It was faint, buried deep beneath the earth, but potent.
Divine… and unnatural. Rotten.
It was like rotting gold, the scent of purity long since twisted. A foul imitation of grace.
Philip narrowed his eyes. He had almost missed it hidden so well, nestled behind layers of altered perception. If he hadn't been in such close proximity, if his senses weren't heightened from fury, he might have ignored it completely.
But now… he knew.
Someone was still alive.
And whoever they were, they had the stink of being important.
With a thought, his spiritual vision extended. Walls turned to mist, floors peeled away. Deep, deep beneath, a single man knelt at an altar bathed in corrupted light.
High Priest Odii had just finished activating the final rite. The sigils around the altar pulsed like a heartbeat.
In his pocket, something shifted.
He paused, fingers trembling. A warmth had begun radiating from his robe.
Then the object inside began to float.
He looked down, eyes widening as the enhanced core rose from within his garment, shimmering with divine intensity.
It was an impossible fusion a black market abomination created from the grafted husks of multiple divine seeds, soaked in blood, crushed souls, and ancient rites. Even Odii had never dared activate it. It had been meant as a final resort.
But now, it glowed like a miniature star.
"The god… the god has answered!" Odii gasped, eyes wild with joy. "He has chosen me!"
The altar behind him surged with golden-black faith energy. The air grew heavier, thick with purpose and ancient hatred. The screaming had ceased above, but Odii didn't care. "Yes… yes! Protect your servant, great one! I shall "
The core lurched forward, spinning like a drill.
"W-wait "
The seed plunged into his chest.
Odii's scream was ripped from his throat, ragged and raw. His feet lifted off the ground, arms outstretched as if crucified by invisible chains. Black veins spidered out from the entry wound, racing up his neck, down his limbs, devouring his flesh from within.
His eyes turned jet-black, void of thought.
The altar shuddered.
Then came silence.
A moment later, Odii's mouth moved but it was not his voice that spoke.
"Foolish creature," it whispered, low and guttural, reverberating in unnatural ways. "You were a convenience. Now… you are discarded."
The Abyss God had taken full control.
Odii's consciousness was annihilated crushed like a bug beneath the heel of a god.
In his place stood a vessel, cloaked in raw, corrupted divinity. He rose to his feet, his eyes now twin wells of ancient malice.
"A World Tree…" the god muttered, now fully aware of the threat above. "So… that boy bears its mark."
The flames. The cleansing. The purification of the seed.
All his work his carefully spun webs of faith and death threatened to unravel because of one mortal's interference.
It could not be allowed.
The god flexed Odii's fingers, testing the strength of the body. Limited. Weak. But infused with temporary divine might enough to kill one meddling demigod before the shell rotted from overuse.
Outside the chamber, the walls cracked.
Philip was coming.
Good.
Let the pest arrive.
Let him stand before something greater than hate.
At the top of the stone steps, Philip paused. He had reached the chamber door.
Behind it, he could feel the pulse of something ancient and wrong.
A god.
What was a god doing here. Philip muttered, hand igniting with blue fire.
He cracked his neck once, then kicked open the doors.