Chapter 150 “The Secret in the Underground Sanctuary”
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Truth be told, Duncan’s initial reaction was that there must be something terribly amiss with that Storm Goddess Gomona.
This unsettling notion was solidified by the dark, twisted aura he sensed emanating from the church in front of him. Could it be that Gomona’s malevolent aspect was causing this unsettling influence to pervade the city?
However, a thought crossed his mind almost immediately after: if there really was something corrupt about the storm goddess Gomona, why did the other places of worship throughout the city seem completely unaffected?
It wasn’t as though he hadn’t noticed the other storm community churches; one was near the antique shop and another to the city’s oceanic museum. Although he hadn’t entered them, he had walked by and sensed their auras – these places emitted a very different energy that was wholesome and comforting. In stark contrast, this local church emitted an ominous vibe that was unsettling.
He also considered his interactions with other members of the clergy, ranging from low-level priests and guardians to high-ranking officials like Inquisitor Vanna. These individuals, who were devoted to serving the storm goddess, seemed utterly normal—perhaps even more rational and focused than the average person.
With a sense of dismissal, he disregarded the nun standing beside him and lifted his gaze toward the statue. When he first looked at it, he noticed an odd rift on the statue’s head. Now, that rift had disappeared, leaving no trace behind except for what looked like charred marks. A realization dawned on Duncan: whatever was happening in this particular church was an isolated incident, not indicative of a problem with the goddess herself.
His mind raced. Could it be that some malevolent force was attempting to use this church as a gateway to infiltrate reality? He couldn’t identify the nature of this force, as its characteristics did not match any known deities or cosmic phenomena, especially not the evil sun deity. If he had to make a guess, the eerie rift’s swirling, chaotic light reminded him of something one might encounter in the lower levels of the Vanished.
Just then, the nun’s voice broke through his contemplation. “Are you going to pray to the goddess?” she inquired, her tone devoid of urgency or impatience. It was as if some sort of cue had prompted her to repeat this question as he and Shirley stood there, contemplating the statue.
Caught off guard, Shirley glanced nervously at Duncan for guidance. He hesitated for a moment before responding, “Are you praying to your goddess?” It seemed like a straightforward question, one that any devout believer would easily answer with a confident “yes.” Yet, the nun’s unexpected response made Shirley’s eyes go wide with astonishment.
“I… I don’t know,” the nun said, shaking her head calmly. There was no sense of confusion or alarm in her demeanor. “I’m just praying, and he told me to pray here.”
Duncan felt a chill run down his spine. Something was deeply wrong here, and they were standing right in the middle of it.
Duncan’s eyebrows furrowed instantly at the nun’s vague response. “Who is ‘he’?”
“The great existence,” she replied, her gentle smile making the words seem even more eerie.
A shiver ran down Shirley’s spine, triggered by the incongruous warmth of the nun’s expression.
“I don’t pray to any gods,” Duncan stated flatly, subtly pulling Shirley back so that they were out of reach of the prayer table. “That includes the goddess you’re speaking of.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” said the nun, a note of pity coloring her voice. She bowed her head and returned to her prayers, apparently disinterested in further conversation with Duncan and Shirley.
For a few more seconds, Duncan scrutinized the shifting, unsettling mass of what looked like humanoid ash near the altar. Only when he was certain it had ceased to acknowledge them did he shift his focus.
The chapel was small, its architecture simple. Aside from the main hall designated for prayers and services, it had only a few additional rooms connected to it, plus an underground crypt.
First, Duncan led Shirley to inspect the adjoining rooms. They found nothing of interest, only more evidence of the mundane functioning of a chapel now turned unsettling. Finally, they arrived at a corridor leading to a staircase that descended into the basement.
“Are we really going down there?” Shirley asked nervously, eyeing the dark stairwell before her. She glanced back toward the main hall, where soft light still emanated. “What if that strange nun comes charging after us?”
“That ‘nun’ seems confined to the main hall, tethered in some way to the statue,” Duncan shook his head. “If she does come after us, well, we’ll have to defend ourselves. She’s hardly what I’d call a living being anymore.”
Shirley swallowed hard. Despite her usual bravery, she had never before ventured into a chapel of the Storm Church for something as “exciting” as this. The whole experience was pushing the boundaries of her comfort zone.
Just as she was mentally preparing herself for the next step, Duncan threw her off balance once more. “By the way, summon Dog out.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Summon Dog? Here? In a church dedicated to the storm goddess?”
“This place is no longer under the storm goddess’s jurisdiction, if it ever was,” Duncan countered. “I can’t say for sure what power holds sway here now. But considering I’m still standing and nothing’s happened to me, I’d say this chapel is probably safer for Dog than anywhere else in the city at this moment.”
Pondering Duncan’s reasoning, Shirley felt it made sense. Although her primary motivation was a reluctance to disagree with him given the circumstances, she realized he was probably right. She raised her right arm and, with a mix of anticipation and apprehension, summoned her otherworldly partner, Dog, into the mysterious space they found themselves in.
Inky black flames spiraled upwards, much like coils of dark smoke, before coalescing rapidly into the form of a shadowy hound. The transformation was complete in mere moments, and the entity known as Dog materialized fully.
No sooner had the summoning ritual finished than Dog gracefully ducked beneath Duncan’s legs, his skeletal tail wagging with the speed and ferocity of a high-speed fan. “Greetings, your Greatn—”
“Alright, alright, no need for the formalities every time,” Duncan cut off the spectral hound with an impatient wave of his hand. Having to deal with an incessant, talking goat head on the Vanished was more than enough; he didn’t need a similar performance here. “You should already sense something amiss. Use that special eye of yours and tell me what you see in this place.”
Obliging, Dog rose to his full height and cast his gaze down the pitch-black staircase leading into the depths of the crypt below.
“This place… it’s overwhelmingly malevolent,” said Dog, his voice a raspy, guttural growl. “Merely looking at it makes my head spin.”
He paused as though further contemplating his initial impressions. Then, facing Duncan once more, Dog elaborated: “The aura here reminds me of that abandoned factory we explored earlier, only far more intense. The fabric of reality is stretched thin here, near to breaking. There’s no doubt about it—the source of the mysterious veil must be located here.”
Duncan nodded, unfazed. “So the distortion is approaching reality’s breaking point. That would explain why even I can perceive it.” He eyed the staircase leading further into darkness. “We’ve explored the entire church now; what remains is this basement. In most chapels in the city, this underground space serves as a sort of subterranean sanctuary for the clergy.”
Dog’s chains rattled as he shook his skeletal head, a sense of twisted enthusiasm in his voice. “Breaking into the sacred underbelly of a Storm Church—this is a first for me. I can’t wait to see what lies below.”
Shirley cast a sidelong, perplexed glance at Dog, clearly unnerved by his eager demeanor. “Could you please stop acting like some creep about to break into a forbidden space?”
Caught off guard, Dog could only manage a silent, awkward stare.
Duncan paid no mind to the exchange, having already moved past Dog and begun descending the staircase. At the bottom, he found himself before a doorway that presumably led into the underground sanctuary. For a modest community church, this so-called “underground church” appeared to be nothing more than a glorified crypt. The entrance to this area was an oak door, its wooden frame reinforced with steel and etched with sacred runes.
Gently, Duncan pressed his hand against the door and pushed. It yielded slightly, indicating that it wasn’t locked. But as he applied more force, he encountered resistance, as if something blocked it from the other side.
“There’s something obstructing the door,” Duncan noted, taking a step back to better assess the situation, his eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the imposing, rune-inscribed oak door before him.
Oddly enough, as Duncan approached the door to the underground sanctuary, the peculiar “overlaying” of realities that he’d been experiencing ceased abruptly. What remained before him was simply a door, as though two disparate strands of existence had finally merged into one irrefutable reality.
“Should we just break the door down?” Shirley inquired as she followed close behind Duncan. In her hand, she had already grasped a chain, and Dog stood alert by her side. Together, they had assumed the stance they’d used to wield a meteor hammer against the Suntists at a previous gathering.
“Breaking it down might destroy any potential clues,” Duncan cautioned, halting Shirley’s impulsiveness before she could resort to physical force. Instead, he laid his hand on the rune-etched door and sparked a small, ethereal flame between his fingers, tracing it along the rune channels. “Theoretically, this door should serve some sort of supernatural purpose.”
Almost instantly, the door, which should have been imbued with sacred blessings, yielded to the spectral green flame. As if obeying the unspoken command of a higher power, the door consumed itself in the eerie blaze.
As the door disintegrated, the object that had been obstructing it tumbled forward and landed with a soft thud on the ground. It was a nun dressed in a tattered black gown, her face scarred and contorted in a permanent glare. Even in death, she clutched a sword in her hand as if she were eternally locked in combat with some unseen foe lurking in the darkness.
The moment Shirley saw the deceased nun’s face, an icy chill surged from the depths of her soul.
“Is that the same nun we saw earlier?” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with disbelief and a rising sense of dread.
So those ash people may not be the real people, as their bodies are elsewhere and perhaps their souls too, or the souls have been taken and trapped.