Chapter 77: “Thoughts on the Fire”

This translation is hosted on bcatranslation.com.

A thunderous explosion reverberated through the basement as a fireball burst forth from a shadowy corner. However, Duncan had already sensed something was wrong before the fiery projectile could reach him. Instinctively, he raised his hand defensively, bracing for impact. A brief, scalding sensation tingled at his fingertips. In the next heartbeat, a blast of ethereal, ghostly fire erupted from his palm, counteracting the incoming fireball in a spectacular recoil explosion. It was as if Duncan had plucked the fiery projectile from the air. The once-raging flame morphed into a spectral green hue, its explosive potential subdued, burning calmly and almost reverently in his open hand.

Gripping the now-tamed spectral green fireball, Duncan slowly pivoted, directing his gaze towards the source of the initial attack. Seizing this distraction, the shadowy canine figure known as “Dog” leaped into a fissure filled with swirling shadows and black fog, dragging Shirley into the void with him. Just before disappearing, Shirley spat to one side, expelling several blood-stained bullets onto the ground.

In an instant, both the mysterious girl and the dark hound vanished, leaving Duncan alone in the basement with the attacker. Frustration simmered within Duncan. His eyes returned to the fireball’s origin, spotting a figure dressed as a sun priest, his face hidden behind a golden mask, leaning precariously against a wall. The man’s arm was raised, struggling to stay aloft, astonishment radiating from him even behind the mask. He was utterly disoriented that his carefully summoned fireball had been intercepted and commandeered.

“Leaving without finishing the job isn’t a good habit,” Duncan muttered, walking deliberately toward the grievously wounded cult priest. As he moved, the ambient lighting in the basement transformed. Oil lamps and torches lining the walls flickered, their flames turning the same eerie, spectral green hue. Under this unsettling illumination, Duncan sensed the sun priest’s growing terror, a fear more intense than anything he had felt before.

The sun priest felt his divine connection to the sun god rapidly diminishing. As Duncan approached and each lamp transformed into the spectral green hue, he felt as if the benevolent gaze of the sun god was retreating from his soul, melting away like snow under the first warm rays of spring.

Consumed by unprecedented terror, the priest spoke from behind the golden mask, his voice quaking. “You… you’re no ordinary heretic. What exactly are you?”

The last of the oil lamps flickered and changed, its flame turning an eerie, spectral green. Duncan halted directly in front of the priest, lowering his head slightly to make eye contact. Illuminated by the otherworldly green light, his face looked particularly menacing. “You interrupted me while I was asking questions. That’s quite impolite. Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners?”

As he spoke, Duncan assessed the priest’s condition. Shirley had indeed inflicted devastating damage. The priest’s chest was horribly caved in, with broken ribs likely piercing both his heart and lungs—an almost certainly fatal wound. The only reason he clung to life was likely due to some mysterious, potent force—perhaps the essence of what these cultists called the “Black Sun.”

Yet, Duncan could clearly see that life was ebbing quickly from the priest. Each breath grew shallower; death was near. For reasons Duncan couldn’t fathom, it was evident that the blessings of the Black Sun were rapidly leaving this wretched figure.

“It seems the blessings of the Black Sun aren’t as steadfast as one might hope,” Duncan mused, shaking his head. “Your god has abandoned you.”

Though he spoke casually, his words seemed to light a fuse in the dying priest. Mustering a final surge of strength and rage, the priest pulled a bloody strip of cloth from his sleeve.

“I offer this body to my Lord! May the Holy Shroud cleanse the heretic before me!”

His golden mask was smeared with dark blood and bits of tissue, but he triumphantly held aloft the “Holy Shroud,” intending to make the ultimate sacrifice. He aimed to give up his life to activate the relic’s latent power, hoping to take Duncan down with him.

Duncan watched this dramatic display with detached interest. Initially startled when the priest produced something from his sleeve, his concern evaporated upon recognizing the object. It was the same strip of cloth used to confirm his “brotherhood” upon entering this bizarre gathering. What he hadn’t expected was for the cloth to be referred to so grandiosely as the “Holy Shroud.”

As Duncan had suspected, the so-called Holy Shroud remained inert. No miracles were triggered by the priest’s desperate final act of devotion.

Bewilderment flickered in the eyes behind the golden sun mask. The cult priest, teetering on the edge of life and death, was aghast that the sacred object in his hand remained lifeless. He coughed up another gory mouthful of blood, muttering incredulously, “I offer this body to my Lord…”

“Is this what you had in mind?” Duncan asked, unable to contain his exasperation. He shook his head and gestured toward the bloody piece of cloth.

In the next instant, a torrent of spectral green flames burst forth.

The ghost flame not only ignited the so-called Holy Shroud but also consumed the cult priest’s blood and flesh. Amidst the scorching ghostly fire, the priest screamed in abject horror, “No, no… this isn’t how it should be… the Lord won’t forsake me… the Lord will punish you… who are you?!”

As the flames roared, the priest’s voice weakened, fading into an eerie silence. Whatever supernatural force sustained his life could not withstand the spirit flame’s direct assault on his soul. Or perhaps it was the existence of this mystical force that catalyzed his rapid incineration.

Gradually, the ghost flames died down, leaving only ashes where the sun priest had leaned against the wall. His clothes and his golden sun mask lay in a sad heap, untouched by the flames.

Even the so-called “Holy Shroud” had disintegrated, reduced to mere ash, having served as a conduit for the ghostly fire.

Duncan furrowed his brow, contemplative.

This wasn’t his first encounter with death. Previous experiences with the “offerings” and another priest in an underground cave had already steeled his nerves. Yet, he found himself slightly taken aback now.

In his observations, his ghost flames had selectively targeted only supernatural objects. Tests on items from the Vanished confirmed that any supernatural object incinerated by the flame would be “usurped” and essentially become his property. However, mundane objects, like ordinary paper, remained unaffected by the ghost flames.

This time, the flame had actively burned, a response he had intentionally triggered. Concerned the cult priest might unleash something dreadful via the Holy Shroud, Duncan cautiously commanded the cloth to self-destruct. As it turned out, the Holy Shroud complied flawlessly.

What he hadn’t anticipated was that the expanding flames would also consume the cult priest, reducing him to ashes. This outcome contradicted the conclusions he’d drawn from earlier experiments. While it made sense for the Holy Shroud to be destroyed, being a supernatural object susceptible to the ghost flame, the total incineration of the priest posed a puzzling inconsistency.

The survival of the cult priest’s clothes made perfect sense. They were just ordinary garments, and Duncan’s ghost flame existed in a parallel reality to everyday objects, interacting with them as though they were ghosts—not at all. The flame would only impact if the clothing were imbued with enchantments or crafted from some supernatural material.

Similarly, the golden sun mask emerged from the inferno unharmed. Duncan had a particular interest in this artifact, which exuded supernatural properties. Upon unleashing his spectral green flames, he’d mentally commanded them to bypass the mask, sparing it from any damage.

The enigma was straightforward yet perplexing: Why had the cult priest, a human being, been reduced to ash by the spirit flame?

With puzzled concentration, Duncan squatted to closely inspect the greyish-black residue. It was eerily similar to the ashes of the incinerated Holy Shroud.

He had never subjected a living being to his ghost flames before—certainly never with the intent of causing harm or taking a life. This cult priest seemed the first to fall victim to Duncan’s fire, at least the first victim over whom he had exerted conscious control.

A bold hypothesis began to form in Duncan’s mind, pushing through the cloud of confusion. Could it be possible that individuals blessed by a deity—due to devout worship or ritualistic allegiance—were considered “supernatural objects”?

The thought was unsettling yet fascinating, forcing Duncan to reevaluate the scope and potential ramifications of his ghost flame. It hinted at a darker, more complex reality where the boundary between the mundane and the supernatural was far less distinct than he had initially believed.

For those that just want to support me, you can follow the link to paypal donating. Sadly you won’t be able to get the benefit of reading ahead 

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