Chapter 605

Chapter 605: The Gathering

To go from the cabin to the gathering hall, one had to walk down a long corridor and a sloping staircase. It was a very large ship. It could not only hold many cultists but also provide space for all kinds of rituals and ceremonies. To the Annihilators who followed the Abyssal Lord, being allowed to board this ship was itself an honor.

Most cultists did not have this right. They were not allowed to board the ship, and they were not even allowed to know of the ship’s existence. They could only hear secret rumors during private meetings with other comrades and hear a few words about this ship coming from other gathering sites:

There is a ship. It carries the Holy Lord’s will and lets the Lord’s glory patrol the seas. It is a symbol of the sect’s lofty work and also the key that will open the next age full of glory…

Wrapped in his black robe, Richard walked slowly along the corridor that seemed to have no end. From time to time he met other black-robed church comrades. Sometimes someone greeted him, but he only gave the smallest response. There were also seafarers in rough cloth smocks walking in the corridor. Symbolic chains hung on their necks. They bowed respectfully and carefully to every black-robed person who passed. These seafarers were also believers of the Holy Lord, but their talent was average. They could not yet bear the power of demons, so they could only handle worldly work here and serve those “priests” who had truly gained power.

The lights in the corridor were not truly dim, but the dark colors and heavy style of the decoration still gave everything an overall gloomy look. On the gray-white walls on both sides were iron-black candleholders carved with complex patterns. Between these decorative candleholders hung classical-style oil paintings. The paintings used large dark areas to outline landscapes unlike the mortal realm and portraits of twisted, strange faces. Dark red drapes hung down from the ceiling on both sides, covering even darker and more ominous corners.

The followers of the Abyssal Deep believed that chaotic darkness was the Holy Lord’s “color” and the “base color” of this world’s birth. They used this style to decorate their gathering places to try to “draw closer” to the Abyssal Deep Sea, while still in the mortal realm. They believed this could please the Holy Lord.

The dark and heavy style could not hide how rich and well made these decorations really were. Richard knew that building this ship had cost a huge amount of wealth. But there were always people to pay that cost – officials who wished to extend their lives, merchants tormented by illness, nobles tempted by power. Their offerings, when they begged the Holy Lord for mercy, had built everything on this ship.

The Four Gods Church and the various city-state authorities had built a strong set of rules for the so-called “civilized world”. These rules were like an iron wall that protected those dull, mediocre ordinary people very well. But no matter how tight the iron wall was, it still had gaps. It had had them in the past thousands of years, it had them now, and it would have them in the future.

The gathering hall was here.

A heavy door stood open at the end of the corridor. Behind it was a very wide and bright hall. A tall dome, held up by thick pillars, rose overhead. Splendid chandeliers with three tiers hung down from the ceiling, and their light filled the whole space.

For practical reasons, this hall could not be kept as dark as other places. So the builders could only show their worship of the Abyssal Lord through various decorations and furnishings instead. The tentacle-like reliefs on the surfaces of the huge pillars, the dark-branch-like paintings on the far wall that stood for the Abyssal Lord, and the many strange-shaped sculptures arranged along the walls all worked together to draw a mysterious, oppressive yet solemn “worship” atmosphere.

Richard walked into the hall and stepped among his comrades. He pulled the edge of his hood down again. Then his gaze moved up to the high platform in the center of the hall.

That was where the Saint stood.

The Saint was already there.

That awe-inspiring devotee, the pure one who was closest to the “Lord” in this suffocating world, the comrade who had gone farthest on the path of the Abyssal Deep, was lifting his eye stalks from the edge of the platform and sweeping his gaze over the cultists gathered in the room.

He took up almost half of the whole platform. His huge body looked like a “crown” woven from thorns. Fearsome black bones crisscrossed and piled up like a bird’s nest on the platform. In the middle of the bones was a huge brain, almost two meters across, slowly squirming. Outside the brain, the bones formed a cage-like structure. Nerve cords stretched out from the gaps of this cage. Their ends formed eye stalks that moved slowly around the outer edge of this “bone thorn crown”, looking around. At the very top of this “crown” hung a pitch-black chain.

That pitch-black chain stretched out from the brain inside the bone cage, floated in the dust-filled air, then returned to the thorn-like bones, forming a closed ring. This form was the sign of the Saint. He had already stepped past the lower stage of a mortal making a symbiotic pact with demons. Now his pact pointed toward himself. Little of his human nature was left. His awe-inspiring form was filled with the pure nature of Abyssal demons.

Richard looked up at the Saint once, then lowered his head in awe.

The Saint was close to stepping over the last step. Only a tiny distance remained before his chain could vanish and he could reach the highest goal of all Annihilators – gain complete purity, enter the Abyssal Deep Sea, and be with the Holy Lord.

But this great comrade still stayed here, stayed in this suffocating mortal realm. He still remembered his duty: to lead the many comrades as dull as himself to carry out that eternal work. Without a doubt, this was worthy of respect.

“Everyone has gathered.”

A deep, old voice suddenly sounded in everyone’s mind. The faint buzz of talk in the hall stopped at once. A serious air covered everything.

On the high platform, the Saint raised one eye stalk and looked toward the hall entrance. The heavy door creaked shut and locked. His voice kept sounding in each person’s mind:

“The Sun is about to set. Three hours from now, the dream of the Nameless One will open again. Before this dream opens, we must confirm the information we already know…”

Richard tensed up without thinking and, with serious focus, entered the Listening rite to the Saint’s voice.

That feeling of heat and itch came again – from his chest. It was as if something under the skin there was gently wriggling, as if fine fibers were clinging and growing between his flesh and bones, slowly spreading.

He even felt those fine fibers spreading onto his lungs and his heart, then boring on into the depths of his body.

Maybe it would not take long before he had enough cotton?

At some point, the weight on his shoulder grew lighter again. In a daze, Richard heard a little girl’s voice softly laughing by his ear. But soon the Saint’s voice sounded in his mind once more, making his thoughts focus again –

“…We have already carried out several explorations into the dream of the Nameless One. These included small infiltrations by comrades scattered through the city-states, and exploration missions organized by the upper priests. Comrades, you should already have heard the news. In some of these actions… we met setbacks.”

As the Saint on the high platform spoke, the “thorn crown” woven of bones gave off faint cracking sounds. Some of his black bones moved. A faint glow gathered along the edges of the bone spikes and slowly flowed into the air, forming a scene that grew more and more clear.

The image formed by the gathered glow finally became clear. It showed a girl in a black dress with short black hair and a decorative bell hanging from her neck. Her body looked somewhat thin, and her face looked a bit delicate and gentle.

The girl looked about fifteen or sixteen. Maybe because she was so thin, her appearance might have been younger than her real age. But one of her arms, together with much of her shoulder and part of her torso, clearly showed a non-human state. At the end of that jagged, fearsome bone structure, a pitch-black chain stretched out. The other end of the chain led to something the Annihilators present knew all too well – a Abyssal Hound.

There was a slight stir among the cultists in the hall. Some whispered about something. Others, who already knew the details, all turned their eyes in the same direction.

Richard felt those gazes fall on him.

He tugged awkwardly at his hood. Inside, pride at having brought back important information tangled with embarrassment and unease.

Luckily, the Saint’s voice ended his awkwardness in time –

“…After suffering some losses, one of our comrades finally brought back useful information. What you see here is one of our enemies.

“Do not be fooled by her appearance, believers. She is not our comrade but a being even more fallen and forbidden than a heretic cultist. She controls a powerful Abyssal Hound by unknown means. More dangerous still, her own power seems even stronger than that Abyssal Hound – her methods are cruel, and the way she acts is strange and unpredictable.

“The comrade who brought back this information is one of our outstanding members. He has rich battle experience and no small strength. Even so, he was badly hurt by the enemy’s despicable ambush and almost eaten by that strange Abyssal Hound under her command… You must stay alert, because in later actions, comrades who enter the dream of the Nameless One may meet this dangerous blasphemer again.

“What you most need to guard against is this heretic’s strange and vicious way of attack. Her way of attacking is…”

The Saint suddenly stopped.

It seemed that even a pure being this strong and wise would run short of words when he tried to describe that female heretic’s power.

Richard pulled at his hood again. After he went back, he really should reinforce the hood a little.

Then, in his mind, he heard the Saint’s voice sound again:

“…Her way of attacking is to throw the dog.”