The Cult's Failed Summoning

Chapter 8: Dominion Established

"Center of all,

Draw the world to thy heart.

Let the many become none.

Collapsing void.”

Alistair completed the harsh, desperate syllables of the chant, sweat mixing with blood as it poured down his face. Cold, biting panic clutched at his chest as he felt the utter silence of his ruined utility networks. The instant-casting floor runes were gone, his spell acceleration was dead, and the female acolyte in the rear was already gathering fire while the aura-wielding swordsmen closed the distance.

He was being pushed into a corner, stripped of his advantage.

*No... I won't die here to these meat puppets!*

His fingers gripped the few remaining chant-shortening charms hidden in his inner robes. He knew Stone was still down in the lower corridors, ruining his major arrays. A desperate, dark sneer formed on his lips as he muttered through clenched, blood-stained teeth:

“I’ll drag you back here with my teleportation array... I’ll pull your broken body right into the core of the collapse so you are crushed alongside the rest of them. No one will oppose me!”

A magic circle flared beneath the distant Stone. Space twisted around his body, and before he could react, he was violently dragged through the warped space and deposited beside the others.

A few meters away, the atmosphere became unstable. Space warped and folded inward, creating a violent pulling force that dragged everything in its range toward a single crushing point. Dead bodies, torturer chairs, and loose stones were ripped from the floor and hurled into the vortex.

Anything possessing mana was almost instantly crushed.

The attackers trying to shatter Alistair’s repulsion shell suddenly felt the abnormal pull. It was too late. They were dragged screaming toward the center. One High Acolyte drove a dagger into the floor. The force only grew stronger. Their weapons tore free and flew faster, piercing the bodies already trapped at the core. The vortex slowly crushed them into mangled, unrecognizable shapes.

Alistair, having already leapt backward outside the spell’s current range with Feather Walk, landed on his knees. He pulled a small enchanted chain from his robe and saw the central gem had shattered.

“My last chant shortener… gone.”

He raised his head to a surprise as the three remaining test subjects suddenly swelled in size, pushing against the pull, sacrificing themselves and buying the others a few more seconds of life.

Then a spear-shaped limb of hardened flesh erupted from behind him and pierced straight through his chest.

Alistair grabbed the protruding limb with both arms, feeling it before letting go. He stared down at his blood-covered hands, the warm wetness soaking through his fingers, before slowly turning his head.

The creature he had summoned stood there, hollow eyes fixed on him.

As Alistair looked into the empty eye sockets of the creature he had summoned, the unsettling feeling he had carried since the ritual finally crystallized into cold certainty.

Everything had been planned.

He slowly opened his mouth to speak, but only managed a wet cough as blood spilled over his lips.

Boros raised his index finger and waved it playfully in front of Alistair’s face.

“Nuh uh uh. I can’t let you crush them. They have further uses to me.”

Alistair’s voice came out weak and wet, blood dripping steadily from his mouth.

“You… speak?”

“Since when…?”

Boros slowly lowered his face closer, his voice playful yet eerily calm.

“Are you asking when I decided to kill you… or when I started puppeteering them?”

His tone shifted, deepening, becoming abstract and hollow, perfectly matching his form.

“From the very beginning.”

Alistair’s pale face twisted in pure rage.

“You abominable—”

He was cut short as Boros smoothly pulled the spear-like limb free from his chest. The limb reshaped back into a normal hand with a wet, fluid motion. Boros gave it a casual whip to flick off the blood.

“Ooh, please take a look in the mirror.”

Alistair’s body crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud.

Boros raised his head and looked toward the spot where Alistair had cast his final spell. The collapsing void had already dissipated with the caster’s death. He walked over, bent down, and picked up Stone’s body from the floor. His gaze then shifted to the other sword-wielding High Acolyte lying nearby. He lifted the hood, revealing a beautiful young woman with long black hair and striking black eyes. For a brief moment, Boros was stunned.

*Are all women in this world naturally beautiful?*

*In my world, you wouldn’t see a woman this beautiful unless she had a new face sewed on.*

He picked her up by the waist, using an elongated finger-like extension to gently raise her face so she looked straight at him.

*I can have fun later. Let’s focus on business.*

Before leaving, he glanced down at the ground. A fist-sized cube of compressed flesh, iron, and other filaments lay there—all that remained of what the void had pulled in. Boros acknowledged the strength Alistair had possessed with a small nod.

He walked toward the door, but paused when he saw Alistair’s corpse still lying there. After a moment of thought, a hole began to expand in the center of his stomach region. A pair of fleshy appendages grew from the edges of the opening, wrapped around Alistair’s body, and pulled it in head-first. The limbs dragged the corpse inside with wet, squelching sounds until the entire body disappeared. The hole then sealed smoothly, leaving no trace.

Boros opened the door.

He came face to face with a lone cult member.

The cultist froze, eyes widening.

“Huh?!”

He immediately turned and ran.

Boros casually tossed Stone’s body. It flew through the air and slammed into the fleeing cultist, pinning him to the ground and cutting off his escape.

As Boros walked up to the fallen man, who was already trying to scramble back to his feet, he picked up Stone’s body again.

“You are going to answer all my questions.”

The cult member had already broken into a heavy sweat. He was surprisingly composed, quickly standing up, posture rigid, and nodded repeatedly.

Later, in Alistair’s laboratory, Boros stood in front of the cult member who was now tightly restrained and tied to a chair.

“Is that really all you know?”

The cult member answered shakily.

“Yes sir… demon, monster, zombie… I’m just a low-rank initiate.”

Boros turned away, considering his options, and glanced at Stone, who was now fully awake and standing guard like an obedient sentinel.

He sighed.

*This organization is quite large, possessing fourteen lieutenants below the High Priest called the Council of Fourteen.*

He returned his attention to Stone.

“Stone, give me a detailed briefing of the core information of the organization.”

He received no response.

Boros sighed again.

*Hah, this old man really is a handful. I can barely give him instructions by changing his perception of things, but anything complicated and he ignores it.*

Boros paced back and forth for a moment, then turned to Stone once more. This time he spoke in Alistair’s exact voice.

“Overseer, gather every member in the announcement hall. I have a declaration to make.”

Later, in the announcement hall—the largest chamber in the entire organization—torches burned brightly along the walls and massive banners bearing the cult’s goat-skull symbol hung from the high ceiling. Below, rows of cult members filled the floor. Higher ranks stood on elevated ledges along the sides.

At the head of the chamber, above everyone else, Alistair stood in front of his ornate chair, flanked by a line of thirteen ornate gothic chairs carved with dark, intricate patterns and lined with blood-red velvet.

“Thank you all for gathering. After a series of testing and the sacrifices of our comrades, we have finally achieved our goal—to be one with the lord.”

He reached into his robe and pulled out a small black pill, holding it up for everyone to see.

The cult members broke into audible murmurs and excited praise.

Alistair continued calmly.

“Whatever you desire, it shall be granted to you. The Overseer shall distribute them to you all.”

As he spoke, Stone entered the chamber from below, pushing a cart with a large container filled with identical black pills.

As the Overseer entered, the praise grew louder:

“Praise the High Priest!”

“We will fulfill your orders for the lord!”

“We will become one with the lord!”

“For Power!”

“For Immortality!”

Alistair silently slipped away through a hidden passage behind the row of thirteen chairs. He walked down the corridor, making several turns, until he reached a secluded room. He opened the door.

The room was modest and simple—just a plain bed, a small table, and a few basic items. Tied to a chair in the center was the black-haired young woman, still gagged but fully awake.

Boros shapeshifted back to his primary hollow form. He slowly closed the door behind him.

“We have a long night ahead of us.”