Chapter 52: Cult

The sky above the dying world burned with a dry swirling crimson.

Ash silently drifted throughout the air, creating an endless choking snowfall that fell gracefully throughout the abysmal dark.

Glowing dimly in the distance, lay twisted remains of a building that hinted at a once magnificent and beautiful city skyline.

Broken statues and unrecognizable flags laid sizzling under the dreams of now skeletal heroes. 

Floating above it all…

A massive crimson eye, hanging in the clouds, watched silently.

The people of the world had once called it the Demon Moon.

Not because it was truly a moon.

But because looking directly at it too long drove people insane.

At the center of the ruined kingdom stood a cathedral made from black stone and bone.

Once, it had been a temple devoted to light spirits and the occasional gods blessing.

Now the sacred windows were completely stained dark with blood.

Massive banners depicting a hollowed crown hung from the walls.

Candles made from pale wax flickered endlessly.

And beneath the cathedral—

The cult gathered.

Hundreds knelt in absolute silence inside the underground chamber.

Some wore noble clothing.

Others dressed like merchants.

Soldiers.

Priests.

Scholars.

They all came from previously conquered worlds.

All were equal beneath the Hollow King.

All were lesser beings.

At the center of the chamber stood high priests.

Three figures cloaked entirely in black.

Their faces hidden behind smooth white masks without mouths.

Each mask bore a single vertical crimson line.

Like a bleeding tear through space.

One of the priests raised both hands toward the buildings enormous altar.

“The eighteenth world nears submission.”

The chamber echoed softly with whispers.

“Glory to the Hollow King.”

Upon the altar rested something moving.

Not fully formed.

Not truly alive.

A giant mass of shifting darkness pulsed and gyrated as it attempted to stay in the current reality.

Every pulse caused the walls themselves to tremble.

The priests knelt lower.

Then the shadows moved.

A deep voice echoed throughout the chamber.

Not spoken aloud.

Felt.

Like claws scraping across the inside of the mind.

SOON.

Several cultists immediately collapsed weeping from joy.

Others trembled violently.

The high priests pressed their foreheads against the stone floor.

“Great Hollow King,” one whispered, “your faithful prepare the path to your resurrection.”

The darkness pulsed again.

THE VEIL WEAKENS.

The crimson line on the priests’ masks began glowing faintly.

DREAM AND NIGHTMARE HAVE MERGED.

The chamber shook harder.

Dust rained from the ceiling.

Far above them, something cursed screamed in the ruined sky.

THE KEY?

The oldest priest dared to lift his head slightly to answer.

“Our agents continue monitoring the horror summoner.”

At those words, the darkness became still.

Then suddenly…

The entire chamber temperature dropped.

Several nearby cultists froze solid instantly.

Ice spread quickly across the altar.

THE CHILD OF FEAR.

The voice carried hunger now.

Ancient.

Endless.

THE FINAL DOOR WILL OPEN SOON.

The priests shook violently.

Not from fear.

From devotion.

One of the younger cult leaders stepped forward carefully adjusting his glasses.

“Our forces now control seventeen worlds fully.”

He gestured toward a glowing magical map.

Another realm flickered weakly at the edge.

“This world will become the eighteenth by dawn.”

The Hollow King’s presence pressed heavier against reality.

OUR ASCENSION BEGINS.

The younger priest swallowed nervously.

“With eighteen worlds feeding the ritual… we now finally possess enough power to summon the epic vessel.”

Several cultists looked upward reverently.

Even among summoners, epic-class summons were considered nearly mythical.

Entire nations feared them.

A true epic creature could decimate cities.

Alter the environment of climates.

Wage war against kingdoms alone.

But the Hollow King required more than a simple monster.

It needed a new vessel.

A body capable of surviving its grand reawakening.

The oldest priest spoke reverently.

“The Devourer shall rise.”

The darkness beneath the altar twisted wetly, seemingly pleased.