Chapter 92: Shadows of Ibadan
The city of Ibadan sprawled below massive, ancient, layered with history both mundane and mystical. It was a city that had seen empires rise and fall, its soil steeped in stories and old blood.
Now it harbored a deeper shadow.
Philip hovered high above the outskirts, violet lightning crackling softly around his form. His senses stretched outward like a web, scanning for the telltale aura of the Maw he had seen in the Gutterborn's soulscape.
The deeper he probed, the more the air grew heavy thick with invisible rot. Mana here flowed sluggishly, corrupted by unseen forces. Birds no longer sang. The trees in certain patches were sickly, leaves dark and brittle.
He followed the pull.
It drew him west, toward the hills beyond the old markets toward a vast abandoned quarry long forgotten by the living.
Philip slowed his flight, lowering himself behind a jagged ridge of stone. He landed silently, boots touching weathered rock.
Ahead lay the quarry basin overgrown with twisted brambles and weeds. At first glance, it looked deserted.
But to Philip's eyes, layered with enhanced perception and the soul Sight, the truth was plain.
There was an illusion cast over the area an intricate web of misdirection and shadow. Beneath it, hidden from ordinary view, was an entrance an ancient stone stairway leading down into the earth, faint with dark energy.
He took a slow breath.
"Found you."
At that moment, a flicker of movement caught his attention. On the far side of the quarry, hooded figures emerged from the brush three of them, robed in deep crimson, faces obscured by bone-white masks.
Church of Darkness cultists.
Their auras pulsed faintly low-ranked Awakened, likely sentries or scouts. They had not sensed him yet.
Philip weighed his options.
He could storm the place now smash the illusion barrier and descend with force… but he had learned caution from the battle with T'zaruun. Brute strength alone would not suffice if there were deeper traps or stronger foes below.
His gaze hardened.
He needed to know what he was walking into.
Closing his eyes, he reached inward into his soul. Threads of perception spread outward, weaving through the corrupted mana, bypassing the illusion. Within moments, a clearer picture began to form in his mind.
There was a massive complex beneath the quarry an underground temple, old and vast. And within its depths… the Maw. Not merely a creature, but a living altar an ancient entity rooted into the earth itself. Around it, dozens of cultists performed rites. Some were strong Monarch-level Awakened, at least three of them. Others were lesser priests and gutterborn.
His eyes snapped open.
That confirmed it. This was no random temple. This was one of their core sites likely one of the original roots of the Church of Darkness on the continent.
Philip's fist clenched, lightning sparking between his fingers.
They didn't know he was here. Not yet.
A slow, dangerous smile crept across his face.
"I'll give them hell."