Chapter 93: No Mercy, No Escape
Philip hovered above the quarry, his gaze cold and unblinking.
He stretched out his will, touching the fabric of the surrounding space then grasped it.
A ripple spread in the air, unseen by mortal eyes, but undeniable to the Awakened. Laws of movement twisted under his command Space Lock.
In a breath, the entire region sealed shut. No one would teleport out. No dimensional doors. No reinforcements. No escape.
Then, with fury simmering in every fiber of his being, he raised his hand lightning gathering, burning blue-white.
But this was no casual strike.
This was execution.
"None of you will leave here alive."
He dove.
The illusion shielding the temple shattered as he ripped through it like paper. The ground trembled as lightning bolts fell in rapid succession one after another, cascading down the outer halls and tunnels.
Everyone he saw burned.
Cultists. Gutterborn. Even human collaborators smugglers, mages-for-hire, traffickers all were engulfed in waves of soul-searing flame.
Philip did not hesitate. He had seen the truth in the gutterborn's soul these were no innocents. There was no redemption here.
This was pestilence, and today he would purge it utterly.
Far below, in the grand blood-chamber, High Priest Thomas Odii soaked in his private ritual bath an ornate stone tub filled with freshly-drawn blood, herbs, and foul incantations.
The sacrifice a young virgin abducted days ago lay dead nearby, her body cooling. Odii had reveled in her terror, savoring her despair. He always did.
He leaned back lazily, enjoying the warmth, when
BOOM!
A distant shockwave rattled the very bones of the chamber.
Odii sat upright, crimson liquid sloshing over the rim of the tub.
What was that?! His heart hammered. Fanatics? Paladins? Have those damn NAM cult hunters found us?!
A robed aide burst into the chamber, gasping:
"High Priest! We're under attack!"
"WHO?" Odii snapped.
The man hurriedly pulled up a crystal viewing array. The image flickered then stabilized revealing a lone figure moving through the outer corridors.
Tall. Cloaked in crackling lightning. Eyes burning with cold, terrifying purpose.
Philip.
Odii's blood froze.
"The new demigod…" he whispered. "How… how did he find us?!"
The aide was panicking now. "He's he's burning everything! All the gutterborn handlers are dead he's heading straight here!"
Odii's mind raced. He bolted from the tub, crimson water trailing in his wake.
He sprinted to his chambers, flung open a hidden safe. Inside:
A small glass vial a Seed of Darkness, dormant but pulsing faintly.Several rare talismans, old and inscribed in lunar script.A 10-cubit storage ring, packed with mid-grade mana crystals.
Without hesitation, he stuffed the seed and supplies into the ring.
"Release every gutterborn we have!" he barked. "Now! That monster can't kill us all at once they'll buy me time to escape!"
The aide ran off to comply.
Odii grabbed a silver teleportation talisman one of his rarest treasures, bought long ago in a bazaar on the far side of the Moon.
"Ten kilometers… more than enough," he muttered. "I'll regroup later. Let him burn the dregs."
He poured mana into the talisman.
Nothing.
He tried again forcing more power.
Still nothing.
Realization dawned.
Space Lock.
The air itself resisted him. No escape. No portals. No dimensional slip.
Odii's heart pounded in his throat. He knows what he's doing… this isn't a rampage. It's a purge.
With growing dread, he turned to a last-resort plan. A secret chamber buried deeper than even the main altar. Cloaked from detection by layers of dark arts and sacrificial wards.
It wasn't perfect. If Philip had reached this level of power, even this room might not hide him for long… but it was his only chance.
Clutching the storage ring, talismans, and seed, Odii ran.
Above, in the tunnls of the Maw Temple, the massacre continued.
Philip's fury was absolute.
Lightning arced through ancient stone, boiling blood into mist. Each cultist who fell left behind only twisted shadows shreds of darkness that tried to flee… but were caught by the hungry roots of the World Tree growing in Philip's soul.
The roots drank.
They consumed the rot, the filth purifying inch by inch, deepening Philip's connection to the old, divine laws.
Soon, entire corridors were empty. All that remained was flickering flame, blackened walls, and the scent of charred corruption.
Below, deeper in the earth, Philip sensed something moving a sliver of that same foul aura he had seen in the gutterborn's memories.
A rat hiding, he thought coldly. You can run. But I will find you.
And as he descended into the heart of darkness, his fury only grew stronger.