Adrian moved with the silent predatory grace of Nyxal, his human form barely disturbing the strange, glowing fungus underfoot. The guttural chanting resonated through the ancient stones, leading him deeper into the heart of the Sunken Temple. He reached what appeared to be a collapsed doorway, providing a jagged peephole into a larger chamber. He crouched low, peering through the gap, his night vision, a gift from his true form, allowing him to see beyond the weak light of the cultists' few torches.
What he saw sent a jolt of ice through him, a realization far more terrifying than any monster encounter.
At the center of a wide, circular chamber, bathed in the sickly green luminescence of the pervasive fungus and the flickering red glow of braziers, stood a group of robed figures. Their faces were obscured by deep hoods, but their voices, raw and fervent, rose in unison. They were gathered around a crude, obsidian altar, upon which lay what appeared to be a dying deer, its life force visibly ebbing away in shimmering wisps that were absorbed by the altar.
And rising from the altar, slowly, terrifyingly, was a shadowy, amorphous being. It pulsed with an oppressive aura, a swirling vortex of darkness that seemed to actively consume the light around it. It was not fully formed, its shape shifting like smoke, but even in its nascent state, Adrian felt a profound sense of ancient hunger emanating from it. This wasn't just a monster; this was a primordial void, a consumer of life itself.
"The decay outside... it's not just a side effect," Adrian thought, a chilling realization dawning on him. "It's a deliberate act. They're feeding this thing, sustaining its growth by draining the life from the forest itself!"
As the shadowy being pulsed, one of the robed figures, clearly the leader, stepped forward. Their voice, though hoarse from chanting, carried an undeniable authority. "Brothers and Sisters! The Great Thirst grows! Aerthos awakens! The lifeblood of this forest nourishes our lord! Soon, the veil will thin completely!"
Another cultist, their voice ragged with desperate fervor, responded, "But Master, the spread is slow! The towns are still blind! We need more!"
The leader's voice grew harsher. "Patience, fool! The Ritual of the Unbinding cannot be rushed. Aerthos demands a complete sacrifice, a full severing of the life ties to this realm. The whispers of the elder gods grow louder, their hunger matching our lord's! We must provide!"
Adrian's mind raced. "The elder gods? What are they trying to fully unbind? This isn't just a local cult, this is part of something far bigger, potentially world-threatening." The "Great Thirst" and "Aerthos" were now terrifyingly real. This was the source of the anomaly, the reason for the unnatural decay and the frantic behavior of the corrupted creatures outside – they were being passively drained, becoming desperate and aggressive husks.
Suddenly, the shadowy entity at the altar pulsed violently, and the runes on the chamber walls, which Adrian now saw were etched in human blood, flared with a malevolent crimson. A guttural, hungry growl echoed from the shadow, seeming to cause the very air to vibrate.
"It demands more!" the leader shrieked, their voice now filled with a mix of terror and fanaticism. "The sacrifice of the wild beast is no longer enough! We need sentient life! The nearby human settlements... they will provide the feast!"
Adrian's breath hitched. They were planning to attack Oakhaven. His new, fragile connection to Elara, to Jana, to the simple, bustling life of the town, felt threatened. The primal urge to protect, a stark contrast to Nyxal's destructive nature, surged within him.
"The veil between worlds thins!" another cultist cried out, their voice cracking with insane joy. "The forgotten pathways open! Soon, our lord will walk among the living!"
This wasn't just about some localized decay anymore. They were trying to summon something from beyond Aethelgard, something that would tear the fabric of reality itself. And the decaying forest was merely the initial phase, a slow, sustained sacrifice. The dream of the dominating devil flashed through Adrian's mind – was this the beginning of that very path?
Adrian knew he couldn't simply burst in, not yet. He was one against many, and these cultists were clearly more than mere fanatics; they were channeling powerful, dark magic. He needed to gather more information, identify weaknesses, and then act. He stealthily pulled out his notebook and charcoal, furiously sketching the strange glyphs on the altar, the pattern of the blood runes, and the rough, pulsating shape of the shadowy entity. This information would be crucial for the Guild, but more importantly, for understanding what he, as Nyxal, was truly up against. The decay outside was merely a symptom; the true disease lurked within the heart of the Sunken Temple.