Even the city's nobles and merchants had joined in, their bodies warped by marks of the Flame. Their flesh distorted, bones bent at odd angles. And yet, somehow, they all got along.
They whispered stories of the Flame of Decay, of being chosen, of eating cursed blessings to prove their faith.
One of them plucked music from a mutated organ, turning a once-familiar tune into a maddening hymn full of whispers from the Dark God.
It looked festive, almost. But these people had tossed away their humanity.
Morals? Gone.
Instincts? Rewired.
Even survival? Optional.
They were apostles now. The chosen of the Flame of Decay. The seeds of a new world.
Soon, they would open the Dark God's Gate. They were ready to die for it.
Spies across the city were gathering sacrifices, collecting intel, even steering the beast wave in the right direction. Now, they had been summoned to this place to witness something greater.
The man, now a shadow, walked among them. No one noticed. But those he passed began to wither. Their bodies shriveled, life leaking out of them like air from a balloon.
Then, with a faint pop, they turned to ash and smoke. Fire spread. Yet the crowd only smiled and sang, burning alive in time with the hymn of Decay.
He walked calmly through their remains. 'These were good sacrifices.'
After absorbing a few hundred souls, he finally felt somewhat stable.
"Tch. Control your flames," a cold voice called out. "Even if they're sacrifice, don't burn them randomly."
Malrik stepped out from a tunnel, wearing a new hat and holding a steaming bun. He sniffled. Still feeling a cold.
He glanced at the fire creeping across the floor and sighed. As an artist, he often let his inspiration get the better of him, but this was a bit much.
"Tch… Change of plans," Trevor snapped, extinguishing the fire with a flick. "The ritual won't reach full power. We'll have to ditch the other branches."
"Huh?" Malrik blinked. "I just finished wiping out the city's guards. And now we're giving all that up?"
His eyes narrowed. "What happened to you? What did this? Trevor, was this your reason for dragging me here?"
Trevor didn't answer, but the damage was clear.
Malrik's eyes gleamed. He was tempted to open Trevor up and study every piece.
"A dragon, huh…" he whispered. "Then we have no choice."
"Call every magical beast we have. Abandon the other sites. We focus everything here at Lucrecia.
And I'll use the Ice Spirit's soul as the offering. We'll open the gate early," Trevor said coldly.
***
Trevor's past was nothing special. Before he was chosen by the Dark God, before he became the one who carried divine will through the dust and grime of the mortal world, before he was ever blessed by the Primordial Flame, he was just another forgettable son of a minor noble family near the Draegarn Empire's border.
Because his family ruled over a frontier region, his future was always going to be bleak. Then one day, during a border skirmish with demons, his entire world was crushed, his land, his name, and his pride were trampled into the dirt.
In another life, he might've been a smug noble, sipping fine wine at some ballroom gathering, tossing around fake compliments while pretending to be elegant. Instead, he spent three days hiding in a pigsty, curled up in the muck and animal waste, barely breathing, afraid to move.
He eventually escaped the Draegarn Empire, passing himself off as a refugee. His hair was a mess, his face smeared with filth, he looked like any other broken survivor. That was the moment everything changed.
Trevor told himself it was the Dark God testing him, burning away his weakness.
One day, while fighting over scraps of food, he was beaten nearly to death and dumped into a pile of corpses, tossed into a pyre like trash. But that fire wasn't the end, it was the beginning.
In the center of eight blazing pyres, the Dark God noticed him. Trevor felt it. He almost cried, but the flames didn't allow tears.
That moment, he let go of his old identity and awakened something deep within himself. He offered up 666 souls and was reborn through fire and failure.
He traveled north to the Lorian Empire, spreading the word of the Flame. Over the years, his influence spread from nobles to commoners. The northern sky might've been frozen, but below it, quiet fires of devotion burned steadily.
Following divine guidance, he found part of the Ice Spirit's body and used its frost powers to lay down an enormous ritual, one that could cover the entire northern region. With this newfound strength, not even the sharpest watchdogs could sniff him out.
He then worked with a third-rate mage to hide ritual altar in every major city. Everything had been going fine...
Until that dragon showed up and tore through the magical beasts he needed.
At first, Trevor wasn't too bothered. There were still so many beasts in the north, enough to bury a gold-ranked warrior ten times over. They weren't all weak either. Some were strong, useful.
But then reality hit, That dragon could do it.
The plan to gather beasts and crush resistance in one sweep fell apart. He had to break up the army, target locations one at a time.
Ritual altar, carefully hidden, were being destroyed like weeds. Worse, the Ice Spirit managed to free itself and started interfering.
The safe zones weren't safe anymore. Trevor had to run around fixing everything himself, even going after the Ice Spirit's remains. He thought he might take down that meddling dragon while he was at it.
He was wrong. It blindsided him. Smashed him across the face.
"That dragon… how the hell is it this strong?!"
In the shadows, Malrik summoned one of his prized materials, some kind of black ooze, twitching and filled with faces made from hundreds of unwilling donors.
Trevor shoved his hand into it. The ooze instantly caught fire and disintegrated from the divine flame inside him.
Malrik's face fell, like a frustrated art student watching their final project go up in smoke.
"If you're just going to destroy my life material like trash, maybe don't touch it," Malrik said, trying to sound calm. "Let me help perfect your piece. Let me make your body a true Masterpiece."
Trevor's skin tone improved slightly. Not fully healed, but good enough. He'd already turned Malrik down multiple times.
As fellow madmen, neither wanted the other messing with their creations. "Forget it. I need you to stabilize the Ice Spirit," Trevor muttered. "Make sure the vessel can contain it when we get the real thing back."
Malrik tilted his head. "You know this is going to cost a lot, right?"
He waved his hands, his eyes glowing faintly. He was the type to suffer for his art, but he wasn't about to work for free.
"Oh, and by the way... this isn't the last page," he added, smirking. "Keep reading, it only gets crazier."