Ashes Of Deep Sea Chapter 420

Chapter 420: Chapter 424 Ritual Ceremony Field Chapter 420: Chapter 424 Ritual Ceremony Field Now, only she was left here.

Agatha slowly diverted her gaze from the lantern beside her, turned her back on Governor Winston left alone in the chilling and tranquil darkness, and walked towards the “branches” intertwined endlessly in the vast space, towards that vast canopy of thorns like the firmament of heaven and earth.

A not-so-bright lantern hung at her waist, her right hand gripped the cane that had accompanied her for many years in her memory, and her left hand still clutched the brass key from Winston–the key was no longer icy cold but carried a warmth as if it was a body temperature, as if it was slowly merging with her own body.

But Agatha no longer paid attention to any changes in her body.

She just strode through the darkness, feeling the solid forward movement of her body, knowing that as long as the surrounding chaos hadn't completely swallowed and assimilated her, there was a need to press on.

She sought solid ground to step on in the void, and each time she took a step, the ground appeared like a path in the darkness; she searched for a way out in the thicket of thorns where narrow openings could often be found amid the crisscrossing branches.

The sharp “thorns” quickly tore through her clothes. The dense “fabric” was as fragile as loose ash and mist before the thrusting thoughts of the ancient gods, falling pieces congealed into moving black droplets in the darkness, merging into the path underfoot while she occasionally touched sparks that danced and roamed between the thorns–when she touched these glimmers, she could almost distinctly feel something drilling into her brain.

That was the thought of the ancient god, a whisper from The Saint deep in the abyss–without any malice, not even a complete intention, but the briefest spark of thought was still dazzling and piercing to the frail mortals, like a brilliant giant candle in the darkness of night.

Another cluster of dim flashes was swiftly transmitted from afar, sliding past her field of vision along the pitch-black thorny branches. A strand of Agatha's hair intersected with that flash, and in the one-hundredth of a second, new “knowledge” emerged in her mind–
111010011001101110000110…111001111011111010100100…

Agatha couldn't comprehend the messages conveyed by these sparks–just as Winston had said to her, do not attempt to fathom the thoughts of ancient gods.

That would drive one mad.

She raised her head.

The grand assembly constructed of withered wooden bridges and thorns overwhelmed her vision, countless dim flashes danced in the thicket like fireflies, a thin mist shrouded the barrier of thorns and deep in the mist, the immense limbs of The Saint swayed gently–an invitation, it seemed.

The cold returned around her–sharper and more bone-chilling than before, with dampness that seemed to infer the bones as if freezing them from within.

Agatha subconsciously tightened the clothes over her chest, only to realize her garment had become tattered and torn without her knowing, and the thorns along the way had left countless wounds of various sizes on her skin.

In these wounds, a filthy black viscous substance moved slowly like blood.

But just as she thought the cold would completely consume her, a faint and warm heat rose again from her chest…

A small green flame burned quietly at Agatha's chest, its gentle green glow illuminating her face and the cold, damp sewer around her.

All sensations seemed to drift away or were separated from her consciousness by a thick veil; the warmth in her veins seemed to fade with time, along with the fatigue and pain accumulated along the journey.

Agatha slowly shook her head, trying to dispel the numbness dominating her mind, and as her field of vision wavered, she suddenly caught a glimpse of something unusual in the corner of her eye.

She saw the dim and obstructed sewer corridor seemingly open up all at once, a hazy space with a layer of thin mist rising, and in that mist, shapes resembling branches or thickets began to emerge and gradually spread towards her.

But in the next second, the illusory scene dissipated like smoke, and all she could see was the black hallway.

And a gate at the end of the corridor.

Thump… Thump…

As she focused on the gate, Agatha thought she heard a ghostly heartbeat echoing in her ears, as if a colossal heart was hidden behind that door, throbbing and growing in the darkness.

Agatha's numbed senses suddenly revived, her gaze locked onto that door.

“Ah… I've found you…”

She collected the small flame in her palm and stepped into the darkness, with her nearly broken combat cane supporting her one last time as her pace quickened even to the point of stirring the wind. She stepped into the darkness and left it behind, while the deep and terrifying heartbeat started pounding in her chest, echoing in her mind like heavy drumbeats.

Gradually, she heard other sounds mixed with the heartbeat, as if thousands were praying, chanting, calling out to some dark, indescribable being.

Yet she paid no heed to the noise mixed within those voices–she was about to deliver the ember, and the den of the heretics lay at the deepest part ahead.

The sound of a cane and heels tapping against the ground resonated intensely.

And it was at this moment that Agatha suddenly heard another sound–not her own footsteps nor the heartbeat and prayers of a crowd gathering in the depths of the corridor.

These were different footsteps, a large group of people, whose dense steps seemed to be coming from another direction–close to the corridor in front of her but separated by a wall or two.

Amid the footsteps, gunshots rang out from large-caliber rifles.

Other people? Living humans? Were there others in this mirrored City-State moving alongside her?!

Questions flashed through Agatha's mind instantly, but they did not slow her forward march–she nearly ran through the last stretch before the gate, arriving at the door that continued to emit the sound of a heartbeat.

The door was slightly ajar, revealing an impenetrable darkness within, tangible and seeping out in waves.

But this was exactly what Agatha had been searching for.

She braced her shoulder against the heavy door and pushed it open with all her might.

As the door opened with a creaking groan, a vast expanse of darkness appeared before Agatha–or rather, an endless “shadow” enveloped the normal space, shrouding everything in darkness to her sight.

She could barely make out what seemed to be an assembly hall; the widest intersection in the sewer had been transformed into a sacrificial ground for the nurturing and worship of ancient gods, where countless indistinct, formless entities writhed in the darkness, exuding malice like a foul stench rushing towards her.

Before she could even react, she heard the swift sound of something cutting through the air from the nearby darkness; something was hurtling towards her, and a familiar yet repulsive voice rose from the distant sacrificial ground–mocking and jeering:
“Ah, the final offering has finally arrived–how excellent, your 'other' has just reached the designated place as well.”

“Bang!”

The cane swung out, sparking briefly in the pitch black, severing a grotesque limb that fell at Agatha's feet, nearly causing her to lose her balance from the impact–she steadied herself and immediately lifted her head to look towards where the voice had come from.

She could barely discern a tall, thin figure standing at the far end of the darkness.

He spread his arms wide towards her.

“Come, offering, your arrival is a part of the plan–now is the time to build the conduit.”

Agatha propped herself up with her cane, slowly lifting her head amidst weakness and dizziness, “You are on a path to your own demise…”

“Yes, we will all die here, but it doesn't matter, as long as you step in here, the ritual will be a success–I admit, it's indeed a trap.”

The abrupt bang of a shot, accompanied by a burst of light that tore through the dimness of the corridor, a powerful bullet blew the head off a twisted monster with three eyes; its mutated vicious body fell to the ground, rapidly melting and disintegrating, turning into a nauseating black sludge.

However, more guttural screams of monsters kept sounding from all around, an endless stream of deformed abominations spewing forth–from the walls, the pipes, the drains, even the cracks in the dome above.

The sludge-like substance seemed to be seeping out from every visible crevice, turning into countless human-like yet monstrous creatures.

“I think we didn't bring enough bullets!”

A sailor shouted, quickly reloading his rifle, aiming, and firing; his call was accompanied by the crackling hiss of ghostly flames, sounding hoarse and somber.

Lawrence had no time to respond to the sailor's shout–swift wind sounds came from behind him, and he could only manage to turn slightly to evade the lethal strike, then, driven by intuition, he reached back and grabbed.

He pulled a creature resembling a human, dressed in a decades-old City-State Guard's uniform and wielding a sword, from behind him and sent it crashing hard onto the floor.

Lawrence took a step forward, planting his foot firmly on the chest of the counterfeit monster; the ghostly flames engulfed his body in an instant, the spreading fire consuming the nearly human creature into a pile of ashes within moments.

The next second, with his body aflame with ghostly fire, Lawrence lifted his head to gaze down the corridor that seemed to have no end in sight.

Everywhere his eyes could see was filled with profane, distorted beings.

Chapter end

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