Ashes Of Deep Sea Chapter 608

Chapter 608: Chapter 607: Dark Allies and the Skull of Dreams Chapter 608: Chapter 607: Dark Allies and the Skull of Dreams A surge of heat suddenly swept through the hall, as though a powerful sunbeam had penetrated the roof, moving above the crowd. Accompanying the appearance of this intangible heat, all the gas lamps and candelabra in the hall seemed to be subjected to some inexplicable disturbance and suppression, swiftly dimming, as if sinking into shadow.

However, the Believers of Annihilation present in the hall showed scant reaction to the onslaught of heat, merely looking up at the dome above after a brief rustle of motion.

Richard also looked up. His gaze swept over the opulent draperies, chandeliers, and painted ceiling of the assembly hall–each seemed to be bathed in an invisible sunlight, with a slow play of light and shadow moving across the surface of the dome. In time, the “sunlight” finally converged at the center of the dome, revealing its presence–
There it was, a sphere resembling a fiercely burning sun, its surface aglow with undulating flames, radiating intense light and heat, yet displaying an ethereal, transparent texture. It seemed merely a projection, and then the miniature sun projection gently descended, lowering down to the high platform at the center of the hall, in front of The Saint.

Richard heard whispered conversations and muttering nearby, with some Cultists quietly expressing their discontent–the envoy of the otherworldly creature had become more brazen, forgoing the notification process upon arrival at this sacred gathering place. Other Cultists remarked that the assembly hall should never have been open to the envoys of otherworldly creatures to begin with, their mere presence signifying a defilement of this sacred site.

But The Saint's voice suddenly rose in everyone's minds and ears, cutting through the low hum in the hall, “Ah, our 'ally' has arrived.”

As his words faded away, the sphere that had descended in front of the platform began to lose its glowing, heating shell. With the light-cast “shell” becoming dim and transparent, its true form thus emerged before everyone's eyes.

It was a sphere made of grotesquely shaped flesh and numerous coiling tentacles, the surface of which was interspersed with countless eye-like structures–the Scions of the Sun.

This projection slowly stretched its tentacles in space, its myriad eyes swiveling around, and almost simultaneously, an ethereal figure appeared below the Scions of the Sun.

It was a human, clad in the golden-trimmed black robe that represented the rank of a priest among the Sun Cultists, his face adorned with a golden mask fashioned in the style of the sun–the projection of this Sun Priest landed on the central platform of the hall, standing before The Saint, as if a spokesperson.

The Scions of the Sun in mid-air emitted a deep and muffled vibration, a sound that seemed to mix a stratification of whispers and noise unintelligible to human intelligence, dizzying to hear.

The figure with the golden sun mask, having landed before The Saint, immediately spoke, conveying the message encoded within the garbled tremor, “I can feel you do not welcome me.”

The Saint raised his eyestalks high, “I hope you understand that this is the assembly place of The Saint, and for the longest time, we have disallowed the faithful or envoys of otherworldly creatures to set foot in such sacred places–however, rest assured, this will not affect our sincerity towards cooperation.”

“It's okay, I don't mind,” the projection of the Scions of the Sun slowly expanded its body in the air, continuing to emit a low, indistinct tremor. The accompanying Sun Priest immediately began to translate, “We can leave the disagreements in worship for the next era. Dusk is nearing, and we, the races abandoned by the Deep Sea Era, must first learn to coexist.”

“Yes, learn to coexist–when all things are reshaped, there will be a world vast enough to accommodate the differences between us,” The Saint spoke solemnly, “Is that why you have come, to stress this point to me?”

“No, ally, I have come to talk to you about the losses we suffered in our last endeavor,” said the masked Sun Priest, “I wanted to come to you during the day, but that detestable False Sun was always high in the sky. Now that it has set, I have come.

“We lost many of our people, precious people, in the great forest woven by 'The Dream of the Nameless.' They were burned by the Usurping Flame's fires, their spirits unable to return to the sanctuary–I must talk to you about this.”

“We also feel deep sympathy and unease over the unfortunate fate of those Sun remnants,” The Saint said, his skeletal spikes rattling as if to express some displeasure, “However, it's not just you who faces setbacks… No one expected 'his' power to appear there–after all, just a short while ago, that ship was in the distant North, and no one thought 'he' would intervene in this matter. And yet, 'his' followers have already taken action. It is senseless and impertinent for you to come to us for retribution.”

“…We do not seek retribution from allies,” the Scion of the Sun in mid-air fell silent for a few seconds, the light emanating around it seemed to retract slightly, it murmured indistinctly, and the Priest on the platform immediately began to translate, “But we want to assert our stance–we are willing to cooperate with your actions in The Dream of the Nameless, but if you turn this 'cooperation' into unilateral exploitation, then our partnership will also end.”

“I understand your meaning, Emissary,” The Saint said heavily, “Rest assured, we will not ignore this incident. Just now, we have decided to strike back at the followers of the Usurping Flame. One of our next objectives is to find that heretic who attacked the Sun's remnants and our brethren, to capture her and her demons–she is powerful and cunning, but we are willing to take some risks for the sake of avenging those 'remnants.'
“We don't care whether your actions are truly in pursuit of vengeance for them or by what means you plan to deal with those powerful and strange 'followers of the Usurping Flame,'” the Priest on the high platform relayed the Scions of the Sun's words, “Do not forget our initial, and most fundamental, goal–within The Dream of the Nameless lies what we each seek. Honest cooperation, wholehearted collaboration, that is our sole concern. Nothing else matters.”

The Saint fell silent for a moment, then his skeletal spikes clicked, conveying a friendly attitude, “Yes, we each take what we need… We just want that tree.”

The Scions of the Sun slowly lowered its altitude, the countless eyes set between its tentacles silently watching the brain wrapped in the skeletal cage on the high platform, “We just want that Sun.”

The illusionary “heat” hovering in the assembly hall began to fade away. The Scions of the Sun floating in the air and the figure of the Sun Priest on the high platform both started to grow dimmer and gradually disperse. In just a few seconds, these two unwelcome guests had left the sacred assembly hall.

The hall quieted for a while before the gathered Sectarian Followers could finally breathe a sigh of relief. Richard also felt his heart, which had been pounding fiercely, gradually settle down–perhaps his heartbeat had become too rapid without him noticing, to the point where he even felt a slight ache in his chest.

He remained deeply shaken.

Even if it was only a projection that had come here, it was the Scions of the Sun's projection–a monster that had been directly separated from the very essence of the “True Sun God,” semi-divine in nature, and its existence itself was a deadly source of pollution for mortals. And the brethren in this hall… after all, had not yet broken through the category of “mortals.”

Perhaps only the “The Saint” present could contend against that so-called “Scion of the Sun.”

“We shouldn't have opened this place to the messengers of alien gods,” someone in the crowd said, their voice not too low, “once their 'sunlight' shines in, they become even more brazen.”

“That 'Scion' gives me a bad feeling,” another voice reached Richard's ears, “we can't understand its mind and true intentions, we always need a Sun Priest wearing a mask to act as an interpreter–who knows how much more unsettling information is hidden behind those translations, its eyes looking at us…they simply don't resemble the gaze of one rational being upon another.”

“Those 'Sun Remnants' make me feel the same, I can't sense any rationality or emotion from them… in the end, they are monsters abandoned in the last era… already degenerated in the darkness…”

Low murmurs of discussion began to spread throughout the hall, the suppressed emotions quickly resonating, yet at this moment, The Saint's voice suddenly arose in everyone's minds, instantly interrupting the heretics' exchange, “Silence.”

The hall became silent at once.

“…I know your concerns,” The Saint's voice continued, carrying the power to soothe the heart, “but we need their strength.”

“The Saint,” a heretic standing closest to the dais gathered the courage to speak up, “that Scion of the Sun, and those 'Remnants'… do you truly believe they will keep their promises?”

The Saint fell silent for a few seconds.

“I have never believed in those unearthly 'promises,' as they were born amidst oaths of betrayal, but at least until they get what they want, they have no reason to break their word,” he said slowly, “Just as we need them, they also need us–in The Dream of the Nameless woven out of time and space, those aberrations can only form an alliance with us.”

The voices of dissent faded away.

The clock marking the hour then chimed in time.

Dong–Dong–Dong–
The mechanical clock hanging high on the wall at the end of the assembly hall emitted a prolonged bell toll.

“…Let's end these topics, the time is near, The Dream of the Nameless will soon connect to the reality dimension,” The Saint's voice swiftly drew everyone's attention, “Prepare for the dream entry, personnel entering the dream tonight, step forward to touch the Skull of Dreams.”

Richard, standing amidst a group of cloaked individuals, quickly caught on. He looked up to see several brethren already making their way towards the dais, including Dumon, who had come to see him earlier that day.

He too hurried forward.

Meanwhile, a few lower-ranking cultists clothed in gray robes entered the hall–they were pushing a cart forged from a special heavy alloy, covered with numerous runes, and veiled with a blood-stained black cloth that appeared to be shielding something underneath.

“Bring the Skull of Dreams before the dais,” ordered The Saint.

The lower-ranking cultists pushed the cart before the dais in the center of the hall, and two of them grabbed the black cloth on the cart, ready to unveil it.

Richard swallowed reflexively–though it wasn't his first time touching the “Skull of Dreams,” he couldn't help feeling a bit nervous at the moment.

That eerie object, with every contact, evoked a soul-penetrating… terror, and no matter how many times experienced, that terror seemed impossible to get accustomed to.

Firm belief and devout faith could only help him make up his mind to touch that thing, but could not dispel the impression of terror itself and the innate tension he felt at this moment.

Then, the two lower-ranking cultists lifted the black cloth.

And the “Skull of Dreams” atop the cart thus came into Richard's view–
It was a black, seemingly carved from wood… goat head.

Chapter end

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