"I see," Harry muttered, his eyes widening as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place in his mind.
It was all becoming clear now. The Black Council's actions, their strategic kidnappings, it had all been part of a grander plan. The more elaborate the ceremony, the greater the power required to fuel it. And the Black Council's ceremony was going to be massive. To initiate the ritual they were preparing, they needed to light up each of the altars scattered across the city, one by one, gathering immense power with each activation.
Harry's eyes darkened as he connected the dots. The fighters they had kidnapped weren't just pawns, they were essential sacrifices, their blood and life force crucial to the success of the ceremony. Now, it was all making sense.
Bang!
The sudden sound of cracking stone pulled Harry from his thoughts. His gaze snapped to the largest altar in the central area, which had just taken shape. The ceremony had officially begun.
All around the city, chaos erupted. The Blood Moon's influence had begun to take hold, and those who had been affected were no longer human. They turned on each other with a brutal hunger, their once-human forms twisted and monstrous. First, they slaughtered the innocent, their screams echoing through the streets. Then, without mercy, they turned on one another, fighting until only the strongest remained.
Every death, every drop of blood, and every shattered soul fed into the ceremony. The ritual was absorbing it all, using the pain and suffering to fuel its power.
The altars, scattered across the city, began to glow one by one. In mere moments, half of them were lit, each one drawing in the life force of the fallen, feeding the ritual's growing energy.
In the shadows, those who had managed to survive watched in horror, their hearts filled with dread. The magnitude of what was unfolding was beyond their understanding. Almost a million people lived in Malian City, and now, the Black Council was turning them into fuel for a dark, deadly ritual.
What power would be unleashed with so many blood sacrifices? No one dared to imagine the full extent of it, but one thing was certain: the ceremony was not something to be taken lightly. It was dangerous, perhaps more so than anything they had ever encountered.
"We have to stop them!" someone shouted, voice breaking through the tension that hung heavy in the air.
The survivors, those who were still sane, still free from the bloodlust overtaking the others, gathered quickly. They knew that if they didn't act now, Malian City would be lost. They could already hear the sounds of violence in the streets, but there was one place they all knew they had to reach: the central altar.
At that very moment, a group of Black Council members, their dark figures standing in stark contrast to the glowing altars, gathered near the central altar. They showed no sign of fear. They weren't hiding, weren't worried about anyone trying to stop them. They were confident, too confident.
"The fighters are coming," Howard said, his voice steady but tinged with impatience. He glanced at the chaos around him and then back to the middle-aged man standing nearby. "Do you want me to take some men to stop them?"
The middle-aged man, dressed in a black robe, turned his cold, calculating eyes toward Howard. He was a formidable presence, tall and broad-shouldered, with a face that was ordinary at first glance but exuded a chilling aura that made anyone in his presence feel uneasy. He was the kind of person whose silence spoke louder than words, whose very gaze could make others cower.
"Leave them," the man replied, his voice like ice. "Let them come. They're too late already."
Howard hesitated but nodded. It was clear from the man's tone that there was no need for further discussion. The Black Council had already set everything in motion, and anyone who tried to stop them now would only be wasting their time.
Meanwhile, in the heart of Malian City, the battle was intensifying. The survivors had made their decision. Fighters from various martial arts dojo had come together, setting aside their differences. They knew what they were up against, and they knew the stakes. If the Black Council was allowed to complete the ritual, there would be no future left to fight for.
Inside the Red Bird Martial Arts Dojo, Steven stood at the top of the building, his face grim. The sounds of battle echoed from below, but he remained still, lost in thought. After a long moment, he let out a deep sigh.
"It's time," Steven murmured to himself, his voice carrying a weight of inevitability.
He turned, his crimson robe flowing around him as he moved toward the door. His face was slightly bruised, he had fought before, and the scars of previous battles were visible, but there was a fierce resolve in his eyes. He was ready. Ready to fight once more for a city on the brink of ruin.
Before he left, his gaze lingered on the room next to his own, where Harry was likely preparing for what was to come. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he thought of the man. It seemed they would cross paths again soon.
With a swift motion, Steven stepped forward, disappearing into the darkness, his purpose clear. The battle for Malian City was far from over.
---
At the central altar, the middle-aged man in the black robe watched as Howard prepared to act. His cold eyes remained fixed on the chaos unfolding outside. His fingers twitched as if eager to unleash the full power of the ceremony. Whatever came next, he was ready.
The Black Council's plan was already in motion. The power was building, and soon, it would be too late for anyone to stop it.
"The Fourth Elder has gone out to handle the situation and is responsible for stopping anyone who tries to break through," the middle-aged man said calmly, his voice like ice. He turned his gaze toward Howard, his eyes unwavering. "Anyone foolish enough to attempt to rush in here will simply become another offering to nourish the altar."
Howard nodded, his relief barely perceptible. The Black Council had four Elders, and each of them was a force to be reckoned with. Three of them had already fallen, leaving only the First, Second, and Fourth Elders to safeguard the ritual. The First Elder remained at the altar, maintaining its stability. The Second and Fourth Elders, each at the peak of their power, were more than capable of defending their ground.
Howard had believed that with these formidable forces in place, no one would be able to disrupt their ceremony. But his confidence began to waver.
Minutes later, muffled sounds of chaos reached their ears. The noise grew louder, and Howard's heart sank. It was clear that the outer defenses of the Black Council were faltering. The fighters, those who had banded together in defiance, were pushing through.
"Has the outer defense been breached?" Howard asked, his voice laced with unease.
The Great Elder frowned, his sharp eyes scanning the area outside. Through the heavy silence, figures could be seen moving swiftly, fighters charging toward the altar, determined to stop whatever dark ritual was unfolding.
The Great Elder's expression darkened. "We've underestimated the resistance in Malian City," he muttered to himself, his voice colder than before.
He turned his gaze back to Howard, his eyes narrowing in sudden fury. "Didn't I instruct you to eliminate the various fighter factions in this city? Why are there still so many of them standing here?"
Howard felt a knot form in his stomach. His mouth opened as if to speak, but he faltered. What could he say? How could he explain that someone had been impersonating their group, stirring up trouble, while another force had been leading the fighters in relentless attacks?
The truth was too complicated, too damning. The Great Elder wouldn't care for excuses or explanations. He would only see it as incompetence, a failure to complete the task. And once that label was placed upon you, the consequences were never light.
Howard swallowed hard and chose silence. It was the wisest course of action, even if it felt like it might suffocate him.
The Great Elder's eyes narrowed further, but after a long pause, he exhaled slowly. "Never mind," he said, his tone dismissive. "The ceremony is underway, and we cannot afford further disruptions. Gather some men and go to the front. You need to hold these fighters back, no matter the cost."
He turned away, his focus returning to the altar before him. "This ceremony must not be disturbed. If anyone dares to interrupt it, I trust you understand the consequences."
Howard stiffened, his expression turning serious. "Yes, Elder. It will be done."
With that, he quickly gathered his men and made his way downstairs.
The Great Elder watched him leave, but his attention was already shifting back to the altar. The dark energy swirling around it was palpable, an overwhelming force that seemed to pulse with life. He could feel it drawing near, like the gathering of a storm on the horizon.
As he stood in the stillness, he saw something manifest in the center of the altar. A faint, shadowy figure began to form, its shape indistinct, but its power unmistakable. And then, just as he focused more intently, a massive doorway, impossible to comprehend; appeared within the altar. It loomed in the air, a swirling portal of destruction, its edges crackling with energy.
"The Door of Destruction," the Great Elder whispered under his breath, his voice reverberating with awe. "What the Council has been seeking for so long… today, it will open."
A soft breeze stirred, lifting the elder's sleeves, and for a brief moment, he seemed to radiate an aura of ancient power. The atmosphere around him grew heavy, almost suffocating, as if the very air was charged with the weight of history. This was a moment years in the making, the culmination of a thousand plans, a thousand sacrifices.
Suddenly, the noise from outside pierced the stillness, snapping the Great Elder from his thoughts. He turned sharply, his expression hardening.
"Already?" he muttered, a rare hint of surprise crossing his face.
The defense lines, those that had once seemed unbreakable; had been shattered. A force had breached them, and figures were pouring through, intent on stopping the ceremony before it could reach its final stage.
The Great Elder's eyes flicked to the altar one last time before he turned to the door. "Prepare for the worst. If they think they can stop this, they will learn otherwise." He moved swiftly, his steps echoing in the silence, the Door of Destruction looming behind him as a symbol of the chaos to come.