Chapter 218: Satan's "Sacred Relics" and a Cruel Ritual
The figure's words and appearance, identical to those in the mural and bearing a faint resemblance to both of them, left Cyril and Ethan brimming with questions. They couldn't tell if this translucent, ghost-like projection was a mere recorded image or some unknown form of magical communication. But after observing its subtle, reactive movements, they concluded it was no simple recording. It was a projection, allowing for real-time, if limited, interaction.
After exchanging a glance and carefully choosing his words, Cyril addressed the projection with deep respect. "Ancestor, you call yourself Satan. Is that because our bloodline is similar to the Satan of Muggle legend?"
"First, a correction. I am the source of your bloodline, but I am not your ancestor in the direct sense." The horned man shook his head, immediately rejecting Cyril's form of address.
"Huh?" Both Ethan and Cyril were taken aback. They looked at each other, their confusion mirrored in their wide eyes. The source of their blood, but not their ancestor? They couldn't grasp his meaning and could only wait for him to explain.
Satan chuckled. "Confused? It's simple, really. I bestowed a bloodline upon your true ancestor. Thus, I am the origin of your blood, and you are the descendants of that blood. But I am not your biological ancestor, nor are you my biological descendants. Do you understand now?"
"Yes," Ethan and Cyril replied in unison.
The distinction was clear, though it raised new questions in their minds.
The man nodded, satisfied. "Still, given our blood connection, you can call me Ancestor. I simply wanted to clarify the exact nature of the relationship. The changes my bloodline has caused to your features, resulting in this resemblance, make the misunderstanding natural."
His words answered Ethan's unspoken question about their distinctive appearance, but countless others remained.
"Now, to answer your first question. Why do I call myself Satan? Because I am Satan, of course. It has nothing to do with any similarity to the tales of ordinary mortals." The progenitor of the Shafiq bloodline held up a finger and wagged it. "A thousand years ago, I came to this world in pursuit of... something. When I arrived, I discovered this wasn't quite the ultimate destination I sought. But since I was here, I decided to leave my mark. So I bestowed a measure of my blood upon a mortal, your first ancestor. And I left behind certain items in various corners of this world, relics imbued with my essence. I call them my Sacred Relics. I have waited for my descendants to find them. When you have gathered all seven, you will discover the gift I have left for you."
He seemed lost in thought for a moment. "I expected you would uncover these relics shortly after my departure. I never imagined it would take until this very day for the first of them to be found. I have waited a very long time."
His tone then shifted. "But seeing you now, I find the wait was not so great a burden after all. Had the relics been found too early, I might never have laid eyes on you, the descendant whose blood runs truest to my own. Within each relic, I have left a clue to the location of the next. Go forth. Find the seven relics. Claim the gift that has awaited you for a thousand years."
Ethan understood perfectly: he was the descendant with the blood closest to the source. Satan's words had been directed squarely at him throughout this final message.
Emboldened by the clear benevolence in the projection's words, he asked, "Sacred Relics? Did you... leave this world? Or did you, well, enter the realm of Death?"
"HAHAHAHAHA!" The man threw his head back and laughed, genuinely amused. "In this world, who could possibly kill me? Surely you don't believe those tales mortals tell about a god called 'God' are actually real here?"
"Uh, seeing you appear like this... it makes me think the world isn't quite what we understand it to be. Forgive my ignorance," he apologized quickly.
"I understand your question. But no, this world has no such deities from mortal lore. I am merely a visitor from elsewhere. This world, however, is quite fascinating in its own right. I will not spoil the discovery for you. Explore it for yourself." A mysterious smile played on his lips as he recalled something.
"Could you not give us just a hint?"
"No. Discover it on your own." Satan paused, glancing briefly toward Cyril, then turned back to Ethan. He lowered his voice. "There is something about you that does not belong in this world. Because of this, when you receive my gift, you will develop abilities unlike those of other descendants of this bloodline. Consider it a unique talent granted by that other world of yours."
Ethan's heart lurched. He shot a panicked look at Cyril and the others.
"Don't worry. They can't hear this. Everyone has their little secrets. This one is yours alone. I won't share it with them." Satan stepped forward, sensing his fear, and tried to reassure him.
"Thank you." Ethan breathed a sigh of relief.
"Now, I have to go. We'll meet again when you find the next relic." He raised a hand in a casual wave, and just as suddenly as he had appeared, he vanished in midair above the book.
The Book of the Dead snapped shut with a soft thump and settled onto the dais.
"What just happened? I couldn't hear or move!" The moment Satan disappeared, Cyril was freed from the paralysis that had held him. He immediately turned to Ethan.
"It was nothing. He told me a few things." Ethan glanced meaningfully at Snape and the others, who were just beginning to stir. The truth was, he needed time to invent a plausible lie to conceal his greatest secret.
"We'll speak of it later." Cyril followed his gaze toward Mael and the others and nodded. He reached for the Book of the Dead where it now lay.
But before his hand could touch the cover, the pages flew open again. Satan's voice echoed from the book once more. "I did not bother to cleanse the pharaoh's curse. Do not touch anything inside the sarcophagus."
The book slammed shut again and lay still, truly inert this time. Satan's second message had been heard by all, and no one had been paralyzed. They all cast a wary glance at the sarcophagus and firmly decided against grave robbing.
"Was that... truly Satan? I couldn't see or hear anything! He's a character from Muggle stories! What is happening to the world? How could he just appear like that? Does this mean God is real, too? And Death? Is Death real?" Mael, trapped in a sensory void during Satan's first appearance, had spent that time trying to identify the spectral figure. Now free, he unleashed a torrent of questions.
Cyril, holding the precious book, was in no mood to answer. Snape and the old wizard were equally unwilling; they quickly ascended the dais to join him, eager to examine the book's contents. The task of answering Mael fell to Ethan, who remained below.
"Let me answer your questions one by one." Ethan spent some time addressing Mael and Robert's concerns, his explanations drifting up to the two men on the dais, who listened as they worked. By the time Ethan finished, both men seemed somewhat relieved that the world hadn't changed beyond all recognition.
Ethan turned his attention from them to Noé. The ghost had remained silent and was now trembling violently.
"What's wrong with you, Noé? Noé!" It took several calls before the translucent figure seemed to register his presence.
"I... it was terrifying! Absolutely terrifying!" Noé shuddered. "That man... he just looked at me. And I felt like I was about to die all over again!" If he still had tear ducts, Noé was certain he would have been weeping.
He had been dead for less than an hour and had already brushed against oblivion twice. Ethan's Hellfire had been a distant, instinctual threat, frightening only in retrospect. But that second look from Satan... it was the primal terror of a newborn mouse staring into the eyes of a cat. Every time Noé recalled it, his whole body went rigid.
*They always say ghosts have nothing to fear, since we have no bodies. So why, now that I am a ghost, does danger seem to lurk around every corner?* He could not understand it. This was nothing like the existence the ghosts at Beauxbatons had described.
Ethan offered a few words of comfort before passing the task of soothing Noé to Mael and Robert.
On the dais, the three wizards were poring over the Book of the Dead with the aid of a thick dictionary, painstakingly translating the ancient text. Unable to contribute, Ethan turned his thoughts inward, pondering the hidden meanings in Satan's words.
*He came to this world in pursuit of 'something.' How did he travel between worlds? And he said that after I find all the Sacred Relics, I will gain some unique abilities connected to my original world. Could that be... the ability to travel between worlds?*
The thought made his blood race. He had never truly considered returning to his old world, but the possibility of simply visiting was a tantalizing one. He wondered if he was right. He couldn't wait to find out! He glanced at the book the three wizards were gathered around and felt a sudden urge to grab it and unlock its secrets immediately.
The translation work on the dais was not going smoothly. Some of the symbols in the book appeared nowhere in the dictionary, and the text itself bore little resemblance to the widely circulated versions of the Book of the Dead. The three men frequently disagreed on the interpretation of specific passages.
But soon, their arguments over individual words ceased. The overall meaning had become clear. The ritual described within was so exacting, its requirements so impossibly stringent, that even a perfect translation would not allow them to achieve their heart's desire.
"The conditions for resurrection... they're impossibly cruel." Cyril's voice was heavy with despair as he spoke the words and reluctantly passed the book to a similarly stricken Snape.
Hearing this, Noé rushed up to the dais in alarm. "What about me? Can I still be brought back?!"
Cyril, lost in thought, took a long moment before slowly shaking his head. "From what we can see... no."
"The Book of the Dead does contain a method that could be called, in the loosest sense, a form of resurrection. But the conditions are extraordinarily harsh, the process incredibly complex. It is, for all practical purposes, impossible."
"Grandfather... so there's no way to bring my parents back? My grandparents?" Ethan asked, stepping up onto the dais.
"No. There's no way." Cyril pulled Ethan into a tight embrace, tears streaming down his face. He could feel the warm droplets soaking into his shoulder.
Though Ralph and Jenny were his biological parents, Ethan had never known them. His bond was with Albert and Sofia, who had raised him. His grief for the two he had never met was not as profound. He did not know what to say. He could only gently pat Cyril's back in comfort.
"How can this be?" Snape murmured, his eyes vacant after flipping through the book once more. He squeezed his eyes shut, and a single tear traced a path down his cheek. The old wizard beside him was equally devastated, his shoulders slumping as if under a great weight.
The burial chamber fell into a profound, heavy silence, broken only by the soft sound of his hand against Cyril's back.
Finally, the anxious Noé shattered the quiet, desperate to know why he, specifically, could not be saved.
"Perhaps you can explain it to him, Professor Snape," Cyril said, releasing Ethan. He wiped his red-rimmed eyes, though his left arm remained tightly wrapped around Ethan's shoulders. He was slowly regaining his composure.
"Very well." Snape, a master at concealing his emotions, had regained his outward calm more swiftly than Cyril. But his soul, as Ethan could see, radiated a profound and enduring sorrow that was not so easily masked.
"The ritual described in this book is not, at its core, a true resurrection. It would be more accurate to call it a Soul-Binding Ritual, a complex form of ritual magic. Through its power, the soul of the deceased is bound to a body that has been dead for no more than a single day." Noé's face brightened slightly at this; he met that condition.
"Do not celebrate prematurely. That is the only condition you meet. First, the ritual requires a vast number of specific components. We couldn't even translate many of the component names into modern equivalents. Assembling the necessary items would be impossible. Second, the body animated by this ritual is not truly alive. It moves, but it is more akin to a walking corpse. It remains subject to decay. This is precisely why the pharaohs of ancient Egypt were mummified immediately upon death. It was to preserve the body against rot, so that it would remain viable for the ritual."
The hope on Noé's face evaporated.
Snape looked at the ghost and delivered the final crushing blow. "Lastly, this ritual is designed for a soul, not a ghost."
"I..." Noé was stunned. He had been drawn by the hope of resurrection and had chosen to become a ghost, without realizing that this would disqualify him from the only available method.
He fixed Ethan with a baleful, accusing stare. Ethan winced, feeling a pang of guilt. He had not anticipated this outcome.
Before Ethan could stammer out an apology or respond to Noé's silent accusation, Snape spoke again. "There may be other ways to restore you. But it would require you to act as a test subject, working with me on my research. Are you willing?"
In an instant, every eye in the chamber fixed on the black-robed professor.
"Willing! Of Course I'm willing!" With hope rekindled, Noé nodded frantically and floated eagerly toward Snape.
A new light flickered in Cyril's eyes. "Professor Snape, you have another method?"
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