Marcus guided me through the alleys of the city of Illumus, avoiding guard patrols with the familiarity of someone who had spent weeks on the run.
"The entrance is ahead," he whispered, pointing toward a towering ruined cathedral. "Beneath the foundations. There's a crypt that leads to the main chambers."
I studied the building. The Old Cathedral, Marcus had said. Once a place of worship, now abandoned and left to rot. How fitting for a dark cult.
"Wait here," I ordered. "This won't take long."
"But Lord Noir, there are at least thirty members, maybe more—"
"Marcus." My voice cut off his protest. "Wait. Here. If anyone tries to escape, stop whoever you can. But don't enter. Understood?"
He swallowed and nodded. The contract ensured his obedience, but I could also see genuine fear in his eyes—not of me, but of what I was about to do.
Good. Fear was healthy.
I slipped toward the cathedral, my steps completely silent. Not because I needed stealth—I could have smashed the doors down if I wanted—but because I wanted to enjoy this. Anticipation was part of the fun.
The entrance to the crypt was exactly where Marcus had said. I descended stone stairs that smelled of dampness and decay, descending into the bowels of the earth.
Soon, I began to hear voices.
Chanting.
I stopped at the entrance of a massive underground chamber. The space was impressive—ancient pillars supported a vaulted ceiling, torches with green flames cast dancing shadows, and in the center was an elaborate ritual circle carved directly into the stone floor.
Around the circle were the cultists. Thirty-seven, I counted quickly. Dressed in black and purple robes, chanting in a language that made the very air feel heavy. In the center of the circle was something—a pulsing mass of darkness that was not entirely physical nor spiritual.
And presiding over all of this, on an elevated platform, was the leader. An older man with a gray beard and eyes glowing with fanaticism. His voice rose above the others, directing the ritual.
But there was something else.
A presence I immediately recognized. Another demonic presence.
My eyes shifted toward the shadows at the edge of the chamber, where a humanoid figure stood apart from the cultists. It wasn't human—the shape was only a facade. I could feel the demonic essence emanating from it.
A demon. Not a Primordial, but something stronger than the lesser ones I commanded in Hell. A greater demon, most likely.
Interesting. So this cult didn't just worship the void—they had a real demon working with them.
I decided it was time to make my entrance.
I let my aura leak out slowly, deliberately. Not all at once—that would be like a sledgehammer. Instead, I let it spread like poisonous fog, filling the chamber little by little.
The chanting faltered. Cultists began to look around nervously, sensing that something was wrong but not understanding what.
The leader stopped mid-word.
And the demon in the shadows froze completely.
"Please, continue," I said, my voice echoing through the chamber as I stepped into the torchlight. "Don't let my presence interrupt your… ritual."
Chaos erupted instantly. Cultists screamed, stumbled back, some falling to the ground. The leader stared at me with bulging eyes, his mouth opening and closing without sound.
But it was the demon who truly caught my attention. It stepped out of the shadows, assuming its true form—a creature about three meters tall, dark red skin, curved horns, and eyes burning with yellow fire.
And in those eyes, I saw recognition. And absolute terror.
"P-Primordial," it whispered the word like a prayer. Or a curse.
I smiled. "Very perceptive. And you are?"
The demon dropped to its knees so fast that the stone cracked beneath the impact. "Great Primordial! I—I am Malachar, a humble servant! I didn't know—I never would have—!"
"Easy," I said, letting Tempter flow into my voice, softening the demon's panic into something more manageable. "I'm here for these humans, not you. Yet."
That didn't calm it much, but at least it stopped babbling.
I turned toward the cultists, who were frozen between terror and confusion. Perfect.
"So," I said conversationally, "you worship the Devouring Void. An entity that will consume everything. How… ambitious."
The leader finally found his voice. "W-who are you? What do you want?"
"I am someone who doesn't appreciate you hunting people under my protection," I replied. "Marcus Aldrich. You know him, don't you?"
I saw several cultists exchange glances.
"He… he was a risk," the leader said, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably. "He knew too much. He had to be eliminated."
"I see." I slowly walked around the ritual circle, studying it. "And tell me, does your god, this Devouring Void—is it here now? Will it protect you?"
Silence.
I fully activated Tempter, letting its power wash over the cultists like an invisible tide.
"Answer me honestly," I commanded, and my voice carried such weight that it was almost impossible to disobey. "Is your god here?"
"N-no," the leader admitted, his resistance melting under Tempter's influence. "The Devouring Void sleeps. Our rituals are to… to accelerate its awakening."
"And have you succeeded?"
"We've… we've achieved small manifestations. Signs that it hears us."
I looked at the mass of darkness in the center of the circle. It was nothing more than magical residue, malformed energy with no true consciousness. These fools were basically worshipping nothing.
"Fascinating," I said. "And what about you, Malachar?" I turned to the kneeling demon. "Why is a greater demon serving these humans?"
Malachar visibly swallowed. "They… they summoned me decades ago. They offered a contract—souls in exchange for power and knowledge. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement."
"Did you tell them their 'god' doesn't exist?"
"I… did not."
"Of course you didn't. More convenient to let them believe, right?" I clicked my tongue. "How entrepreneurial of you."
I returned my attention to the cultists. Tempter was already working on them, eroding their mental defenses, amplifying their fears, making every word I spoke sound like absolute truth.
"You have two options," I said clearly. "First option: you tell me everything you know. Your rituals, your members, your plans, every pathetic secret of this organization."
I saw several open their mouths to protest, but Tempter made the words die in their throats.
"Second option," I continued, "you resist. You protect your secrets. And I can… persuade you in other ways."
I let a touch of dark energy dance around my fingers. It wasn't Annihilation Magic—just regular destructive magic. But the effect was the same. Terror.
"So," I asked, injecting supernatural persuasion into every word. "Cooperation? Or suffering?"
Tempter did its work. One by one, the cultists began to speak.