Storm Burnt Offering

At Sacred Heart Hospital, in the silent plaza.

Extending an invisible hand, Saliba reached out from afar to grasp the fruits that had already ripened, twisting them with force until the bursting, sweet juices flowed.

Ordinary people would have fallen into a state of unconsciousness the moment the Borderization began, their spiritual essence infected and distorted by the plague of Beelzebub, only to be extracted in thin, silken strands.

It was like a harvest, offering up everything brewed from the lives of others.

High above in the firmament, blood-red threads rose and coiled, faintly outlining the silhouette of a colossal entity.

After many years, stepping onto the soil of the mundane world with his own feet once more, the mere scent of that alluring fragrance brought Saliba to the verge of tears.

Good, the forbearance of these past years was not without value. After toiling so painstakingly for so long, today was the day of the harvest—it was worth indulging oneself properly.

For the first time, there was hope of ascending to become an Immortal, and he had obtained the key to the ritual. Two joys overlapped, and this double joy brought even more joy; Saliba should have been living in a dream-like, blissful moment.

Yet, why, why did it turn into this? Why was he so annoyed?

"Hey, I'm asking, if you're going to pull off such a big stunt, why did it have to be me? I could have introduced you to my distant relatives."

"And could you loosen your tentacles a bit? You're making me feel weirdly itchy, and I'm afraid I'll burst out laughing in a moment."

"You're playing for such high stakes~, it makes me so scared~"

Even though the anesthetic just injected was enough to keep that Lancaster boy unconscious and unaware until the ritual was completed, he had woken up in less than ten minutes as if nothing had happened. His mouth was like a dam breaking, and a waterfall of unique, relentless trash talk poured out.

Wrapped tightly in a cocoon woven from blood-colored threads, Horn used the Flame of Destiny to clear the remaining anesthetic from his body while harassing Saliba from every conceivable angle, his words flowing like a torrential river.

He fully replicated the speech speed he used to protect his cyber-parents back in the Zaun district, not seeking merit, but only seeking to stir up trouble. If he could make Saliba frown even once, it would be a success.

Perhaps, could there be some kind of miracle?

His brow furrowed from the harassment, Saliba, unable to endure any longer, drew a sliver of energy from his busy work and waved his hand heavily. High in the sky, the terrifying form woven from writhing scarlet threads suddenly expanded, shrouding the entire Sacred Heart Hospital. A torrent of blood engulfed Horn without a word, silencing him completely.

It was as if the heavens and earth had inverted, falling toward the center of the blood.

Drowning in the dreamscape of Innocent Tears.

The last thing he heard in his daze was a roar like thunder.

[Fate Deflection--]

[Heart, beating high!]

Within the underground ritual site, bathing in blood and swallowing wantonly, without the slightest regard for his own limits, until the scarlet overflowed from every orifice... Frank Mills completely broke free from the shackles of the Mark, welcoming a newborn transformation.

A third arm and a third leg tore through his shedding skin, stretching freely without any concern for the exposed tendons and fascia. Then came the bones, muscles, nerves... amidst a not-unpleasant itching, Frank was completely renewed.

At his chest, his ribs were pushed outward, and the dark red heart, expanding until it threatened to burst his chest cavity, throbbed—bringing not vitality, but a greedy appetite.

Following the principle of Blood, transitioning to the path of Devouring, even though he had been twisted by desire into such an ugly form, Frank was still jubilant.

Yes, this was right, this was the true path. Eating and being eaten, there is always a feast; nothing is ever truly wasted.

In this way, everyone will be saved, right?

--Within my belly.

And so, the long-awaited Blood Pool boiled.

The scarlet of the same root and origin spread upward impatiently, swallowing Frank Mills—who had just ascended and was now equal in power to a Knower, if not even more surging—into the Blood Pool, allowing not a single shred of resistance.

Just like that, it fused with his consciousness, turning him into the central axis of the grand ritual.

He who eats men shall always be eaten.

[Fallen Heart], in position!

Following that, was the [Restless Blood].

Sealed within a swaddling cloth woven from pink threads, the blood originating from the gods pulsed incessantly, dancing with joy.

The moment it appeared, thunder echoed, storms followed, and the heavens wept, the scent of ozone lingering long. The realm, severed by Borderization and nearly stagnant, began to flow once more because of it, preventing it from falling into dead silence.

Baal, Bael, Baal-Hadad, Lord Hadad.

The Jordan River flows rolling across the sands of Canaan, flowing from myth into legend, from legend into history. The divine name shifts, but the divine essence remains unchanged.

They are all aspects of the Hour of the Heart, the [Vigilant Storm]!

The blood bearing His name was the most precious wonder within the Restless Temple, which had been annexed by the Blood Cup Cult in the past, and it was the stepping stone Saliba had risked betraying the entire cult to obtain.

Now, stepping upon the piled corpses of his companions and enemies, Saliba could no longer hold back. He grasped his only opportunity to abandon the path of Blood, whose future had been cut off, and throw himself toward the path of the Heart, which still had vacancies.

Even the sixth Mark could not satisfy his appetite; what Saliba truly wanted was to rely on such a feat to ascend in one step and become an [Immortal] who had reached the end of the path.

From this moment on, life would have no end!

"We beseech the [Vigilant Storm], the god who never rests, the god who demands the dance, the god who is struck like a drum!"

"His symbols are all gathered here; surely, this can open the [Gate of Three Points] for me!"

Amidst this declaration, the ritual, [Storm Burnt Offering], commenced!

--If nothing unexpected happens.

"Clang—"

A slender palm pressed against the crimson boundary, and with a slight exertion of force, the sound of shattering glass rang out abruptly.

The Land of Bleeding, the Bone of Bone, the Blood of Blood, and the border [Blood Field]—all heavily sealed by Saliba—swung their gates wide open under an irresistible command!

"Leave the destruction of the ritual site anchoring the border to the Present Realm to you all. If you encounter any ordinary people caught in the crossfire, contain the symptoms if the infection is shallow, and dispose of them on the spot if they are beyond saving; the pay will be doubled. The Prevention and Suppression Bureau will cover all damages incurred."

"We cannot afford any more delays, everyone. What we are up against is an Immortal in the process of forming."

Veronica stared at the massive figure stretching wantonly within the thunderous clouds in the sky, gradually undergoing its transformation, and instructed the others who had been brought along with her.

"As for this place, leave it to me."

Stepping forward, the golden-haired girl's figure blurred for an instant, crossing a vast distance to arrive before the hospital plaza. She stood in confrontation with the aged man, gazing at the wrinkles gradually vanishing from his face, and asked sternly:

"Was it you who lured Frank Mills?"

"What are you saying? It was he who sought out our Blood Cup Cult first. Otherwise, why would he have been so dedicated, eliminating every single interfering factor?"

Surging vitality was converted into a passionate heartbeat, and his mottled hair began to turn black from the roots. Saliba straightened the bowtie of his suit, raised an eyebrow, and replied airily.

"You came very quickly—truly, beyond my expectations. You disrupted my plans; your mere existence nearly made me give up. If not for an unexpected harvest, I really would have withdrawn from Birmingham right then."

He seemed to have reverted to the young man who had just stepped out of the monastery, the gates of the world generously flung open for him, with nothing left to do but accept the champagne glass handed his way.

The only thing he hadn't anticipated was this meddler who had come to spoil the game at the very last moment.

And so, he offered a tolerant smile, his eight white teeth gleaming, and bowing toward this slight imperfection in an otherwise perfect scene, Saliba apologized sincerely:

"Unfortunately, it is already too late."