545: Prelude to Destruction

The ritual proceeded in a savage, horrifying manner.

How should one put it?

Who knew how many sins this couple had committed in their previous lives.

To suffer such a calamity.

"AAAAAAAHHHH!!!"

They abruptly opened their eyes, their eyeballs bulging from agony and terror, bloodshot and swollen, while ragged, dying screams tore from their throats.

"Crack, crack, crack!" Their bodies convulsed and twisted violently. It was as though countless worms were writhing beneath their skin, their features contorting beyond recognition under the extremity of their pain.

Of course.

As the ritual continued.

They could not make much sound—the cave had long since been enveloped by a silencing ward. Only their inhuman expressions of agony and soundless screams appeared all the more eerie and terrifying beneath the dim glow and warped shadows.

Under Voldemort's sacrifice.

Their vitality, the tremors of their souls, and those overwhelmingly intense negative emotions were like black incense candles being lit, transforming into an intangible, formless "current of energy" that Voldemort could nevertheless perceive clearly. Guided by the dark matter, it flowed into the altar's patterns. Then, along some mysterious path, it surged upward, outward, toward the source in the unseen distance that had been summoned—Deep Space! Voldemort was utterly at home conducting this sort of Dark Magic ritual.

The altar's glow suddenly flared!

Dark red, ghostly green, deep purple, sickly yellow... all manner of blasphemous colors spun and blended madly, forming a chaotic halo that enveloped both the altar and Voldemort.

"Hehehehe!"

Voldemort was still delirious with joy.

He felt proud of his masterpiece.

The cave began to tremble faintly. Fine bits of gravel pattered down from the ceiling, while the puddles on the ground rippled unnaturally. The cloying scent of spices in the air was replaced by an even stronger, more ancient stench—salty, rotten, and