Since the Battle of Dunwich began, at least twenty thousand core members of the Blood-Worship Cult had arrived in this war-shrouded city. Yet fewer than half had survived; the rest had died at the hands of the Kaimon Church Inquisition, the New California Republic's Internal Guard, assorted accidents, and Ork violence.
The Storm of Destruction had already been unleashed, yet the promised reinforcements from other dioceses had failed to arrive.
Even so, the crowded antechamber of this secret stronghold was unusually quiet.
The high-ranking cultists present murmured prayers to the dark gods in a listless manner, looking profoundly dazed.
Their devotions offered no comfort whatsoever.
The senior cultists of the upper ranks had gathered in the audience chamber of the Hidden Altar.
Compared to the monotonous utility of the first two levels, this was a vast and solemn hall. Scattered candles cast only dim light, and black marble covered the floor.
A massive wooden throne, covered in folds and carvings, stood in the center of the chamber beneath a tall, indistinct dome. Six smaller chairs faced it in an arc, each prepared for an elder of the Eight-Pointed Star Society.
The darkness within the room cloaked that circle of chairs. The Blood God's banners were barely visible in the gloom, occasionally fluttering as their white cloth rustled in the airflow from the ventilation system.
For some reason, these chairs had remained mostly empty for many years.
Some claimed this was the Patriarch's own calculation, while others said it showed his hope that the scattered dioceses of the Blood-Worship Cult could still reunite.
Yet some privately claimed that the Patriarch had never tolerated dissent, and that the hollow Eight-Pointed Star Council was inevitable proof of his dictatorial inclinations.
If he had heard those voices—and reason demanded that he listen—then he would