SACRIFICE

Ashok pushed himself up, but his legs felt like they might give way at any moment. The dizziness washed over him like a heavy fog.

'This blood loss is getting to me. Though I don't have time to care about that. I can't let all this work go to waste if I lose consciousness now. Who knows what the System plots behind my back when I'm unconscious? I can't stop. Not now.'

STEP!

With a final, trembling step, Ashok positioned himself at the very center of the circle, his blood still dripping onto the floor, feeding the symbols that surrounded him. He stood directly on top of the two runes he had drawn, his feet cold against the floor as they touched the symbols, the center was the activation point of the ritual.

Ashok's voice, trembling from both the exhaustion and the power of the ritual, resounded with an unnatural force as he declared, "I, THE CREATOR OF THE RITUAL, FOLLOWING THE WILL OF THE PRECEDING CREATORS AND UNDER MY TRUE NAME 'ASHOK KUMAR MAURYA' DEMANDS AN AUDIENCE WITH THE ANCIENT GODDESS 'Morrathis Vylara Dethrax Nyxun.'"

The moment the name was spoken, the room around him trembled. The air, once thick with an almost palpable energy, grew impossibly cold.

Feeling the intense chill creep through his body, a smirk curled on Ashok's lips. The overwhelming cold that pressed in from all sides, the ancient power swirling in the air—it all confirmed that the ritual was unfolding exactly as he had planned.

'HAHHAA! I'm sure you're watching, SYSTEM. Just watch how I destroy you while you could only watch. Now, you can't even interfere. Your fate will be decided by my words, not by the God that created you. You're nothing but a puppet, caught in the strings of your own oath. That's why you should never give away life-changing oaths so easily, especially after hearing sweet whispers of greed. There are secrets to the Demon Summoning Ritual that nobody knows. Secrets that the Rulers of Hell themselves hid—thought they were hidden forever, but there is an exception - me.

Summoning demons is not the only thing this ritual is capable of. You can summon any being connected to Hell itself. Not just demons—anyone. The key is the true name. If you know the right name even the Seven Godly Sins, those beings who rule the different layers of Hell, are not immune to this ritual. But what I will summon now... is not a demon. Not a sin. What I will summon is an existence that alone resides in the deepest, most feared layer of Hell—the layer that even the Sins themselves tremble to approach.'

Ashok's voice rang out with dark conviction a cruel smile on his face, as he continued "FOR THIS AUDIENCE, I SHALL SACRIFICE 'THE SYSTEM', A CREATION OF THE GOD OF FATE WHICH IS CURRENTLY INSIDE MY BODY."

"Stop This Foolishness Right This Instant."

The voice thundered from above, its authority and power unmistakable. It was not a mere command; it was an overwhelming force, suffusing the very air with an oppressive pressure. Ashok's body, once steady in the center of the ritual, buckled beneath the weight of that voice as his knees hit the floor with a heavy thud.

'Divine Tongue.' thought Ashok as he could predict who this voice belonged to. The one who had created the System within him, the one who had pulled his soul into this world.

THE GOD OF FATE, JUAN.

"HAHAHAH!" Ashok's laughter rang out like the cries of a deranged soul, echoing through the cold, dimly lit room. It was a sound both painful and triumphant, a chaotic mixture of madness and defiance.

"YOU MERE MORTAL, HOW DARE YOU LAUGH" shouted the Voice with divine fury, and increased the Pressure.

Ashok's body trembled under the immense pressure, but his spirit remained unbroken. He had bitten his tongue while laughing, because of the sudden increase in pressure, which sent waves of pain through his entire being, yet he still found it within himself to speak.

"YOU CANNT… DESEED… CANN… YOUU… HAHAHAH!" The mocking tone sliced through the God's Fury, each word punctuated by the blood that leaked from his tongue." (You can't descend can you)

As if God understood what Ashok was trying to say, the Voice boomed, "IF NOT FOR THAT—"

But Ashok, with blood trickling from his mouth and pain searing through his body, interrupted the GOD in between his monologue "YOO SURR.. WATT TO STAA… SHEE IS COMMINGG YOU KNOO… I CANN FEE IT" (You Sure want to Stay… She is coming you know… I can feel it).

As soon as Ashok's words left his bloodied lips, a strange shift occurred. The air itself seemed to ripple with dark energy, and in the blink of an eye, the floor began to leak. It was not water or any familiar substance, but a thick, viscous liquid, black as pitch, seeping up from the cracks in the ground.

The room, once oppressive and suffocating under the crushing pressure of the Voice, now seemed to quiver in fear as the liquid darkness spread. It curled and swirled around the edges, creeping up the walls, dripping down from the ceiling as if the very foundations of the space were being consumed. The thick, oily substance glistened, shifting with a life of its own, and with it, the weight of the divine tongue pressing down on Ashok vanished.

RAA… AWAA… LIKEE.. A… RTT…!"(RAN AWAY LIKE A RAT) Ashok shouted, his voice barely coherent, but filled with a manic energy as he stared upwards only to see darkness.

Not a trace of the god of fate, the Voice, remained.

The darkness flowed like liquid, sweeping across the room at an unnatural speed, covering every inch, every corner, until there was nothing left but the suffocating blackness. In seconds, the entire space was engulfed, no longer even a hint of light to guide him. It was as though the room itself had vanished, replaced entirely by an all-consuming void that seemed to press against Ashok's skin, curling around him like tendrils of ice.

He couldn't see. Not a single foot in front of him. His eyes strained, but nothing came into focus. There was no shape, no movement, just an endless, impenetrable dark that surrounded him from every angle. Yet, Ashok stood unmoved, his breath steady, as if he were simply waiting for something. Though the darkness pressed against him, suffocating and oppressive, he didn't feel fear. No, instead, there was a strange, gleeful anticipation building within him.

His eyes—they gleamed.