Chapter 46: The Final Ritual Begins

The flames flickered along the stone walls of the cult leader's chamber, casting long, twisted shadows. The air smelled of burning incense, dried blood, and something foul—something unnatural.

The Cult Leader stood before an ancient mirror, adjusting the folds of his deep crimson robe. The weight of the moment pressed heavily upon him—tonight, the Abyss would open.

Tonight, he would ascend.

But then—

A loud knock on the door.

The Cult Leader's eyes narrowed. "Enter."

A hooded cultist stepped in, his breathing uneven, his hands trembling.

"Master," he stammered. "There's been a—a problem."

The Cult Leader turned sharply. "Speak."

The cultist swallowed hard. "The woman… the police officer. She escaped."

A chilling silence filled the room.

"And?" the Cult Leader whispered.

The cultist hesitated, then forced himself to continue.

"The other two… the ones guarding her." He swallowed hard. "They are dead."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

The Cult Leader's fingers twitched. His jaw clenched.

He slowly turned to a wooden cabinet on the side of the room and pulled out a ceremonial dagger.

Then—he took a step toward the trembling cultist.

The man stiffened, his breath quickening. "M-Master… we should leave. The outsiders are getting too close. We must—"

A sharp whoosh of air—

And then—steel against flesh.

The cultist choked, his eyes wide as the dagger slid into his stomach.

Blood poured down his robe, staining the sacred ground.

The Cult Leader's voice was calm, deadly.

"Cowardice has no place in the Abyss."

He twisted the blade.

The cultist shuddered violently, gasping for breath.

Then—he was still.

The Cult Leader let the body slump to the ground, yanking the dagger free.

A sigh of disappointment escaped his lips.

Then—

A shadow moved in the corner of the room.

A cold presence filled the air.

And then—it spoke.

"You failed."

The Cult Leader whirled around, his breath hitching.

A shadowy figure stood in the corner, its form barely visible. No face. No features. Just a dark, pulsing mass.

The Cult Leader immediately dropped to his knees.

"Master," he whispered. "Forgive me."

The shadow did not move.

"The girl is no longer important," the figure said, its voice low, inhuman.

The Cult Leader's eyes widened. "But she—"

"Continue the plan."

The shadow pulsed. "Finish the ritual."

The Cult Leader hesitated. "But Master… what if the outsiders—"

The figure's voice turned sharp, cold.

"Do as I say, you rat."

The room grew colder.

The flames dimmed.

The Cult Leader bowed his head.

"…As you wish, Master."

The shadow flickered—

And then—it was gone.

The Cult Leader slowly rose to his feet, his face unreadable.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the chamber.

The ritual would continue.

No matter what.

Outside, under the cover of thick jungle mist, Aryan, Naina, Karan, and Riya moved in silence.

Dressed in the robes of fallen cultists, they had successfully blended in.

The temple loomed ahead—ancient stone pillars, torches burning at every corner, eerie chants echoing in the night.

The Verandah of the temple was filled with robed figures, all standing in organized silence. A massive fire log was being prepared at the center, its flames crackling wildly.

Karan whispered under his breath. "I don't like this."

Aryan's eyes scanned the area. "Stay close. We move when we see an opening."

They moved in sync with the other cultists, stepping onto the verandah just as the final preparations began.

The sigil of the Abyss was carved into the ground—a grotesque symbol of sacrifice and suffering.

Slowly, the chants grew louder.

And then—

A new presence entered the temple.

A figure in crimson robes, a silver mask gleaming in the firelight.

The Cult Leader.

The crowd of cultists immediately dropped to their knees in reverence.

Aryan, Naina, Karan, and Riya did the same, watching carefully.

The Cult Leader stepped forward, standing before the sigil.

The ritual was about to begin.

And they had to act fast.