Chapter 97: So They Can Summon Using That Huh?

Chapter 97: So They Can Summon Using That Huh?The silence didn’t last. It started with the soft scrape of boots across wet ground—barely audible, almost part of the wind. Then came the creak of old wood shifting. Somewhere beyond the collapsed buildings, something moved. Not fast. Not loud. Just there. Watching. Waiting. Inside the ruined house, Inigo sat upright with his shotgun resting across his lap. He hadn’t slept. Neither had Arienne, who sat cross-legged near the table, her hand hovering over the tracefinder. Its glow had intensified slightly, pulsing like a heartbeat. Korrik stood by the door with his axe drawn, peering through a crack in the wood. "They’re not gone." Sёarch* The Nôvel(F)ire.nёt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. "No," Inigo said quietly. "Just hiding again." The others gathered in silence. Lyra was nursing a scrape on her shoulder. Garen had a fresh dent in his pauldron but nothing serious. No one had died, but they all knew how close it was. "Tracefinder?" Inigo asked. Arienne nodded. "Still reacting. Stronger than before. The source is definitely below us." "Then we find the entrance." They moved out cautiously. Hollowmere’s buildings loomed like skeletons in fog. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting long, sharp shadows across the empty town square. Most of the cultist bodies from the night before had been dragged off or disintegrated. Only a few blood smears remained. They followed the signal through the town’s center and toward the old chapel. The roof was partially collapsed, and vines had grown across the stained glass. A broken bell lay shattered near the steps. "This was the biggest structure in town," Arienne said. "If anything’s hidden underground, it’d be here." Korrik kicked the doors open with one solid boot. The wooden panels fell inward with a thud. Inside, the pews were broken, and the altar was cracked down the middle. But something stood out immediately—behind the altar, the stone wall was newer. Different color. Less worn. "Rebuilt," Garen said. "Recently." Inigo stepped closer and tapped it with the butt of his shotgun. It echoed hollowly. "Help me move it." Korrik and Garen dug their fingers into the edges and shoved. After a few grunts, the fake wall gave way, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness. A cold breath of air flowed out from below. Lyra pulled her hood up. "Why is it always basements?" Inigo flicked on a tactical light attached to his gun. "Let’s move." One by one, they descended. The crypt wasn’t natural. It had been carved—not like a burial site, but like a bunker. The walls were smooth stone, reinforced with ancient sigils and newer metal supports. It was a mix of old and new. Sacred and military. Torches lined the walls, unlit, but the deeper they went, the more the tracefinder pulsed. About fifty steps down, they reached a chamber. It was circular, maybe twenty feet wide, with a high ceiling. The center held an obelisk—just like the one they’d destroyed in the forest. But this one was intact. Glowing faintly. Black shard-core embedded at the top. "Found it," Arienne whispered. As she raised her hand toward the tracefinder, a symbol lit up across the floor—an arcane circle, previously invisible. A ward. Inigo shouted. "Move!" Too late. The trap activated. A burst of magical force exploded outward, throwing the team back against the walls. Arienne slammed into a pillar and groaned. Korrik rolled and came up on his feet. Lyra hit the ground hard and cursed. The obelisk began to hum. And from the far side of the chamber, something began to rise from the ground. A stone platform lifted—revealing a humanoid figure, chained and unconscious, eyes closed. His skin was pale, almost gray, and he was covered in ritual markings. "What the hell is that?" Lyra muttered. Before anyone could answer, a voice rang out through the crypt—calm, cold, and familiar. "You should not have come." The Lady of Illusion. Her voice echoed, not from a direction, but from everywhere. The obelisk flared, and a projection formed—a flickering image of her standing over the chained figure. "He is not ready," she said. "But your presence forces my hand." Inigo raised his weapon. "Shut it down." "Too late." The chains broke with a sound like thunder. The figure gasped awake. And the room exploded in chaos. The chained man rose with unnatural grace, floating inches above the platform as the ritual markings on his body glowed red, then purple, then an ominous black. His eyes opened—pale white, lifeless, yet aware. Not human anymore. He screamed. Not out of pain, but as if announcing his arrival. A concussive wave shot outward from his body. Korrik dropped to a knee, bracing with his axe. Lyra rolled behind a fallen column, already drawing an arrow. Arienne tried to cast a containment ward, but the moment her hand moved, her mana fizzled out—something in the air was wrong. Heavy. Distorted. The projection of the Lady of Illusion flickered but didn’t disappear. "He is not complete, but he is enough. A prototype. A harbinger." Inigo fired first. The blast from his shotgun hit the floating man in the chest, but it barely staggered him. A dull ripple passed through the man’s torso as if the shot had hit water. Then he lunged. Fast. Inigo barely ducked in time. The harbinger’s arm swept through the air like a blade, slicing a deep groove into the stone wall behind him. Garen charged, sword raised high, and slammed it down on the figure’s shoulder. Sparks flew. The harbinger grunted but didn’t bleed. He backhanded Garen, sending him flying across the room. "Focus fire!" Inigo shouted. Lyra loosed an enchanted arrow—it struck true, piercing the harbinger’s thigh. For a moment, the figure faltered, giving Korrik just enough of an opening to leap in and slam his axe into the harbinger’s side. The weapon connected—and cracked the surface of the creature’s skin. A hiss escaped its lips. "His shell’s breaking!" Korrik yelled. "Hit him hard!" Arienne, gritting her teeth, recharged her mana and launched a burst of compressed light straight into the creature’s chest. It staggered. Inigo fired again. The harbinger stumbled. And with a roar, Garen returned—sword blazing—and drove his blade through the creature’s chest, pinning it to the obelisk. There was a flash of light. Then silence. The harbinger slumped, still twitching, and the obelisk cracked down the center. The tracefinder dimmed. For now... it was over.