The run through the final artery of the aqueduct was a desperate, grief-fueled flight. Praxus's lungs burned, his legs screamed in protest, but the memory of Joric's final, defiant war cry was a fire at his back, propelling him forward. He glanced at Commander Eva. The woman who had been a pillar of cold, tactical discipline was now a vessel of pure, focused rage. Her grief was a tangible thing, a razor's edge in the darkness, and Praxus found himself just as afraid of her as he was of the enemy ahead.
They burst through a final, narrow channel and emerged through a rusted grate into the chilling reality of their destination. They were at the bottom of the deep, black pool at the very heart of Qar-Teth.
Praxus pulled himself onto the slick, stone embankment, gasping for air, and looked up. The sight that greeted him stole the breath from his lungs more effectively than the desperate run had. This was the Nexus, the Progenitor ruin that had haunted his studies, now a real and monstrous presence. It rose from the center of the pool, a massive, monolithic fortress of seamless black stone. It was not a building; it was a machine, a cage of impossible geometry. And perched atop it, like a carrion crow on a king's corpse, was the Covenanters' new, blood-stained obsidian altar.
Upon that altar stood High Scrutator Ouen.
He was the calm center of a swirling vortex of energy, his arms raised to the starless sky, chanting in the harsh, guttural syllables of the Progenitor language. Kneeling before him were a dozen chained prisoners. A circle of Ouen's most elite, black-robed priests surrounded the base of the Nexus, their voices joined with his in the terrible, droning chant. Beyond them, forming a massive, silent circle, were thousands of Covenanter soldiers and pilgrims, their attention focused on the ritual. The diversion at the eastern gate was a distant, meaningless noise against the sheer, focused power in this chamber.
"The prisoners," Eva whispered, her voice a low growl, raw with fury. "He's going to sacrifice them. We have to stop him."
She gave a series of sharp, silent hand signals. Using the chaos of Malik's distant attack as auditory cover, the four of them crept from the shadows of the pool, moving silently along the base of the great black monolith.
They were halfway there when the chanting stopped.
Ouen lowered his arms. He turned and looked down, his gaze finding their small group with an unnerving precision. A cold, triumphant smile spread across his face.
"The Commander," he called out, his voice booming across the oasis, "looking a little shorthanded, I see." His eyes flickered with amusement. "You have arrived just in time for the consecration. You believe you are here to stop me. You are wrong. You are not the heroes. You are the final offering."
Praxus stared at the alignment of the altar, at the runic patterns on the Nexus that were now glowing more brightly. The full, horrifying truth of the situation crashed down upon him. Ouen had not been surprised by their arrival. He had been waiting for it.
"It's a trap!" Praxus screamed, his voice raw with terror. "The ritual isn't just to open a gate! He's using the life force of the sacrifices to create a vessel, an anchor! He wanted us here! He wanted our grief! Our rage!"
Ouen laughed, a sound utterly devoid of joy. "The scholar is clever," he called out. "Your hope is indeed a rare and potent fuel. But your grief… your grief is a delicacy." He turned his back on them, dismissing them. He faced his prisoners, a long, obsidian ritual dagger now in his hand. "Let the new age begin!"
He seized the first prisoner and, with a swift, brutal motion, slit the man's throat.
The blood did not spill. It sizzled, evaporating into a thick, black smoke that was instantly drawn into the obsidian stone. The altar pulsed, glowing from within with a sickly, violent purple light. The air grew impossibly cold, and the metaphysical dread they had felt at the crossroads returned, a hundred times stronger.
"FOR JORIC!" Eva's voice was a roar of pure, undiluted vengeance. "NOW!"
The four of them charged. It was a desperate, hopeless assault against a wall of Ouen's elite guards. Finnian was a blur, his belaying pin a deadly club. Hanna threw her pouches of herbs, creating clouds of choking, blinding dust. Praxus, armed with only his knowledge, desperately searched the glowing runes at the base of the Nexus. But Eva was a storm. Her grief had been forged into a terrible, focused weapon. She moved through the guards not with her usual defensive precision, but with a relentless, brutal offense, her sword a blur of silver fury.
But they were too late.
Ouen sacrificed another prisoner, and then a third. Each death fed the altar, its purple glow intensifying, the oppressive dread becoming a physical pressure that made their bones ache.
With the sacrifice of the fourth prisoner, the ritual reached its apex. The obsidian altar pulsed violently, and a column of pure, black energy erupted from it, punching a hole through the perpetually overcast sky.
For the first time in over a year, they saw the night above, not the familiar, comforting stars of Qy'iel, but a swirling, chaotic vortex of the Unwritten Void.
A new voice spoke in all their minds. It was not Ouen's theatrical boom, nor was it the cold, calm voice from the sermon. This was a voice of pure, cosmic antiquity. It had no words. It was a single, overwhelming broadcast of pure, ravenous emotion.
HUNGER.
The raw power that blasted down from the sky threw them back like leaves in a storm. The entire structure of the Nexus began to groan and tremble, the ancient Progenitor stones grinding against each other. The prison was destabilizing. The ritual was complete. Joric's sacrifice had been in vain.
Praxus saw Ouen standing on the altar, his arms raised in triumph, bathed in the terrible black light of his god. Their mission was a catastrophic failure. Their only option now was to survive.
"FALL BACK!" Eva's voice screamed, choked with fury and grief. "Joric did not die for us to join him! BACK TO THE AQUEDUCT!"
Praxus scrambled to his feet, grabbing Hanna's arm and pulling her along. Finnian was already there, helping Eva fight off a renewed wave of guards who were advancing through the chaos. They fought their way back towards the grate, towards the dark, watery tunnel that was their only hope of escape.
Behind them, the sky was tearing open. The world was groaning apart. And from the heart of Qar-Teth, a monstrous, hungry consciousness was pouring into their world, finally free to feast.
---
The Chronicle of the Fallen
Time Period Covered: Day 191 of the Age of Fear (continued)
Victims of the Covenant: 12 (The prisoners sacrificed by Ouen at the Nexus)
Deaths from Civil Unrest: 7 (Includes Royal Guards and Covenanters slain at Qar-Teth)
Total Lives Lost: 19
Of Note Among the Fallen:
— Lieutenant Joric of the Aethelburg Royal Guard, slain in the aqueducts of Qar-Teth.
— Twelve unidentified prisoners (a mix of local Zahram tribespeople and disillusioned Covenanter pilgrims), sacrificed at the Altar of the Nexus.