THE BLACKTHORN CODEX
Episode 27 — The Gates of Blood
November 16, 2023 — 9:15 AM
And as they left the cloister, a final shudder ran through their bodies: the certainty that the other altars awaited them, even more powerful and dangerous, scattered across the world, guarding the secrets of the ritual masters and the darkness they had awakened.
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The sun struggled to penetrate the Spanish mist, and the cloister bells had just rung. Leander and Clarisse were leaving the sanctuary, their bodies heavy from the previous struggle. The Codex against their chests felt hot, like a heart beating too fast.
"We must go further," Leander said, staring at the horizon. "The second altar isn't here."
"Where then?" Clarisse asked, her voice trembling but firm.
"According to the inscriptions... it's underground." A place once called Las Puertas de Sangre.
9:40 AM
After a harrowing trek through the hills, they reached a hidden gorge. There, between two rock walls, stood a sealed door, made of dark metal with embedded red veins. The door seemed to breathe, exhaling an icy vapor.
Clarisse took a step back.
"She... she's alive."
"Yes," Leander replied, his eyes fixed on the symbols. "It's an organic portal. It will only open with blood."
The Codex vibrated in his hands, the green runes illuminating in response to the red veins. An ancient phrase etched itself in their minds:
"The blood of the living opens the way, but only courage crosses it."
Leander drew a knife and lightly cut his palm. A drop of blood dripped onto the metal, absorbed immediately. The door groaned like a wounded creature, then slowly cracked, revealing a stone staircase plunging into darkness.
They descended, torches in hand, and immediately felt the air change: denser, heavier, saturated with the smell of iron and ash. Ancient frescoes covered the walls, depicting the ancient masters of the ritual. Some were painted as prophets, others as tyrants, and all held in their hands symbols strangely similar to those in the Codex.
Clarisse stopped in front of a fresco showing a woman with entirely black eyes.
"That's her..." she murmured. "The entity that lives within me. She was one of them."
"A master of the ritual," Leander confirmed. "And her fragment has survived within you."
The corridor suddenly opened onto a vast circular room. In the center, a stone altar, covered with chains and bones. Around them, twelve black statues, their faces erased by time.
But it wasn't the statues watching them. It was the guardian.
He stood up slowly behind the altar: a being of shadow and flesh, his torso covered in burned scars. His red eyes gleamed in the darkness. Each breath made the chains around the altar vibrate.
"You shall not pass," he said in a hollow voice. "The blood you gave is nothing. Here, it is your entire life that must be offered."
Léandre stood in front of Clarisse, holding up the Codex.
"We are not afraid of you."
The guardian smiled, revealing overgrown teeth.
"Then I will test the truth of your words."
The statues around the room began to move, one by one, animated by an invisible force. The circle closed. Clarisse felt the entity within her stir, ready to awaken.
"Leander… if I let her out, we might not be able to contain her anymore."
"Wait," he said, his eyes fixed on the guardian. "Give me a few minutes."
He opened the Codex and traced runes in the air, sending green lightning bolts toward the statues. But for every statue destroyed, two more seemed to come to life. The guardian laughed, his chains vibrating like snakes.
The fight was becoming desperate. Leander was bleeding from a gash on his shoulder. Clarisse was trembling, her hands clenched, the entity's voice echoing in her head:
"Free me. Let me consume their flesh. You can't do it alone."
Clarisse closed her eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek. Then she clenched her fists.
"No… not yet. But I will borrow your strength… without being yours."
Her eyes turned green, but not completely black. She launched a wave of energy that pulverized three statues in a single blast. The guardian recoiled, surprised.
Léandre, panting, took advantage of the opening to trace the central rune of the ritual. The altar lit up, projecting a light so bright that it pierced the guardian's very flesh. The shadow howled, its chains breaking, and disappeared in a burst of smoke.
Silence returned. The altar breathed again, peaceful. The Codex vibrated faintly, as if satisfied.
Clarisse knelt, exhausted.
"If every altar is like this... how many times can we survive?"
Léandre gently lifted her to her feet.
"As many times as necessary. Because behind every altar, there is a piece of truth." And only by gathering the whole truth can we understand what the masters truly created.
And as they left the circular room, the frescoes seemed to follow them with their gaze, as if the masters, dead for centuries, were awaiting their next move.