Mystery: Gray Walker

Chapter 6 Ceremony

"No... I didn't do this... it wasn't me..." It was a man's voice filled with fear, as if he were being choked.

Immediately afterwards, the voice suddenly turned violent and manic, the pitch rising sharply and becoming shrill and piercing:

"Father God! Father God! Only by gaining power can I..."

Suddenly, the sound switched to a woman's heart-wrenching sobs:

"My child... William, please... give me back my heart..."

Then, a little girl's voice, innocent yet strangely hollow, rang out:

"Daddy...why is there a sound coming from your tummy?"

Finally, all these sounds were drowned out by a nervous, hysterical burst of laughter, filled with pain, madness, and a chilling sense of satisfaction.

The laughter was interspersed with wet, subtle sounds, as if muscle fibers were being forcibly stretched.

"No... this isn't just a simple Rank 7 promotion... it's more like... incubating something..."

Upon hearing this, Green frowned. The white cat's meaning was clear: the situation on the ground did not match the information it had, and the danger was escalating rapidly.

His only consolation now is that he didn't come alone.

The white cat's tail was taut, and it whispered at Green's feet:

"The situation is worse than expected... He is not only being devoured by the 'curse,' but he is also actively using that twisted power to try to forcibly 'fuse' the vengeful spirits of those being devoured with his own flesh and blood."

"He is now a walking 'living curse aggregate.' Be careful, his spiritual perception may be confused, but the instinctive defenses of the 'domain' will be extremely sensitive. Any hostile spiritual fluctuations or excessive physical disturbances could trigger him."

Without it saying anything, Green had already guessed it.

His gaze swept across the messy living room and landed on the half-open doorway leading to the kitchen.

Knives can usually be found there. Since mental attacks are ineffective, physical attacks will suffice.

He lowered his body, preparing to move towards the kitchen, but the white cat at his feet seemed to have sensed his intention and gently brushed his calf with its tail.

"Don't be foolish," the white cat said urgently.

"His current resilience far exceeds your imagination. An ordinary blade might not even be able to cut through the skin, but would instead feel like hitting rubber. And you, an ordinary person, would not have the strength to inflict a fatal wound, but would instead be immediately targeted and counterattacked by those 'living curses' within him."

Green paused, his brow furrowing. If they couldn't rely on firearms, and ordinary weapons were ineffective, wouldn't their chances of survival be slim?

The white cat raised its head, its nose twitching slightly, as if trying to detect some more subtle scent in the air besides the smell of blood.

"There's still a chance. The core of the ritual is definitely still there; it's the 'external anchor' and 'conversion furnace' that he uses to balance the internal conflicts and achieve 'fusion.' Destroying it is like removing the last brick from his foundation."

"What is the core of the ritual?"

"Every feast of flesh and blood offered as sacrifice to 'that being' requires a 'container' to hold the original 'core of sacrifice' and 'seed of fusion'."

The white cat spoke faster, "It's usually the most spiritual organ or part of the sacrificed person, ritually processed, becoming a nexus connecting the power of 'that being' and harmonizing the curses of vengeful spirits. Find it, destroy it!"

"You mean... if the so-called 'core' is destroyed, the ritual will be forcibly interrupted, and the balance within his body will collapse instantly?" Green looked at the white cat.

"Yes, when the time comes, the 'curse' and 'fusion power' that have lost their external coordination will clash wildly within his body, and the backlash will reach its peak. We can keep the danger to a minimum, at least we won't be facing a fully formed monster."

The white cat paused, then added, "The core of the ritual is usually not far from the host, and it emits unique spiritual fluctuations and... a nauseating 'life force'... Come with me..."

Upon entering, there is a small foyer with worn black and white checkerboard tiles, which connects to a not-so-spacious living room.

The heavy scarlet velvet curtains were half-drawn, an oak coffee table was overturned on the floor, and the brass candlesticks on it had rolled to the side, with solidified candle wax splattered everywhere.

The candle liquid was a dark reddish-black color, unlike ordinary wax.

In the living room, a high-backed armchair lay askew, its expensive cushion torn, revealing the dark yellow filling inside. All of this indicated that a fierce struggle had taken place here.

He and the white cat quickly and silently checked the other rooms.

There was no kitchen, no study, no bedroom, and they even carefully checked the bathroom.

Got nothing.

But the more Green examined the furniture, the more he felt a chill of being watched, as if the bloodstains splattered on the walls and furniture were themselves countless eyes.

The person and the cat reunited at the bottom of the stairs, both looking towards the stairs to the second floor.

The situation doesn't look good, which means they have to get closer to the source of that madness.

"despair"

"despair"

The higher they climbed, the clearer the sounds of weeping, cursing, and maniacal laughter became.

The sound clearly pointed to the master bedroom at the very end of the second-floor corridor.

Just as Green was about to move toward the dark wooden door, the white cat suddenly stopped.

Its nostrils twitched rapidly, and its ears turned diagonally upwards, as if it were trying to catch something.

A moment later, it raised one of its front paws, silently stopping Green in his tracks, and then looked at him and shook its head.

The core spiritual energy fluctuations of the ritual site did not originate on the second floor. That distorted 'life force' came from above.

The white cat's gaze shifted to the corner of the corridor ceiling.

There was a trapdoor that blended almost seamlessly into the dark wallpaper and required a rope to open; that was the entrance to the third-floor attic.

It gestured to Green with its eyes.

The core is there.

This means they must find and enter the attic without alerting the cursed being on the second floor, and destroy the ritual core.

The attic trapdoor was locked with a simple bolt, and the wood was already somewhat rotten.

The difficulty and danger of the mission suddenly increased.

Green held his breath and carefully pried open the latch with his fingertips, making almost no sound.

He gently pushed it upwards, and a cloud of dust fell, accompanied by the damp smell of old wood and mold.

The trapdoor was heavier than he had expected, and he had to use some force to push it open completely, the hinges making a sickeningly fine creaking sound.

The moment the sound was made, the babbling in the second-floor bedroom abruptly stopped.

Immediately afterwards, there was a dull thud as something heavy rolled down, followed by a groan of confusion and pain.

Green and the white cat froze instantly, their hearts pounding in their throats.

Time seemed to stand still.

A few seconds later, the chaotic babbling resumed, seemingly more agitated and frequent, but showed no sign of moving toward the door.

Without daring to delay any longer, Green braced himself on the edge with both hands and nimbly flipped over. The white cat silently leaped onto his shoulder and followed him inside.

The attic was low and dark, making it almost impossible to stand upright.

Only a few faint rays of light pierced through the cracks in the roof and the only small, dusty round window, illuminating the dust particles dancing in the air.

An indescribable aroma, a blend of ancient spices and a faint, sweet, fishy scent, filled their nostrils.

Right in the very center of this attic, a complex magic circle outlined with a dark red viscous liquid was clearly visible.

The lines of the magic circle seemed to be wriggling and pulsating extremely slowly.

Around the magic circle, several unsettling items were arranged according to a certain pattern:

An old silver pocket watch with a broken edge, its hands frozen at a certain moment.

A small clump of long-dried hair tied with a black ribbon.

A wooden puppet carved with a pained face, its lips forcibly sewn into an upward smile with red thread.

There were also a few white candles that had burned out, leaving behind twisted wax tears.

At the very core of this ritual array, on a low platform resembling an altar, supported by a small pure silver dish, three tongues were prominently displayed.