Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst
Chapter 86: The Cult’s Prize

Chapter 86: The Cult’s Prize

I ducked low, weaving through the chaos, my satchel tight against my side. The portal was my only hope—if I could get through it, if I could reach the city, I could hide, survive, maybe get a letter out to Lucian. This all went beyond my feelings, beyond whatever had happened between us, and I knew if anyone could do something to stop these psychos, it would be him.

A pulse of magic exploded across the courtyard. My ears rang as the impact sent a shockwave through the crowd, knocking people off their feet. I barely managed to stay upright, my balance wavering as the ground shifted beneath me.

It wasn’t just the ground, everyone was growing darker, and reality itself was warping, changing. I stumbled, gasping, as the Academy courtyard changed before my eyes. The pristine stone, the rows of chairs, the ceremonial banners, the trees that nearly glowed with mana—all of it melted away, replaced by... Oh god, I’m back at the temple.

No, no, no, no, no, not again! I can’t go back there! The staging ground for that violent ritual seemed like a schoolyard scuffle compared to what was happening now, and even so, if we were transported there, all of this death–it would feed into their purpose. I thought I had been lucky to get out last time, but here I was again, standing inside it. The towering stone walls closing in, the suffocating darkness pressing against my mind, those statues and whoever they represented were all back.

The cult was enacting the final stage of their plan, the dark mages were channeling their spells and pulling the Academy into their domain.

The portal still stood, and even as the world changed around me, I could focus on this one thing that could give me hope. Throwing caution to the wind, I darted from my cover and tore across the courtyard, propelling myself forward with everything I had.

I nearly collided with a statue that began to form out of thin air, dodging only by throwing myself to the side. My momentum carried me to the ground and I managed a couple of rolls to lessen the impact. Scrambling to my feet I took off once more–only for my escape to be cut short as a rough hand curled around my hair and sent me back to the ground.

I thrashed and resisted however possible, clawing at his arm and trying to peel his fingers out of my tangled hair, but it was all futile. I had to settle for holding the base of my hair to lessen the pain as he dragged me across the strange amalgamation of court yard and temple, tipping in favor of the latter.

The portal grew more distant with every passing second, as I was resigned to watching those I grew to care about die by the droves. My scalp burned as fingers twisted through my hair, yanking me back across the blood-slicked stone. My boots slipped in the mess, making it impossible to find my footing. The only thing keeping me upright was the cultist’s relentless grip, dragging me closer to the stage.

Screams filled my ears. Some were full of agony, others cut off sharply–gurgling, choking, fading into silence. I twisted against my captor’s grip, desperate to break free, but the effort only earned me another vicious tug, leaving blood pooling down my scalp.

There were so many people I knew, people I had studied with, people who had smiled at me in the halls just this morning. I could barely recognize many of those who hadn’t been able to escape the ambush.

Jorin, the alchemy apprentice, stared blankly at the sky, his throat split open, a pool of red beneath him.

Eila, the girl who always invited me to study sessions I never attended, kicked weakly as a cultist held her still, his hands pressed against her chest. Her body convulsed as her mana was sucked from her, veins blackening under her skin. She barely managed a choked gasp before she crumpled, withered and empty, a husk of her former self.

Professor Alden stood near the steps of the stage, magic crackling between his fingers, hurling bolts of pure arcane energy at the cultists surrounding him. His face grim with determination as he locked onto target after target. They were dropping like flies as he switched between offensive and defensive spells, but I could tell that he was burning through his mana reserves.

Then, as inevitable as any other part of this bloodbath, his body jerked. All I could do was watch, completely helpless as his feet lifted off the ground, an unseen force twisting his limbs in ways they were never meant to bend. His mouth opened in a silent scream for help—then he burst like an engorged tick.

Blood, bone, and viscera were everything. I was thankful that he was so far away and I didn’t have to get coated in that mess. Unfortunately, others weren’t quite as lucky. I think I felt more sick that I was already becoming numb to the horrors, like I was watching a morbid theatre show play out.

Despite everything I did to try and break free, the cultist barely acknowledged my existence. Every time I tried to spark my magic into existence, I could feel it fizzle out. Something was targeting me, nullifying my abilities, leaving me feeling small and helpless as he hauled me toward the stage—toward my fate.

A man—if he could even be called that—stood at the top of the stairs, watching the massacre unfold with apathetic amusement. He didn’t need to lift a hand. He didn’t need to shout commands. This was all unfolding exactly as he intended.

My fingers fumbled at my satchel, brushing against the dagger hidden inside. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I reached for the handle—then something burned, not my hands, but within me.

A white-hot pulse flared along my forehead, nearly knocking me unconscious with the overwhelming crushing pressure that felt as though my head was in a vice grip. My vision blurred as my body seized up, my muscles locking in place.

My satchel pulsed with light, no, with some sort of negative light, a bone-chilling glow that seeped through the fabric and took the form of an eye with a slash through it. The amulet I was given--when did it get in my bag? What was happening to me? Why couldn’t I move?

The stone steps bit into my knees as I was forced down, tearing my thoughts out of my head as well as stealing my breath, leaving me gasping and shaking. The cultist ripped his hand free from my hair, taking too much hair with him, but only so he could shove me forward, making me stumble on all fours in front of that same figure I saw in that temple.

I tried to lift my head but I couldn’t move, my body was trembling, but my arms didn’t respond, neither did my legs or any other part of me.

The cult leader stepped forward, and I could only see the bottom part of his robes and the tips of his boots. I internally flinched as I felt his fingers touch my chin, lifting my gaze to climb up his form until we were making eye contact.

He was tall, draped in dark robes embroidered with runes that seemed to shift and move, twisting like living things but reeking of death. His face was partially obscured by his hood, but what I could see smiled down at me. A slow, knowing curl of his lips that would have crippled me if I could move.

He regarded me with reverence, something precious, something valuable. I had no idea how to process what was happening or why any of it needed to occur.

His voice was smooth, rich with amusement. Despite the way he addressed me, the sickening way he looked down at me like I was the ultimate prize–there was a mocking tone lacing every word.

"Look at you," he mused, his head tilting as he examined me. "The beloved Mara. The one who walked so willingly into the darkness... and yet, still tries to crawl back to the light."

He crouched down, leveling himself with me, studying my face as though committing every detail to memory. "You should not struggle so. There is no need for fear, child. No need for pain."

His hand reached out and I just had to let him touch me. The thought reviled me, but squirming under his touch wouldn’t change anything. I needed to focus, listen, and try to determine what was going on. If I could get any information to help Caidan stop this, I would need to be at full attention.

Cold fingers ghosted over my cheek, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to scream or vomit, not that either was an option.

"You are vital," he continued, his voice soft, almost soothing. "More vital than you know. Than even he knows." His thumb traced my jaw, then trailed downward, past my collar bone, my breasts–until it stopped.

Right above my stomach.

"Ah... there it is," he whispered. "The gift you bring us."

I nearly passed out from shock, there shouldn’t have been any way they knew, no one knew, not even my closest friends.

His smile widened, sharp as a blade. "As long as you behave, my dear, no harm will come to you. No harm will come to it."