Dorothy’s Forbidden Grimoire Novel - Chapter 455

Chapter 455## Dark Night of the Crown, Pt. 1 (Paraphrase)

Far into the storm-lashed night, on the desolate cliffs skirting Adria, the grotesque hybrid of shark and man visibly shuddered, its shape altering swiftly. Mere seconds later, it stood fully human. Revealed was a man appearing between forty and fifty, his complexion sallow beneath a drenched robe, features distinguished by a severe scar slicing across his face and a dense black beard. As the man solidified his human aspect, the figures gathered on the cliff’s edge bowed deeply in unison, displaying reverence.

The man ignored the salutes for a moment. He pivoted instead, peering across the black void towards the city’s distant glow, then spoke, his tone hushed.

“Antonio… is he gone?”

“Confirmed, Garyb,” answered the man identified as Moffat, stepping closer. “Cardinal Antonio departed Adria for Pace at dawn. He must be leagues distant by now.”

A sigh escaped Garyb. “Finally departed, then. That ancient obstruction… without his meddling, this affair would have reached its conclusion long before now.”

“Garyb, the final contribution lies within the Net Flow Cathedral,” interjected Semir from beside Garyb. “If we mean to seize it, the critical moment is upon us.”

Garyb listened intently, then gave a sharp nod. “Advance… we no longer have the luxury of time to squander.”

He stood abruptly, striding towards the haze of distant city lights. Semir, Moffat, and the others fell into formation behind him, their shapes melting into the shadows as they moved towards Adria.

……

Deep within the night, Adria Cathedral Plaza.

The enormous square, teeming by daylight, now lay utterly empty. A solitary wind skittered across the open space. Only the sparse lamps dotting the plaza’s edges and the central cathedral offered feeble resistance to the pervasive darkness.

Concealed within this gloom at the square’s perimeter, Garyb and his followers remained unseen. They observed the distant cathedral and the faint, unwavering gleam emanating from its spire through the murky air. To an unknowing observer, it might resemble just another gas lamp crowning the holy building. Garyb knew better instantly – it was no lamp, but the radiance of the Crown of Immanuel, the Net Flow Cathedral’s paramount relic. Its very luminescence rendered close approach hazardous.

Poised at the shadow’s brink, Garyb locked his gaze on the cathedral spire’s dim light. From his robes, he withdrew a slender bone tablet etched with complex symbols. A faint vibration passed through it, and a ghostly apparition seeped from its surface, rapidly swelling. It materialized as the phantom of a young man in a greatcoat, eyes vacant and unseeing. A spirit tethered to the bone relic.

With the spirit summoned, Garyb acted without delay. A gesture, and the spectral form twisted violently before plunging into Garyb’s own body. Garyb paused briefly, then deliberately raised both hands, focusing his spiritual power to awaken the unique abilities granted by the absorbed soul.

Abruptly, the air grew dense. Water vapor condensed, materializing swiftly across the plaza. A heavy fog burgeoned visibly, draping the already shadowed scene in a deeper shroud. Visibility plummeted.

The widespread mist permeated the plaza and seeped into the surrounding city lanes. Its thickest concentration enveloped the Net Flow Cathedral. As the ornate crown perched upon the spire met this saturated air, it instantly ignited with a potent red-gold blaze. Ordinarily, such brilliance would light the entire square, visible afar. But trapped within the suffocating fog, the relic’s warning flare was savagely smothered, its light unable to penetrate far into the gloom.

Having conjured the fog to neutralize the Crown’s beacon and noted the muffled glow throbbing in the distance, Garyb stepped forward, marching resolutely into the impenetrable haze. His companions followed without question.

Garyb progressed steadily through the fog, navigating towards the faint halo ahead. Soon, the stark outline of the Net Flow Cathedral took shape within the swirling vapor. His goal was near. Suddenly, Garyb froze, instinct screaming alarm.

“Be Dissolved!”

A commanding, resonant voice thundered from deep within the fog. Simultaneously, a blinding flash of golden light erupted barely a dozen strides from Garyb. This radiance outshone even the Crown’s stifled glow. Despite the fog, its ferocity forced Semir and the others to shield their eyes.

“This…” Garyb growled, expression hardening.

Under Garyb’s scowling gaze and the stunned stares of Semir and his men, the surrounding fog began to dissipate under the relentless assault of the golden light. Visibility surged. Then, as the brilliant glare dimmed to bearable levels, a figure solidified at its source.

Standing upon the stone steps before the Net Flow Cathedral’s grand entrance, robed in ornate vestments and grasping a long staff, Cardinal Antonio surveyed the intruders. Behind him stood Archdeacon Oliver Vedder of Adria and Paul Eder, Head of the Deep Cover Units. Farther back, lines of Deep Cover agents aimed their rifles at the newcomers.

“An-Antonio!” Semir stammered, voice breaking.

“Impossible! Weren’t you gone by morning?” Moffat added, face etched with disbelief.

Observing their sheer terror, Antonio offered a faint smile. “True. Departure at dawn was indeed my plan. But catching wind of thieves… avaricious thieves… plotting to loot this repository, a place of such profound meaning for Adria… convinced me an extended visit was wise. Though, I admit,” his tone sharpened, “I did not expect thieves linked to the grave-robbing societies to hold such notable standing.

“Yield, Soul Coven agents.”

As he spoke, Antonio slammed his staff imperiously onto the stone. An invisible force rippled outwards, washing over the gathered Soul Cult members. Instantly, the disciples of the Sand Scythe Society were struck by excruciating pain and profound disarray. With Garyb the sole exception, every single grave-robbing acolyte collapsed to the ground, shrieking in torment, bodies convulsing uncontrollably.

Grave robbing was perilous, its practitioners forever accumulating a tapestry of old injuries concealed beneath mended skin. Exploiting his mastery of the Crimson-tier Path of Salvation, Cardinal Antonio had mercilessly targeted this weakness. He instantaneously reactivated and catastrophically exacerbated every dormant, unhealed wound on their bodies. Under the crushing burden of accumulated bodily treachery, the Soul Cult elites fell helplessly, stripped of all capacity to resist. Even Semir and Moffat – both White Ash tier – succumbed. Garyb himself faltered, brought down as much by the agonizing return of forgotten injuries as by sheer surprise.

“Exposed… then?” he ground out through gritted teeth. Though confusion raged over how their meticulously planned scheme was uncovered, surrender was unthinkable.

Fighting the agony, he ripped two densely inscribed bone plaques from his robes. Translucent spirits burst forth from the bone, shimmering ethereal giants taking form. They resolved: one, an eagle; the other, a lioness. These entities, Soulbound Flickers chained to the plaques, instantly merged into Garyb’s core. His body convulsed. Garyb’s head expanded, reshaping into the massive, maned skull and lethal fangs of a male lion. His hands warped violently into hooked talons. With a sound of tearing cloth, enormous wings exploded from his back, shredding the tattered remnants of his robe. Within a heartbeat, Garyb had become a fearsome chimera – lion’s head, powerful limbs, and vast, sweeping wings.

“ROAR!”

The monstrous lion-headed creature unleashed a deafening roar, sheer will overriding the agony tearing through its flesh. Garyb snatched a fistful of bone plaques from his garments. Then, with a thunderous beat of his colossal wings, he launched vertically skyward. Instantly he pivoted in the air, plunging downwards with terrifying speed towards Antonio. The Cardinal met the onslaught by raising his staff defensively.

“CLANG!”

A resonant *CLANG*, sharp as a funeral bell, echoed as Garyb’s talons crashed against Antonio’s staff. Colossal force hammered down. The stone beneath Antonio’s feet fractured into intricate webs. The shockwave hurled Archdeacon Oliver and Paul stumbling several steps backward. As they instinctively moved to aid him, Antonio barked an urgent command:

“Hold your positions!”

They froze. Simultaneously, Garyb executed his grim countermove. With a savage crunch, he clenched his clawed fist, pulverizing the bone plaques within. A wailing chorus erupted instantly—dozens, perhaps hundreds of tormented souls poured from the fragments. Animal specters shrieked alongside humanoid phantoms.

This spectral flood surged forth immediately, whirling around Garyb and Antonio at blinding velocity. A deathly chill saturated the air. The forms of both fighters began to waver and blur beneath the hurricane of shrieking spirits.

“This is… the Nether Descent?” Antonio murmured, a grim recognition almost palpable. “A desperate throw. Yet… inadequate containment!”

The lion’s head turned, eerie intelligence gleaming. “Containment is meaningless,” rumbled Garyb, the lion-phantom hybrid snarling against the Cardinal’s resistance. “For I shall emerge first!”

Scarcely were the words spoken, Garyb maintained crushing force on Antonio. The spiraling storm of unbound souls reached critical intensity. Rotating at impossible speed – their combined momentum tearing fissures in reality – they united in an ear-splitting shriek that pierced the night. An eerie cold blue radiance pulsed violently outward. The light flared—incandescently bright—and vanished like extinguished lightning.

Instantly, every one of the hundred-plus howling spirits dissolved back into formless energy, draining into nothingness. Gone too were Garyb and Antonio.

This was the Nether Descent – a ritual boon of the high-tier Path of Silence. Its grim equation? Liberating scores of souls yearning for the veil of the Netherworld. Such a concentrated, simultaneous release strains the barriers between realities. The practitioner then harnesses the powerful pull generated, using it to drag themselves – and any caught nearby – beyond the material world, forcibly ejected alongside the departing tide into the Netherworld, a prominent layer beneath reality.

“Silence”-attuned wielders commanded undeniable power within such realms, leveraging its desolation for devastating tactical advantage. Yet the brutal price? The permanent sacrifice of bound souls. Nether Descent exacted costs too severe for casual use.

As Garyb and Antonio vanished into the Netherworld’s void, Oliver and Paul stood momentarily stunned, facing suddenly empty air. Clearly, they hadn’t foreseen adversaries possessing such profound arcane knowledge and iron resolve. The commotion erupting anew at the foot of the stairs instantly snapped their focus back. Freed from Antonio’s incapacitating power by his physical removal, the elite Sand Scythe specialists of White Ash rank surged back to their feet. Paul instantly assumed command.

“Stand Down!” he roared at the stirring figures. “Drop immediately!”

Hope of compliance vanished. Semir, Moffat, and their followers ignored him – movement erupted. Each yanked bone plaques forth, instantly fusing with Soulbound Flickers. Phantoms – figures scarcely humanoid, blended with bestial traits – merged violently with their hosts. Seeing his warnings ignored, Paul snarled the lethal order: “FIRE!”

Rifles cracked as his agents unleashed volleys into the Soulbound Cultists. Yet already augmented by phantasmal strength, these spirit-warriors scarcely recoiled. Several displayed impossible agility, flowing gracefully past seeking bullets. Others struck upward with blades – a chilling clarity ringing like death chimes – deflecting slugs harmlessly aside.

“Push through the gate!” Semir spat, his blade jarring harshly from a mid-air deflection. “Whoever claims that prize seals our triumph—riches beyond imagining await!”