Invading The Ritual Site!

Harry stood still, gazing at the invisible barrier in front of him. It loomed like an impenetrable wall, steady and unyielding, its presence filling the space with a sense of finality. But Harry didn't appear discouraged. Instead, he had something else in mind; a different approach.

With a quiet determination, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an object that immediately drew everyone's attention. It was a golden key, its surface shimmering with a mysterious glow. The key was made of an unfamiliar material, etched with intricate runes, symbols that seemed to pulse with ancient energy, as if they held secrets of a time long past.

Steven, standing nearby, watched Harry's movements with increasing uncertainty. His eyebrows furrowed, a wave of hesitation crossing his features. "Zack, what are you doing?" Steven asked, his voice laced with concern. He had no idea what Harry was planning, but something about this felt different.

Harry didn't respond immediately. Instead, he began walking toward the altar, holding the golden key in front of him like a beacon. The air around them seemed to shift as he moved, and when he approached the barrier, something unexpected happened. The invisible wall, which had once blocked every attempt to break through, simply parted for him. No resistance, no struggle, Harry walked straight through it, as though he was part of the ritual itself.

Steven's eyes widened in disbelief. "How is that possible?" he muttered, barely able to comprehend what he was seeing. Harry had entered the ceremony with ease, something that should have been impossible. The ritual had already begun, and no external force should have been able to penetrate it unless it was stronger than the ritual itself. But Harry hadn't displayed any power like that.

The Great Elder, still reeling from his defeat, couldn't hold back his shock either. He watched in stunned silence as Harry passed through the barrier without a single problem. "The power of the ritual accepted him…" His voice trailed off in confusion. "How is this possible? He should have no claim to this power."

Harry had been prepared for a challenge, but the key had done something he didn't expect, it had aligned him with the power of the ritual. The key had been given to him by Jenna, a relic tied to the ancient rites of Malian City. Harry remembered Jenna's warning, but even she hadn't anticipated that this key could hold such sway over the ritual. It was a tool of access, one that could bind him to the very forces that were attempting to reshape the city.

The Great Elder, quickly understanding the situation, cursed under his breath. "The key…" He muttered, staring at the object in Harry's hand with a mix of awe and frustration. "But what is that key truly capable of?"

Harry didn't waste time listening to the Great Elder's musings. He continued walking, the golden key glowing softly as he moved deeper into the heart of the ceremony. The atmosphere was thick with the dark energy of the ritual, but there was an eerie silence here, no unnecessary decorations, no grandeur; only the cold, haunting sight of corpses, lifeless bodies drained of every ounce of vitality.

The bodies were piled high, stacked like discarded objects, each one a fighter once captured by the Black Council for their twisted purposes. Harry's eyes flicked over the bodies, his thoughts sharp, analytical. The number and quality of the sacrifices here were staggering, more than anything he had ever seen. He had once used captured fighters for his own advancement, but this? This was on an entirely different scale.

As he continued forward, he caught sight of something that made his heart stop. A figure in the corner, half-hidden among the piles of corpses. It was a familiar face, though unrecognizable at first glance.

"Sister Ellie..." Harry whispered under his breath.

Her body lay there, still wearing the training uniform of the Red Bird Martial Arts Dojo, but she was little more than a dried husk, her once-vibrant form now reduced to a mere shell. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. If not for his keen senses, he might not have even recognized her among the carnage.

For a long moment, Harry stood still, his eyes fixed on Ellie's body, a cold fire burning in his chest. The sight of her, taken and used as a sacrificial offering, filled him with a growing rage. His fists clenched tightly, the anger rising within him. But there was no time for grief, not yet.

With one final, regretful glance, Harry turned away and pressed on. He moved forward, pushing through the lingering sorrow, his mind focused on the task at hand. His steps carried him to the very center of the altar.

There, before him, was a massive pool, swirling with dark energy, its depths almost bottomless. The air around it crackled with power, the ritual's energy pouring into the pool from every direction. This was the source, the focal point of the ceremony.

Standing near the pool was a figure, a man, though his features were pale and ghostly. He was hunched and thin, his appearance vaguely familiar. As Harry drew closer, he recognized the likeness. The old man standing before him looked very much like the Great Elder, though much older, and marked by a strange red symbol between his eyebrows.

The old man was silent, watching Harry with an inscrutable expression, his presence adding to the already overwhelming sense of dread that filled the air. Harry's heart quickened as he approached, knowing that this figure was no mere bystander, he was a key player in the ritual that could change everything.

The old man stood in the center of the room, unmoving, as though he hadn't noticed Harry's arrival at all. His gaze was fixed somewhere far beyond the walls, as if the events unfolding around him were of no consequence. There was an eerie calmness to his presence, an unsettling stillness that seemed to defy the chaos of the ritual.

"Are you the leader of the Black Council?" Harry asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

The old man didn't respond immediately. Instead, he let out a long, heavy sigh, the sound echoing in the quiet space. It was almost as if he were speaking to himself, not to Harry at all.

"Sure enough, someone came in," the old man murmured, as though he had been expecting this.

Finally, he turned slowly to face Harry. The faint light from the ritual flickered across his face, revealing his gaunt features. He was so thin, his body almost skeletal, resembling a mummy more than a man. The sight was enough to make even Harry pause.

"You…" Harry began, his brow furrowing. "Are you considering yourself a sacrifice as well?"

He had performed many sacrifices in his time, using others to fuel his own power, but the old man's condition was different. His body had shriveled, most of it reduced to a fragile shell, the skin clinging tightly to what little remained of his bones. To anyone else, this would be the point of death, but somehow, the old man still stood, his consciousness intact.

The old man smiled faintly, his voice calm and almost reverent. "It is my great honor to be a sacrifice to the gods, to contribute my strength to their revival."

Harry's lips tightened as he listened, irritation flickering across his face. Before the old man could continue his speech, Harry's sword flashed through the air with deadly precision, cutting through the air and slicing cleanly through the old man's neck.

A look of astonishment spread across the old man's face, his body stiffening as his head detached and fell silently to the ground with a soft, sickening thud.

"Who wants to listen to your nagging?" Harry muttered, his voice a quiet snarl of disdain.

He stood there, looking down at the severed head with cold indifference, his eyes flicking between the head and the body. Years of experience had taught Harry to recognize when someone was stalling for time. The old man's expression had been a clear sign that he was about to deliver a long speech, perhaps a sermon on the virtues of the Blood Moon God or some other propaganda. But Harry had no interest in listening to it. There was work to be done.

'If I kill him while he's ill, at least I won't have to waste time with his nonsense,' Harry thought.

Turning away, he was about to begin searching for a way to stop the ceremony when a long sigh reached his ears.

"Are all young people nowadays so impatient?"

Harry froze. His hand clenched around his sword. He slowly turned, his expression unreadable, and looked back at the body and the severed head.

To his disbelief, the old man's head, now lying lifeless on the ground, was still speaking. His voice was eerily calm, as though nothing had happened.

'This is… ridiculous.'

Harry stared, his brows knitting in confusion. "You can still speak even though your body is gone?"

The old man's head gave a slight, ghostly chuckle. "Indeed, as long as you believe in the God of Blood Moon, such miracles are possible."

Harry was unfazed by the display. 'Of course, a charlatan like him must have something special up his sleeve.'

He wasn't interested in entertaining the old man's words. The idea of switching sides, of joining the Black Council, seemed absurd to him. 'Defection?' Harry thought bitterly. 'What, so you can promise me more power and energy? What a joke.'

The old man's voice continued to float toward him, trying to coax him into submission. "You could be part of something greater. You could have power beyond imagination. All you need to do is pledge yourself to the God of Blood Moon, and your strength will grow, your desires fulfilled."

Harry didn't even look at the old man anymore. He wasn't about to be fooled by these empty promises. Instead, he turned his attention back to the altar. He knew the truth; this old man had no more power than to sustain his own miserable existence. There was no convincing Harry to join their cause. The only thing that mattered now was finding a way to stop the ritual.

Harry began to walk further into the center of the altar, the air thick with dark energy. His eyes scanned the dense array of runes that covered the walls and the ground, the symbols glowing faintly with unnatural light. Some of these runes were familiar to him from his experiences with the Ritual of Life, but many were new; strange, intricate symbols he had never seen before.

The complexity of the ceremony was beyond anything he had encountered. Compared to the simple rites of life he had once been involved in, this ritual was on an entirely different scale. Harry's mind raced as he studied the runes, trying to decipher them. 'There has to be a way to stop this,' he thought, his fingers brushing lightly over the symbols, feeling the pulse of dark energy beneath his touch.

The old man's voice echoed behind him, trying to draw him back. But Harry, undeterred, ignored him completely. The Black Council's games were over. It was time to end this.