Chapter 240: The Creeps
Cyrus Solaris
After escaping the meteor shower and crash-landing in this lush new terrain of the rift, I lay paralyzed against a sturdy tree for several hours. It was half the size of the World Trees back in the jungle.
I was beginning to understand just how difficult an astral rift could be.
There were so many variables, and they all had a great impact on how things actually transpired.
I was barely managing to stay alive. I probably should have died already, and in that moment, I was glad I had disobeyed Gramps and taken back the Scale of the Eternal Hydra.
When I make it back, I'm sure he will understand.
But now I was beginning to wonder why some of the things I had learned about rifts at the academy hadn’t appeared in the first rift I conquered.
It was much different, actually.
I never brought it up in class because I thought it might blow my cover and expose my father. But one day I'd get those answers.
It took another hour or so for the Scale of the Hydra to repair my spine and nerves, followed by another thirty minutes to get rid of the stiffness.
With my body back to normal, I focused on what I could gather from Gravisense.
Surprisingly enough, I wasn’t being bombarded with gravitational wave information like I was in the dense jungle. But there was one thing that created a large distortion in space.
It was the pyramid, which was maybe another five or ten miles inward.
I looked over at my moon lying on the patch of grass and sighed as I made it orbit me once again.
I kept trudging east through the hot, humid terrain.
After another mile or so, the lush area I was in faded into a forest of white.
My feet sank into a sea of sand the color of powdered bone. The trees were sparse, their trunks thin and twisting, while their roots peeked through the sand as if reaching toward the orange skylight, begging to be blessed by its rays.
The space felt forgotten.
Not many things grew out here. The leaves of these plants were hardened, built to retain as much water as possible, unlike the thin leaves of the jungle.
My throat itched for just an ounce of water, but then, as I continued to walk through this white sand forest, I noticed something peculiar.
There was red liquid that pooled in the shallow depressions of sand.
I sprinted toward it, bounding through the powdery mineral.
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I knelt and cupped my hands. I didn’t care what it was at this point; I just needed the liquid.
I was going to let the Scale of Hydra deal with the repercussions.
When I dipped my hands into the small red puddle, the liquid was thicker than I expected; I just chalked it up to the sand clumping up and mixing in.
I brought it to my lips and slurped it.
It had a metallic taste, almost as if it were filled with copper or iron.
Wait, this is…
I spat out the liquid, stood up, and scanned the white sand forest.
There were numerous pools of red liquid.
Pools of blood.
Then I remembered the name I was meant to travel to.
The Blood Chateau.
The Elyria continent creeps me out.
Before I took another step, I focused on the gravitational waves.
Everything still seemed normal, so I pressed forward.
I walked for what seemed like another couple of miles until I stumbled upon a fence made of long, jagged bones.
A large, arched entrance stood before me, with a long gray rectangular slate bearing the words: Blood Chateau.
Inside, there were large tombstones made out of obsidian, plotted in curving lines across the white sand, and in the middle of it was a lone black shed.
I walked through the arched entranceway, and everything in my being told me not to walk over to that shed, but my curiosity got the best of me.
So I walked cautiously over towards it, my senses on high alert.
I got to the door; it was thin and eroded. I was surprised its hinges remained; honestly, I was surprised the shed itself was still standing.
I swung the door open, and it creaked loudly, ruining any chance I had of remaining inconspicuous.
Inside the shed was barren, except for a small, worn-down study.
On the study table were old, oxidized, paper-like sheets.
The orange light that peeked through the shed windows dimmed as I walked over to look at the paper.
A sudden chill washed over me.
My eyes darted side to side, picking up nothing but floating dust particles; nothing registered with graivsense either.
I picked up the sheets; there was a list of instructions, which I assumed were for whoever used to be in charge of this graveyard.
But as I continued to read, the instructions had nothing to do with any upkeep of the Blood Chateau.
It seemed like someone was writing instructions for a meal: 35 liters of water, 20 kilograms of carbon, 4 liters of ammonia, 1.5 kilograms of lime, 800 grams of phosphorus, 250 grams of salt, 100 grams of saltpeter, 80 grams of sulfur, 7.5 grams of Fluorine, 5 grams of iron, 3 grams of silicon, and trace elements found in the blood of the mad ones.
Gather all the ingredients, mix them, let them bathe in the light of the blood moon while imbuing the mixture with cosmic energy, stir until it thickens, and chant the words: May thy flesh awaken, and may thy blood recall the wandering soul that death has claimed. For I reclaim what was lost, be made anew. Enter thy vessel and rise once more!
The ingredients made little sense at first. Why would anyone need this specific combination of materials? And why were the instructions so precise about mixing them and exposing them to the blood moon?
There was something I was missing, but I didn’t have time to linger.
I was closer than ever to getting the information I needed– and finally beating this rift.
I folded the sheets, tucked them into one of the front pockets of my combat suit, and rushed out of the shed to search for the tomb I was supposed to dig up.