Griff spread his arms, and the circle of cultists began their chant anew. The symbols across the floor ignited, forming concentric rings around the altar.
"The Master," Griff said softly, "is the pulse beneath this place. The Undying king. The Host. His body sleeps beyond the veil, but His will hums through these halls, shaping reality to His rhythm."
Marcus forced a breath through dry lips. "You're telling me your boss is some ghost in the basement?"
Griff's eyes flicked to him. "You mock what you don't comprehend. My lord is not a ghost. He is persistence itself. I am merely His proxy—His caretaker. He grants me fragments of continuity. Years beyond the body's due."
Marcus studied Griff's face — and saw it then, faintly beneath the lamplight: skin too smooth, eyes too bright. A face that didn't quite age right.
Griff continued, his voice reverent. "The ritual keeps Him near. But it demands fuel. The well must be replenished."
He turned his gaze to the girl on the altar. "Lila is but a vessel. The Host cannot yet reach Thecla, the one He truly seeks. Her purity shields her from His hand."
Marcus froze. "Thecla…" He could finally breathe easy.She was still safe.
Griff's smile softened — almost pitying. "Yes. The one you chase in dreams. The one who speaks to you in silence. The hotel showed me your file long before you arrived. Your obsession made you useful. You drew the light here — her light — and so the Host awoke."
Marcus's throat tightened. "You're lying."
Griff stepped closer. "You still don't understand, do you? Thecla's divine essence protects her from us. But that light clings to those who love her, who ache for her. You, Marcus, are the bridge. The half-open door. You brought enough of her light to crack the seal of the Chamber."
Marcus shook his head. "I came to save her."
"You came to finish her work," Griff said calmly. "And through you, He will finally see the way back."
The chanting swelled.
Marcus glanced at Lila. Her face twitched — a single tear sliding down her cheek though her eyes stayed closed. The air around her shimmered violently, like a storm trying to form.
"Stop it," Marcus said, stepping forward.
Griff raised a hand, and an invisible force froze him mid-step.
"You see," Griff murmured. "Even the air obeys His will now."
The cultists' voices deepened, merging into one resonant hum. The sigils on the walls turned from gold to blood red.
Griff's voice rose. "The flame must be fed. Lila's life will bridge the void, and you, Detective, will seal it."
The floor quaked. The altar flared with crimson light.
Marcus's muscles trembled against the unseen pressure. He couldn't move — not until something flickered at the edge of his vision: a faint, silvery glow near the massive door at the chamber's far end.
The crescent-flame symbol etched into it had changed. A crack had formed at its center.
A thin beam of white light leaked through — pure and cold and utterly alien to the red glow of the ritual.
Griff followed his gaze. His tone shifted — wary now. "Ah… you see it too."
He moved toward the door, eyes narrowing. "The divine one's mark… persistent little fracture. Her influence should not reach this deep."
Marcus's mind raced. A weakness.
He looked at the altar — then the symbol — then at his flashlight, still gripped tight. He felt the hum of energy vibrating through his bones. He'd seen similar patterns before in ritual crime scenes — resonance points, feedback loops. Disrupt the focus, and the structure collapses.
He knew he couldn't win a fight. But he could break the circuit.
Griff was still staring at the light. "She defies Him," Griff murmured. "Even in absence. That light…"
Marcus moved before fear could stop him. He lunged sideways, grabbed his crowbar from his satchel, and hurled it toward the altar's base — right where the sigil rings converged.
The moment the metal struck stone, the circle exploded in a shower of sparks and screams.
The chamber roared.
The red sigils flared white-hot and shattered. The pressure holding Marcus vanished, hurling him backward. The cultists staggered, their chant broken.
And then — from the crack in the great door — a blinding surge of white radiance poured forth, consuming everything.
It wasn't light like sunlight. It was truth made visible. It burned without heat, purged without flame.
The glow flooded the antechamber, sweeping over the altar, over Lila, over Griff. The robes of the cultists caught fire — silent fire, devouring shadow instead of flesh.
Marcus hit the ground hard, blinking against the brilliance. His skin tingled as if scraped raw by invisible wind.
Through the haze, he saw Griff on his knees, face twisted in agony, shouting words that dissolved in the roar.
And Lila — her body convulsed once, the shimmer around her dissolving. The invisible force pinning her vanished.
Marcus crawled toward her, vision swimming. "Lila!"
Her eyes flickered open, wide and unfocused.
"Stay with me," he rasped, reaching for her hand.
Griff's voice echoed behind him, warped and furious. "You fool! You brought her light in here! Do you know what you've done?!"
Marcus ignored him. He lifted Lila into his arms — she was light, weightless. The light from the door intensified, vibrating the very air.
Griff rose, staggering, half his face seared with glowing veins of white. "You cannot save her. You've doomed us all. The Host is awakening!"
The walls of the chamber began to shift, the sigils crawling like living things, twisting into new shapes. The floor rippled beneath Marcus's knees.
He looked up — the crack in the door was widening. From within came the sound of breathing. Slow. Enormous.
He turned toward the exit passage, clutching Lila. The barrier that once blocked his way was gone. The light had burned it clean.
He stumbled forward. Behind him, Griff screamed—not at him, but at the walls themselves:
"Contain it! Seal it again!"
The chamber responded. The walls pulsed red, trying to close around him, to crush the passage shut.
Marcus didn't look back. He ran.