The Heavenly Demon of Terror-Chapter 314: The Hollow Altar, Heart of Oblivion

Samuel's POV

I stood at the edge of the ritual circle, boots planted firm against the rune-etched stone, arms crossed. The starlit basin at the center pulsed like a living thing, filled with cosmic ichor — or maybe just fate given form.

Roselle stood like a monarch cloaked in silence. Beside her, Nocturne — the Goddess of Despair — tilted her head, watching me like a cat sizing up whether I was prey, a threat... or both.

"I'll ask this once," I said, my voice steady, low. "What's the plan you two are dancing around?"

Nocturne smiled — and it wasn't kind.

She stepped forward, obsidian heels clicking softly against the altar stone. Her gaze swept over Henry, lingering just long enough to make him shift uncomfortably. Then she looked at me, crimson-stained lips parting.

"The plan," she said, "is to trap a god."

I raised a brow.

Nocturne went on, circling the basin like a dark priestess. "The Null Architects have taken notice. One in particular — the one who stitched the Forgotten Gate shut with his own essence. He's waking."

Roselle's voice was a whisper behind me. "We can't kill them, Samuel. Not yet. But we can bind one. Force it to give us the key."

"And how do you plan to do that?" I asked, folding my arms. "Ask nicely?"

Nocturne stopped in front of me. "We're going to lure it here. To this altar."

Henry scoffed. "And then what? Ask it to sit down for tea and hand us the apocalypse on parchment?"

"No." Roselle finally stepped forward, her voice smooth, dark, and resolute. "We're going to offer it something it can't refuse."

I narrowed my eyes. "Which is?"

"You," they said in unison.

The air shifted. The runes pulsed.

I let the silence sit for a beat. Then: "Well. That's charming."

Owen stepped closer, teeth clenched. "Hold on. Offer him? Like bait?"

"It's not bait," Nocturne replied. "It's permission. You're a paradox, Samuel. You've cheated every fate, broken every cage. The Null Architect will want to unravel you. Understand you."

"And while it's busy trying to do that," Roselle added, "we bind it — long enough to see through its knowledge. Long enough to learn how to undo the collapse that's coming."

I looked at them both — the Goddess of Despair and the Queen of Darkness — and I couldn't tell who was colder.

Henry glanced at me. "You really okay with this?"

"No," I muttered. "But I've been called worse than a godtrap."

Nocturne's grin widened. "That's why it has to be you."

I stepped toward the basin, feeling its pull — the void yawning beneath the surface. The promise of pain, power, revelation.

"Fine," I said. "Let's draw this bastard out."

Roselle placed her hand on my shoulder. "You won't be alone."

I looked at her. "You sure?"

She nodded. "I'm not letting you get devoured. You're still mine to burn."

Nocturne rolled her eyes. "How romantic."

The ritual circle flared — violet flames dancing across the stone. The veil between realms began to ripple.

The game had begun. And we had just invited something ancient, cruel, and brilliant to play.

And I was the piece it wanted most.

________________________________________

Samuel's POV – The Hollow Altar, Minutes Later

The flames danced higher, swirling into intricate patterns across the altar's obsidian surface — a language older than time, one only the damned or divine could understand. The veil between realms thinned like worn fabric, and I could feel something brushing against the edge.

Roselle stood by my side, her crimson eyes glowing faintly, dark power coiling around her like smoke given thought. Nocturne hovered just behind us, her silver hair flowing unnaturally, as if caught in a breeze from a world that shouldn't exist.

Henry muttered a curse under his breath. "You sure this thing's not already watching?"

"It's always watching," Nocturne replied, her voice oddly calm. "But now it's listening."

I clenched my fists, the old gauntlets humming with resonance. My pulse matched the rhythm of the altar.

Then I felt it.

Like a thought that wasn't mine slither into the back of my skull — cold, calculated, amused.

"There you are," a voice whispered. Not aloud. Not even in the room. But inside.

I staggered slightly. Roselle immediately stepped in, steadying me with a hand on my back.

"You okay?" she asked, tension sharpening her tone.

"No," I replied, "but that's normal these days."

Owen stepped forward, arms crossed. "So now what? We wait for it to stroll through the front door?"

Nocturne moved to the center of the altar, spreading her arms. "Now, we speak in the tongue of sacrifice."

She bit her thumb and let her blood fall into the basin. It sizzled like acid and flared violet-white.

Roselle stepped up and added hers without a word.

I glanced at them both, then sliced a line across my palm and let it bleed.

The moment my blood touched theirs, the air shattered.

A scream — distant, eternal — echoed from beneath the world. The flames twisted inward, forming a spiral of impossible geometry.

From the altar's center, something began to rise. Not a body. Not even a form. A concept. A consciousness. A towering void that pressed down on all of us.

It spoke.

Not in words, but in meaning.

"You seek what should not be known."

I stepped forward, ignoring the vertigo. "Yeah, well, I've never been a fan of 'should.'"

"You do not understand what you've invoked."

"Maybe not," I growled. "But I'll damn well cage it if I must."

The Null Architect's presence focused on me. I could feel it peeling me open. Memory. Thought. Desire. It wanted everything.

But Roselle and Nocturne were ready.

Their hands joined. Power surged. Chains of dark starlight erupted from the altar, wrapping around the Architect's core essence, dragging it downward, pinning it here.

It roared — the concept of pain and rage screaming through every crack in reality.

I staggered again, blood pouring from my nose. Owen and Henry grabbed my shoulders.

"Keep him steady!" Roselle barked.

Nocturne's voice became incantation — soft and sharp. "We bind you not in defiance, but in accord. Reveal what lies beyond the final gate."

For a split second, I saw it — the truth.

The Forgotten Gate. The dead realms. The spark in Roselle's bloodline. The seal placed by the Queen of Shadows in another timeline.

And the cost of unsealing it.

My head snapped back. I howled. Power tore through me like a storm through glass.

Then — silence.

The altar dimmed.

The Architect's echo lingered... before vanishing.

Nocturne fell to her knees, panting. Roselle looked pale, clutching her temple.

And I was still standing.

Barely.

"That," I rasped, "was unpleasant."

Roselle turned to me, eyes heavy with unreadable thoughts. "But necessary."

Owen stepped closer, staring at the fading sigils. "What now?"

Roselle's voice was cold. "Now we go to the place the Architect showed us."

Nocturne stood, slowly. "And we meet the one who broke the seal."

I looked between them. "And if they don't want to talk?"

Roselle's smirk returned. "Then we burn them, Samuel."

Nocturne added, "Together."

And I nodded. Because at this point, talking was just the polite way to start a war.