Chapter 20

Rachel stared at the sacrificial altar where Anji had lain just a second ago. No tears—just a faint dread of what was coming. He’d delete the character and come for revenge… but she’d be long gone by then.

"Hurry! Everyone in the circle—Rachel at the center. Drench the altar in the High Priest’s blood."

The people Bernard had hidden under his invisibility shroud formed two rings around the altar, clasping hands.

"Begin," Bernard said, already carving an intricate blood pentagram into the stone. For an NPC, he was notoriously tight-lipped and had a real nasty streak.

"Rachel, place your hands on the slab. Phase two starts now."

Her real father stood behind her, overseeing the next step.

A chant rose from the crowd. The air hummed. The slab glowed, and a wave of warm light washed over Rachel. Her body turned weightless, radiant.

[System: You have become a vessel of divine energy.]

"Channel it all into the crystal," Bernard muttered, still etching new sigils into the pentagram.

An hour passed—far longer than expected. A whole crate of crystals now pulsed with power.

"Leon, you’re up. Get on the slab."

Leon, a thirty-five-year-old with an air of command, strode forward. Rachel’s father worshiped him. The only thing anyone knew? He had Tier-1 Citizenship.

"Level 77. Impressive work. This’ll hurt—brace yourself."

"For this? I’d suffer worse."

Leon lay down on the luminous slab, its energy vibrating through his flesh.

"Now."

They stabbed the divine-charged crystals into his body. He screamed, muscles seizing, but held position. Each time his health neared zero, her father healed him—just enough to endure another blow.

Until the final crystal snuffed his life out.

Light exploded through the chamber. Stained glass shattered.

[Global Alert: A new god has risen in the Minor Pantheon—Leon.]

It worked.

The ritual’s requirements:

1. A pure child willingly sacrificed on the altar of a god without a High Priest.

2. The killer must also be pure, becoming a saint—while the victim’s soul burns in Hell.

3. The saint can now draw divine energy from any altar of their god (or, in this case, a godless one) to perform miracles in their name.

Rachel had become that saint—charging the crystals. The High Priest’s blood? Strongest conduit to a god. The final step? Warping a summoning sigil to force divinity into a mortal on the slab. The crystals acted as conduits, funneling the energy into Leon—making him a god.

All of it had to happen within one hour of the High Priest’s death.

They’d made it.

"Merlin, my thanks," Leon said, glowing like a star. Then, to the room: "You’ll all have your promised roles in the Cult of Leon. Bernard… Where’s Bernard?"

Silence. The man had vanished the second the ritual ended.

"Ran for it."

"Clever," Leon chuckled. "Guess he figured we wouldn’t leave witnesses. Nate—release the street kids. They’re useless now. Merlin, my office. We need to discuss funding."

Rachel exhaled. Happy.

She was the bastard daughter of Merlin Rouge—a StarShip exec. Her mother? Fifth-tier trash, bedding anyone for survival. Seventeen years of knives-in-the-dark later, Rachel had clawed her way into her father’s orbit. Flattery. Lies. Even his bed.

When he learned she was his blood—and had beta access to Chrysalis—he’d offered her this deal: Find a child fit for sacrifice. Bring them to the altar.

Now?

"Another step up," Rebecca Rouge smiled.