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Novel Catalog
Chapter 116
Joseph and Grant obeyed without hesitation, sealing their eyes shut. Brian crouched behind the couch, knuckles white around its edge, and squeezed his eyelids closed.
Above Philix’s still form, three inky silhouettes flickered into existence—shadows of his soul. Within each of the thirty-six offering bowls, candle flames sputtered and danced wildly. From every corner of the mansion rose anguished wails, blending with the thunder that rattled the roof. A lightning rod grounded each bolt, sparing the structure from ruin.
Nash sat unmoving on the floor, surrounded by writhing darkness. With a commanding shout, “Leave!” his yellow robe flared with incandescent light. The shadows recoiled, dissipating as they struck the ground.
An unseen force flung Skadi high against the ceiling before hurling her to the marble floor. Frost glazed Nash’s eyes. He plucked a talisman from his tote and flung it through the air toward her. It ignited mid-flight, its ashes drifting down to settle on Skadi’s robes.
Several dark shapes lunged for her, but a brilliant, golden aura blossomed from Skadi’s chest. The specters shrieked and vanished into nothingness.
The remaining phantoms condensed into a churning black mist that surged through the mansion’s corridors toward the offering bowls. The runes inscribed on their parchments glowed blood-red, and from each cotton wick sprouted a spectral tiger’s head. Its jaws opened in a bone-rattling roar, scattering the mist like wind before water. Soon, the mansion echoed with thirty-six roars in succession.
Huddled in a dim corner, Grant and Joseph trembled as the sound pounded around them. They longed to open their eyes, to witness the miracle, but dared not defy Nash’s command.
Inside the magic circle, eighteen golden needles threaded through Philix’s extraordinary meridians, while six more plunged into his bone marrow. His chest heaved as white froth spilled from his mouth.
Time stretched thin. Nash’s robes clung to him, drenched in sweat. Every so often, black tendrils rose from the floor, seeking to rupture the Heavenly Spirit Seal. Nash’s hand flew to his bag. He withdrew a small mirror, bit his finger until it bled, and traced a defensive rune on the glass.
A blurred figure materialized in its depths: an altar crowned by a man in yellow robes. Nash’s voice rang out, calm and resolute, “Who are you?”
The figure recoiled. “And you are?”
“I am Master Nash.”
A deep sigh escaped the apparition. “I wondered who possessed such power.”
Nash’s tone froze the air. “I know who you are now. If you interfere with my duty to save a life, we become sworn enemies.”
The reflection laughed, bitter and cold. “You dare defy Heaven’s will?” In that instant, the mirror cracked, splintering into shards.
With each fracture, a surge of black mist swelled at the ground. It took shape into a devilish visage and lunged toward the offering bowls. The candles flickered dangerously, their corpse oil burning low. If the flames died, the spell would collapse—and Philix’s soul would be lost forever.
Nash’s gaze flickered to Stellar, unconscious but noble in repose. His aura of righteousness would repel the encroaching evil.
“Chief Zink,” Nash roared above the cacophony, “bring Stellar back to consciousness!”
Outside the magic circle, Henderson heard the summons and fumbled through the gloom toward the couch, determination steeling his steps.