Sloan tunneled through the muddy underground using the earth-shifting technique. Even though he’d found good cover earlier, the altar’s destruction still affected him. Now, his energy was a chaotic mess, and every breath sent fresh pain lancing through his torso.
But he had no time to worry about his injuries. He raced toward the Nether Crypt at maximum speed. The grand elder had to be warned. They need to relocate their base.
Hidden beneath the gnarled roots of a 1,000 -year-old banyan tree, the crypt’s entrance would stay buried forever unless one knew precisely where to look.
Sloan tunneled at full speed, burning through his internal energy reserves as he drove forward. After 15 relentless minutes, he finally reached the Nether Crypt entrance.
He flicked three bone talismans from his fingertips. The banyan’s root system parted slowly like snakes, revealing a pitch -black passage. As soon as he slipped inside, the soil behind him churned violently and sealed the passage shut.
Sloan’s strength gave out. He collapsed face-first onto the stone floor of the Nether Crypt, gasping from the massive drain on his internal energy.
“Mr. Vilehorn? What happened to you?”
The cult members guarding the Nether Crypt saw the state he was in, and their faces went white. They rushed forward to help him up.
Each of the cultists was deathly pale, with sunken eyes and black robes that reeked of rot.
“Hurry up and report to Elder Ashlock right now.” Sloan grabbed the cultist’s wrist so hard that his finger bones dug deep enough to leave marks. “That powerhouse is coming for us!”
The moment the words left his mouth, the surrounding cultists froze in shock. Without hesitation, they quickly turned and ran to report it. Soon, the news spread through the crypt like wildfire.
Inside a palace built from the bones of the dead, a low, growing unrest echoed through the halls. The corpse-oil lanterns embedded in the stone walls flickered violently, casting twisted shadows across the bone-carved murals that writhed like demons dancing on the walls.
Deep in the Nether Crypt’s inner sanctuary, the Grand Elder of the Skull Covenant, Lucan Ashlock, sat cross-legged on his throne of bones. His skin clung tightly to his bones like dried leather, and only his eyes seemed alive, glowing with a sickly green light.
When a cultist rushed in with the news, Lucan’s withered fingers clenched the throne’s armrests so hard that the embedded skulls let out a piercing wail.
“Fools!” Lucan shouted. His voice scraped like grinding stone. “Three grandmasters working together couldn’t stop one brat?”
Sloan lowered his head, not daring to look up. “He’s not just any martial artist. Instead, he’s reached the terrestrial immortal realm. Wherever that golden light touched, flesh and bone melted. Even Gore’s Crimson Flow Formation couldn’t hold him back.”
“Terrestrial immortal?” Lucan looked alarmed. “Wasn’t he supposed to be dealing with the zombie virus? How did he get here so fast?”
“Their palace had sent scouts to search this area, but I silenced them before they could report back. They must have tipped that powerhouse and followed their trail here,” Sloan explained.
“Damn it all.”
Lucan shot to his feet, and a surge of black mist rose around him, towering ten feet high. Inside the haze, the shapes of tormented souls twisted and wailed.
“Activate the Elemental Seals! Cryptbound Twelve, retreat with me now.”
At his command, a deep rumble echoed from the depths of the Nether Crypt as heavy mechanisms groaned to life.
Twelve black figures stepped out from the stone walls of the sanctuary. They wore bone-plated armor, each carrying a different bone-forged weapon. With every step, wisps of blood mist curl from the ground.
These were the Cryptbound Twelve, the Skull Covenant’s elite warriors. Each of them had reached the level of a grandmaster. Their combined strength could rival even an ultimate grandmaster.
They were the product of years of preparation, and their only trump card to rise again. Whatever happened next, the Cryptbound Twelve couldn’t be allowed to fall.
“Elder Ashlock, this crypt has been our stronghold for a century. Are we really abandoning it just like that?” Kaelen Vireth, first among the twelve, couldn’t hide his concern.
The bone flute in his hand was leaking a steady drip of dark red fluid.
Lucan looked at him coldly. “Better to retreat and fight another day. That bastard destroyed my altar and killed my grandmasters. This blood debt won’t be forgotten. Once we regroup with Ebon Messiah, we’ll make him pay.”
The Cryptbound Twelve said nothing. They lowered their heads in unison and accepted the command.
Sloan struggled to follow behind them, but Lucan’s boot sent him sprawling.
“You’ve outlived your usefulness. Keeping you around would only slow us down.”
Before the words fell, a bone needle shot from Lucan’s fingertip and punched straight through Sloan’s heart from behind.
Sloan’s eyes bulged as choking sounds escaped his throat. His body shriveled like a deflating balloon until only a wrinkled skin remained on the stone floor.
“Open the secret passage,” Lucan ordered. He grabbed Sloan’s dried skin and slapped it against the bone altar in the heart of the sanctuary. The altar bucked and shuddered. A crack split open the ground, nearly ten feet wide, revealing a staircase that descended into absolute darkness.
The Cryptbound Twelve slipped into the opening one after another. Just as Lucan prepared to follow behind them, the entire crypt trembled violently.
“Oh no! He’s found us,” he muttered. His face paled instantly, and he was gripped by a cold, paralyzing fear.
