Chapter 1095: Ritual

Past the corridor lay the rest room.

Using vibration sense, Lin An swiftly moved through the base interior.

The entire living quarters were built into the mountain, resembling an I-beam structure.

"Scripture Hall.."

"Purification Chamber.."

"Ritual Hall.."

At the transverse three-way junction, Lin An took a quick glance and hesitated.

Where to go?

Given his style, he didn't plan to stay hidden long; he intended to capture a few high-level members and then directly interrogate them for information.

In the information he had received, only a few of the high-level members had actually seen God.

Moreover, unlike the imagined man-eating, this cult's way of consuming people seemed to be processing them.

Therefore, aside from those few high-level members, the rest of the followers had no chance to come into contact with the Zombie Emperor.

While hesitating, low, solemn prayers suddenly came from the far right passage. After focusing his hearing, Lin An decided to bring Zhang Tie over.

This direction... is the Ritual Hall.

Is someone conducting a ritual now?

Inside the hollowed-out mountain, on a wide plaza resembling a domed church, hundreds of people lying on the ground continuously chanted in low voices.

On the front dais, two burly men grabbed a seven- or eight-year-old child, continually saying something.

On either side of the altar, huge white candles burned brightly, casting shadows on the stone walls that flickered with the flames.

The low chanting echoed intermittently.

At the far end stood a huge god statue.

The marble-carved god statue resembled a seated giant: clad in white robes, its left face bore a kind human smile, while its right face showed rotting flesh exposing the gums of a zombie; combined, they gave an oddly sacred feeling.

"Uuu... uuu"

On the altar, the boy whose tongue had been cut out and mouth stuffed with a cloth struggled desperately, his young face devoid of color, as if he knew his impending fate.

He kept twisting his body, tears streaming incessantly.

However, it was meaningless.

His slender arm in the burly man's grip was like a chopstick; no matter how he struggled, it was useless, he could not budge an inch.

Likewise, the seven or eight children controlled below, at that moment also under the believers' control, looked fearfully at him on the stage.

"Blessed by our Lord God's grace..."

"Cleanse sins, draw out evil spirits..."

Amid the prayers, a black-robed priest holding a small jeweled knife slowly walked behind the boy.

"Hold him down!"

His gaze cold, the middle-aged man skillfully aimed the blade at the boy's back of the head; in his eyes, there seemed no pity or reluctance, as if what lay beneath his hand was not a person or child, but a piece of meat.

Meat, it should be cut.

The blade swept over; the sharp tip, like a scalpel, easily broke the boy's scalp.

Like an artist, the middle-aged priest steadily held the hilt, cutting the scalp inch by inch; watching the fine beads of blood continually well up, his eyes filled with an obsessive pleasure.

Sweet blood...

First the head, then the forehead.

"Uuu!! uuu!!"

The icy blade and intense pain stimulated his nerves; however, the seven- or eight-year-old boy, agitated and fearful, stared wide-eyed. His eyes bulged, and unable to resist, he could only watch as the scalpel cut his scalp then his nose, the priest controlling it seeming to want to peel him alive.

The skin on his face, like a taut tape snapping apart, split to either side, revealing bright red muscle tissue.

Not to mention a child, even a strong-willed adult would collapse under such torture.

Moments later.

The blade cut the most fragile lips; the tender lips, like jelly, were easily split into quarters. As the blade continued downward, it reached the throat.

"Drip-drip"

The blood beads oozing from the wound quickly joined into a line, happily falling into the iron basin beneath the boy.

In just a few seconds, starting from the top of his head, the boy's whole body seemed to be split apart by a fine line of blood.

Under extreme pain and immense fear, the boy's reason had been destroyed; acting on the body's self-preservation instinct, he stood stunned, no longer struggling.

Although the wound was deep, it did not take his life; in this ritual, he was like a lamb, the incisions made merely to make him more tasty.

When the cutting ended, the middle-aged priest looked satisfied at his technique, his whole body trembling as if released; he then slowly bent down, fingertip touching a bit of the opened wound, and carefully tasted it.

Just a few seconds later, his gentle smile froze.

No, this is not the taste!

Damn it! This lamb has no flavor left!

He stood up and shouted angrily:

"Not enough! His fear isn't enough! Filthy blood!"

His face flushed with anger, as if dissatisfied with the result.

Glaring at the child seized before him, the middle-aged man panted heavily and waved his hand:

"Mangle his hand! I need more fear!"

As often happened, several believers walked out from the crowd below, familiar with the task, and dragged out a meat grinder from the side.

The machine, covered in blood and grime, had clumps of shapeless rotting meat stuck at its meat outlet.

"Hum"

The power source activated, and the continuously rotating spiral blades emitted a series of crackling sounds.

With wooden expressions, after receiving the priest's order, the two sturdy men dragged the child straight to the machine and shoved his small hand into the blender.

First he was stunned, then numb, but when the excruciating pain shot up his arm, the stunned boy finally realized his left hand had been ground into a pulp by the machine! Seeing the shapeless half‑arm inside the machine, he could no longer hold back and screamed "ah—ah!".

The believers below all lifted their heads, their eyes showing excitement.

After seeing the blood seep out again, the priest's expression eased slightly, and he bent down to taste it once more.

A few seconds later, a satisfied look appeared on his face.

"God will like it."

Just as he waved his hand to continue, the half‑closed door of the altar hall was kicked open with tremendous force, flying in like a cannonball.

"I f*** your mother!!"

In that instant, the middle‑aged priest who had just been covered all over saw a burly strong man roar and swing a huge fist straight at his head.