Global Survival: I Have Endless Skeletons

At the very center of the ancient tower, where the mysterious black flame burned with an eerie and unnatural intensity, the upper echelon of the Slave Trade Guild gathered.

There was no shouting.

Only the low, ancient chanting of the people surrounding the mysterious flame, their voices blending together into an eerie rhythm that seemed to resonate with the very foundation of the tower.

At the center of everything stood the Holy Son.

He was completely shirtless, revealing a lean and perfectly proportioned body that appeared almost sculpted rather than naturally formed.

With long brown hair cascading down his back like a dark curtain while several loose strands rested against his shoulders.

His handsome face was almost devilish in its perfection, possessing sharp features and an unnatural charm that made it difficult to look away from him.

Yet despite his beautiful appearance, there was something deeply disturbing about him.

His eyes remained tightly closed.

His expression was peaceful.

Almost serene.

There was no trace of the cruelty, madness, or ruthless ambition that one would expect from the leader of the Slave Trade Guild.

Instead, he appeared almost holy.

Almost sacred.

If someone saw him without knowing his identity, they might have mistaken him for a divine figure descending into the mortal world.

But the sight surrounding him destroyed any such illusion.

Every member of the upper echelon standing around him was completely naked, their bodies exposed beneath the dim crimson light radiating from the ritual ground.

Men and women stood together without the slightest embarrassment or hesitation, their expressions completely solemn as they faced the ancient black flame.

Their lips moved continuously as they whispered ancient words whose meaning had long disappeared from the languages known throughout the Bleeding Desert.

"Veyra... Ash... Nahl..."

"Ancient Mother..."

"Urr’asha... Veyra... Om."

"The womb of all things..."

"Where all is born..."

"Grant us salvation."

"Grant us nirvana."

The words were barely audible at first and then another voice joined.

And another.

Soon, the entire group was chanting together.

Their voices rose and fell in a strange rhythm, creating an ancient melody that seemed less like ordinary speech and more like a prayer offered to something that had existed long before the world.

Their tones were filled with reverence, worship and anticipation. And beneath all of that was an unmistakable fanaticism.

The entire ritual ground seemed to breathe.

Each time the mysterious flame flickered, the ancient markings responded by releasing a faint crimson-black light that traveled through the engraved lines like blood flowing through veins.

The energy moved from one symbol to another before eventually converging beneath the black flame.

It was not ordinary energy.

The energy contained something older.

Something darker.

Something that seemed to possess its own will.

Whoosh!

The flame twisted violently.

Its dark surface seemed to swallow the surrounding light while crimson strands of energy emerged from its center and disappeared into the ancient symbols.

Around the ritual ground, several enormous stone pillars rose toward the sky.

"Veyra... Ash... Nahl..."

"Sha’ruun... Veyr... Atha."

"Mother of all..."

"Return unto us..."

"Grant us salvation."

The chanting continued in short, fragmented whispers.

Their bodies trembled slightly from the overwhelming pressure surrounding them, yet none stopped.

The Holy Son remained at the center.

His long brown hair moved gently despite there being no wind inside the tower.

His eyes remained closed.

His breathing was slow and steady.

However, the longer the ritual continued, the more intense the aura surrounding his body became.

A strange crimson energy slowly gathered around him.

It wrapped around his torso like countless invisible threads before sinking into his skin.

His muscles tightened slightly.

His fingers twitched.

Yet his expression remained completely calm.

Around him, the other members of the upper echelon continued their chanting with even greater devotion.

Some had their hands raised toward the mysterious flame.

Others had their heads lowered.

A few pressed their palms against the ancient symbols carved into the ground while whispering the ancient words repeatedly.

They looked like believers standing before their god. And perhaps, in their minds, that was exactly what the Holy Son had become.

Several meters away from the ritual ground stood another group of Slave Trade Guild members. Unlike the upper echelon surrounding the flame, these people were fully clothed.

They remained outside the primary ritual formation, watching everything with expressions filled with anticipation.

Among them stood the female Director.

Her black robe remained tightly wrapped around her body, and her gaze was fixed upon the mysterious flame with an expression that mixed excitement and reverence.

She had finally made it here.

And now she stood among those who had been personally chosen by the Holy Son. These were not ordinary members of the Slave Trade Guild.

Every one of them had served the Slave Trade Guild for months even years.

They had completed countless missions.

They had followed orders without questioning them.

They had proven their loyalty through bloodshed.

Some had even sacrificed their own comrades to demonstrate their devotion.

Their loyalty was the reason they had been allowed to witness what was happening inside the ancient tower.

They knew that whatever was about to happen would change everything. And they desperately wanted to be part of it.

One young man standing among them clenched his fists tightly. His eyes were filled with excitement.

Another repeatedly swallowed hard as he stared at the black flame.

Even the female Director, despite her normally cunning and arrogant personality, could not hide the anticipation burning within her eyes.

Boom!

Suddenly, a powerful wave of energy erupted from the ritual ground.

The entire tower trembled.

The chanting immediately became louder.

The black flame surged upward, twisting violently as though an invisible creature were awakening inside it.

The Holy Son’s long brown hair suddenly rose into the air. Every member of the upper echelon stopped chanting at precisely the same moment.

The entire ritual ground became completely silent.

The black flame continued burning.

The ancient symbols continued pulsing. And then the Holy Son slowly opened his eyes.

His eyes were no longer ordinary.

A strange crimson light flickered deep within his pupils. His gaze turned toward the distant direction of the river of blood.

Toward the stone slabs.

Toward the person who had just stepped onto the ancient path leading to the tower. For several seconds, the Holy Son simply stared in that direction.

Other members of the Slave Trade Guild turned around in alarm.

Then they saw him.

A silver-haired figure was rapidly approaching across the floating stone slabs with firm determination and confidence.

The Holy Son watched him approach and then, from his throat, a strange hoarse sound emerged.

It was not completely human.

It was deeper.

Rougher.

Almost like the growl of an ancient beast that had awakened after sleeping for countless years.

"Kill him."

****

[AN: This Chapter is sponsored by: Scott_Berry_3382]

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