Chapter 94 – Retreat.

“Intruders!”

“Kill them all!”

“For the slaughter!”

With the cultists bearing down on them and their backs literally against the wall, Rusty felt a tinge of regret. The barricade groaned under the force of the fanatical attackers pressing against it. Rusty braced himself, glancing back at the stair mechanism. He could hear the blocks shifting into place bit by bit, and he noticed some of the injured trying to move as the steps unfolded beneath them. He wasn’t sure how long it would take for the entire path to form, which meant that every second counted.

He tightened his grip on his bow, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he loosed another arrow. Cultists on the other side were dropping with choked screams, but their numbers kept growing. Layla, beside him, kept her composure, pulling arrow after arrow from her quiver. Meanwhile, the burly warrior at the center of their defensive line roared, cleaving down any cultist unlucky enough to break through one of the side entrances. He fought with a wild abandon that was almost terrifying to watch, cutting down enemies as if his fury alone fueled him.

‘Considering their numbers, perhaps this plan would’ve been better… if we were going up the stairs instead’

Aburdon muttered from within Rusty’s armor. There were far more cultists than any of them had anticipated. It was clear that they would have likely been overwhelmed if they had attempted to push deeper into the lair. A small army of robed figures was advancing, and for every cultist they killed, two more seemed to take their place. Eventually, the cultists even began using the bodies of their fallen as shields, pushing forward and slamming against the barricades.

“Layla, keep shooting – here, use my arrows.”

Rusty handed her the rest of his arrows while sprinting to the side. This wasn’t looking good. The barricade was close to breaking, and he could see cultists preparing to force their way through. Anticipating this, Rusty had set a halberd nearby for just this occasion, ready to wield it with his polearm passive. As he passed the arrows to Layla, she nodded in thanks and turned her focus back to the oncoming horde. Rusty lunged forward, driving his halberd into a cultist attempting to squeeze through a gap in the barricade.

He thrust forward with his weapon, putting every ounce of strength into the blow and forcing the cultist backward. But as soon as he pushed one enemy back, another took its place, and the barricade began to give under the relentless assault. Behind him, the rumbling stairs continued to unfold, each stone block sliding into place with agonizing slowness. Time seemed to be slipping through his fingers, but he had no intention of giving up. The cultists moved like a mindless zombie horde, and though his light-based skills wouldn’t work here, he had other options.

After driving his polearm into one of the cultists and shoving with all his might, he managed to create a small gap in the barricade. Moving quickly, he reached into his new spatial satchel and pulled out a yellowish potion he had carefully prepared for emergencies like this. He flung it through the opening he’d created, and as it collided with one of the cultists on the other side, a massive burst of flames erupted, spreading outward and igniting the hooded figures nearby.

“ARGHHhh…”

The evil god worshipers started screaming as the flames roared to life, illuminating the corridor in a blinding blaze. The potion Rusty had thrown was a middle-grade blaze potion, meant for desperate situations. Cultists writhed in agony, their robes engulfed, some dropping to the floor in a futile attempt to smother the flames. The intense heat created a temporary barrier as the burning figures fell into one another, slowing the cultists’ advance for precious moments.

“They are retreating!”

Rusty informed his allies as his potion ignited the main path, creating a wall of fire just as the alchemist had promised. Even if doused with water, the flames would keep burning for a solid few minutes. With the main path blocked, they could now focus on defending the two side passages, where the berserker warrior was holding his ground with fierce swings of his axe.

Despite the temporary reprieve from Rusty’s potion, the cultists pressed forward, relentless in their assault. The flames cast long, flickering shadows across the blood-spattered walls, the smell of burning flesh filling the air. As the cultists began to spill in from the side passages, the berserker warrior roared, cleaving down two with a single swing of his axe, and it seemed to be enough to stem the tide.

Layla and Rusty now focusing on the side passages were able to help and push back the advancing madmen. Eventually, Rusty was even able to resemble some of the barricades back into place, holding back the enemies that were trying to enter through the narrower side paths. Things were looking well for this haphazardly thrown-together party but from within the main corridor, more trouble was approaching.

They heard it – a deep, guttural chanting from somewhere within the cultists’ ranks. The High Priest emerged, his robes billowing like shadows, and in his hand, he wielded an ancient staff carved with runes that glowed an unnatural crimson. His eyes, dark as the void, swept across the burning corridor with calm, calculating malice.

The priest raised his staff high, his voice booming with a harsh incantation. The flames from Rusty’s potion seemed to flicker and warp as if affected by some unseen force. The cultists around him writhed in ecstasy as he chanted, and an unsettling energy pulsed outward, rolling over the barricades like a dark tide. Suddenly, the flames dimmed and died, leaving only smoldering embers in their wake. The High Priest had somehow quelled the blaze, and with the last flicker of flame extinguished, he pointed his staff toward Rusty and his companions.

“Enough games, bring the sacrifices back, the lord of blood demands it!”

The priest shouted, his voice dripping with disdain, and with a swift motion, slammed his staff to the ground. A crimson wave of energy surged forward, crashing into the barricades and blasting debris across the room. To make matters worse, the red energy that seeped from the spell enveloped the other cultists, triggering an eerie transformation. Despite their wounds – from cuts, arrows, or burns – they staggered to their feet once more. Their eyes turned cloudy, blood seeping from their sockets, and dark veins bulged across their skin as they advanced with unnatural vigor.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The eerie transformation of the cultists sent a chill down Rusty’s nonexistent spine. Their bodies began mutating into grotesque, inhuman forms, covered in cancerous-looking lesions. Blood dripped from their open wounds, yet somehow they continued to move forward. The wounds seemed to pulse with a strange, crimson energy, as if it were sustaining them despite the damage.

‘That’s a blood frenzy curse! We need to retreat! Those things are much worse than regular zombies.’

Aburdon warned Rusty and he took it to heart. It was clear that he was out of his league if he tried to face them head-on. The cursed cultists were in a state that defied reason – stumbling forward with twisted limbs and blood-seeped eyes, oblivious to pain or fear. Layla’s face paled as she saw the horrific transformation, but she didn’t falter; she raised her bow, and lodged one of her arrows right into one of those bloodshot eyes.