Chapter 19: The Altar of the Fallen Century
The sun rose over Oakhaven, but its light was pale, filtered through a permanent veil of violet mist that had settled over the capital like a funeral shroud. The citizens awoke to a city they no longer recognized. The golden banners of the Solar Empire had been torn down, replaced by tapestries of deep obsidian marked with the jagged, glowing sigil of the Absolute Corruption System.
Inside the Imperial Palace—now rebranded as the Throne of the Sinful King—the air was thick with the scent of ozone and ancient magic. Cyan Valerian sat not on the throne itself, but at a massive obsidian table in the war room. Before him lay a magical map of the continent, the ley lines flickering with a sickly purple light as his corruption spread through the veins of the earth.
"The border lords are in a state of chaos," Isabella reported, her voice resonating with a new, dark authority. She was now wearing a gown made of shadow-silk, her eyes shimmering with the mana Cyan had bestowed upon her. "Half of them have sent envoys to swear fealty, fearing the Duke of the North's wrath. The other half have fled to the Holy Territory, seeking asylum under the Pope's wings."
Cyan traced a finger over the map, leaving a trail of black frost. "Let them run. Fear is a shepherd; it will gather all the 'pure' souls in one place for me. What of the Church?"
Lilith emerged from the shadows behind him, her silver hair braided with thorns. "The Pope has declared a 'Great Crusade of the Eclipse.' They are calling you the 'Anti-God.' Every holy knight from the seven kingdoms is being summoned to the Holy City of Valerius. They intend to march within a month."
"A month?" Cyan chuckled, a sound that lacked any warmth. "They think they have a month. They still believe this is a conventional war. They don't realize that the moment I sat on this throne, the world stopped being theirs."
Cyan turned his attention to a kneeling figure in the corner. It was Malachi, the Corrupted Inquisitor. He was no longer the man who had entered the academy weeks ago. His skin was gray, and his eyes were hollow sockets filled with swirling violet mist.
"Malachi," Cyan commanded. "The 'Relic of the First Saint' hidden beneath the Cathedral in this city... is it ready?"
"It is, my King," Malachi's voice sounded like a chorus of whispers from the dead. "The holy seals have been bled out. The relic is no longer a source of light; it has become a beacon for the Abyss. We only need the blood of a royal to fully awaken it."
Cyan looked at Prince Kaelen, who stood nearby like a mindless statue. The former "Golden Sun" was now a shell, his only purpose to serve as a conduit for his master's desires.
"Kaelen," Cyan said softly. "Today, you will serve your final purpose for this city. You will provide the blood that will extinguish the last flame of hope in Oakhaven."
The ritual took place in the Grand Cathedral of the capital, a place that once hosted coronations and weddings. Now, the pews were filled with the "Corrupted Nobles," their eyes glowing with a uniform violet light. The atmosphere was one of eerie, silent devotion.
At the altar, Cyan stood with his four Goddesses of Ruin. Kaelen was led to the center, his wrists bound with chains of dark mana.
"People of Oakhaven!" Cyan's voice echoed through the massive stone arches, carried to every corner of the city by the System's power. "For a thousand years, you lived under the 'protection' of a silent god. You gave your gold, your sons, and your prayers to a light that never answered. Today, I give you a god you can see. A god who provides power to those who are worthy, and silence to those who are not!"
Cyan took a ritual dagger—a shard of obsidian vibrating with void energy—and made a shallow cut on Kaelen's palm. The blood that dripped onto the altar wasn't red; it was a dark, shimmering indigo.
As the blood touched the ancient stone, the ground shook. A pillar of black fire erupted from the center of the Cathedral, piercing the roof and soaring into the sky. The violet mist over the city began to swirl, forming a massive vortex.
[System Notification: World-Class Ritual 'The Black Sun's Birth' Initiated.] [Progress: 50%... 70%... 100%.] [Result: The Capital City has been permanently detached from the Holy Ley Lines.]
The citizens in the streets fell to their knees as a wave of cold, intoxicating power washed over them. Those with dark desires felt their strength triple; those with "pure" hearts felt a crushing despair that stripped them of their will to resist.
"Master," Elara whispered, her senses attuned to the horizon. "The first wave of the Church's scouts has reached the outer walls. They saw the pillar of fire."
"Let them see it," Cyan said, stepping down from the altar. "I want them to go back to their Pope and tell him that the Heavens have closed their eyes. The era of the Divine is over. The era of the System has begun."
Cyan walked toward the Cathedral's massive doors, his purple eye glowing so brightly it cast shadows even in the darkness.
"Duke Silvermane!" Cyan shouted.
The Duke stepped forward, his black-ice claymore dragging on the floor, leaving a trail of frost. "Command me, Sovereign."
"Take the vanguard. March to the border of the Holy Territory. Do not attack their cities yet. Simply stand there. Let them look at the 'Hero of the North' and see what happens to those who are 'blessed' by me. I want their soldiers to lose their minds before we even draw a blade."
"It shall be done," the Duke replied, his voice a low growl of excitement.
Cyan looked up at the black sun hanging over his new capital. He could feel his level rising, his connection to the System deepening with every soul that succumbed to the corruption.
"Isabella, prepare the 'Corrupted Council'," Cyan said, walking into the night. "We have an Empire to rewrite. And by the time the Crusade reaches our gates, they won't be fighting an army. They will be fighting the very world they tried to save."
[System Notification: New Title Unlocked - 'The Architect of Ruin'.] [Global Threat Level: S-Rank.]
The night was no longer a time for sleep. In the forges of Oakhaven, weapons were being tempered in abyssal fire. In the libraries, scrolls were being rewritten with forbidden spells. The Kingdom of Sin was no longer a dream of revenge; it was a breathing, growing nightmare that was just beginning to stretch its wings.