Lucien had already heard Carl and the detective rushing down the passage behind him.
Their footsteps echoed through the underground chamber, hurried and tense, but he had no time to pay attention to them now.
His eyes were fixed on the ritual in front of him.
At the center of the candlelit formation sat the black nun.
Abigail.
Her fingers were tightly intertwined with Max's small hand, blood slowly dripping from where their palms met. Under the dim yellow candlelight, the crimson drops looked especially sinister, each one falling like a countdown toward something irreversible.
Beside them stood a large mirror.
Inside its surface, two souls flickered like trapped flames.
One was clearly Max, struggling desperately, his form unstable and fading at the edges.
The other shifted constantly.
At one moment it wore Abigail's face.
The next, it twisted into the image of a frail old white woman.
Then again, it changed—finally settling into the face of a dark-skinned elderly woman with eyes filled with malice.
Lucien's expression darkened.
So that was the truth.
Soul transfer.
A filthy ritual.
Even if it succeeded, the process itself damaged both souls. The caster's memories would eventually become chaotic, identities blending and breaking apart over time until madness became inevitable.
As for the victim…
At best, they would survive as an empty shell.
At worst, they would never wake again.
Lucien's voice turned ice-cold.
"Stop the ritual. Now."
To make the warning clear, he raised the revolver and fired into Luke's calf.
Bang.
The shot tore through flesh.
Blood splashed across the stone floor as Luke screamed in agony, his body convulsing beneath Lucien's foot.
Yet the ritual did not stop.
Not even for a second.
The woman inside the mirror looked toward him with eyes filled with hatred and panic, but the candles continued to burn, and the formation continued to pulse.
Luke coughed blood and let out a broken, mocking laugh.
"Heh… too late…"
Sweat and blood mixed across his pale face as he forced out the words.
"Once the grand ritual begins, it cannot be interrupted."
His smile widened into something manic.
"The souls already in exchange cannot be reset."
"This is a voodoo technique I created myself."
His voice trembled with madness and pride.
"You cannot break it."
Behind Lucien, Carl and the detective had finally reached the chamber.
The moment they heard those words, fury flashed across their faces.
"Shut your mouth!"
Without hesitation, both raised their pistols and fired at the mirror.
But what happened next froze them in place.
The bullets stopped.
Not against the glass—
But in midair.
Roughly two meters from the mirror, the bullets hung suspended as if trapped inside an invisible wall, spinning violently but unable to move forward.
Carl's eyes widened.
The detective stared in disbelief.
Luke burst into laughter.
"So what if you can fight?" he spat, blood running down his chin. "You still can't save him!"
Lucien frowned.
Then, with a sharp movement, he struck Luke across the temple with the butt of the revolver, knocking him unconscious.
Silence fell for a moment.
Then Lucien turned toward Max.
His gaze sharpened.
Through his spiritual sight, he could clearly see Max's soul trapped inside the mirror, growing dimmer with every passing second.
The boy looked at him helplessly.
The light in his eyes was fading.
Lucien exhaled slowly.
There was only one way.
He turned sharply toward Carl and the detective.
"Get to the corner. Now."
Carl was still stunned, but the detective reacted instantly, grabbing him and pulling him back behind a stack of broken furniture.
Lucien stepped forward.
Then he raised both hands.
His voice dropped into a low, commanding tone.
"Wind Control."
The moment the words left his mouth, the Qi inside him surged violently.
Almost everything was drained in an instant.
The stale underground air began to move.
First a faint current.
Then a stronger gust.
Then a violent spiral.
Dust rose from the floor.
Old newspapers and loose pages were swept into the air.
Broken wood, glass fragments, and scattered ritual tools began to spin around him.
His coat fluttered wildly.
The candles trembled.
At the center of the ritual, Abigail's body suddenly twitched as if she had sensed the approaching danger.
The wind intensified.
Carl and the detective could now clearly see it—
A perfect funnel.
A small tornado.
Carl's mouth fell open.
"My God…"
Lucien's eyes turned cold.
"Break."
With a sharp motion of his hand, the tornado surged forward.
It slammed directly into the invisible barrier surrounding the ritual.
The impact shook the entire basement.
Candles bent violently.
The unseen wall rippled under the assault.
Wood splinters, debris, and shattered fragments pounded against it like a storm of blades.
This was no ordinary force.
Only supernatural power could truly break evil magic.
The basement began to tremble.
Above them, the wooden floorboards groaned.
A thunderous crash echoed as parts of the office floor upstairs were ripped apart and slammed against the ceiling.
The entire orphanage shook.
Outside, officers guarding the building stumbled in panic.
Some looked through the broken doorway and saw the rapidly expanding wind funnel.
Their faces turned pale.
Inside the basement—
A crack appeared on the mirror.
Then another.
Then dozens.
Spiderweb fractures spread across its surface.
The soul inside looked up in terror.
Then—
Crash.
The mirror shattered.
At the same moment, every candle went out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
The invisible barrier vanished.
Freed from resistance, the tornado tore through the rest of the ritual setup, scattering candles, bones, powders, and blood markings across the chamber.
The ritual was destroyed.
The two separated souls were violently pulled back into their original bodies.
Max collapsed to the floor.
Abigail's eyes snapped open.
What filled them was no longer calm calculation.
Only madness.
Her voice became a shrill scream.
"You ruined everything!"
Her body began to decay before their eyes.
Hair fell away in clumps.
Teeth dropped from her mouth.
Her skin withered and tightened against bone.
Still, she screamed through the transformation.
"I curse you!"
"I curse all of you!"
A thick wave of dark energy burst from her dying body and rushed toward Lucien, Carl, and the detective.
Carl's face turned pale.
The detective clenched his fists.
They had no way to stop it.
Then suddenly—
A cool light spread from the talismans Lucien had given them.
The dark curse struck the protective aura and dissolved instantly like smoke in sunlight.
Abigail stared in horror.
"No…"
Her voice trembled.
"No… this can't be…"
She had sacrificed everything.
Her life.
Her body.
Her final chance at immortality.
And yet she had failed to harm them even once.
Moments later, her body collapsed completely, reduced to a shriveled corpse.
Silence filled the chamber.
One sorcerer dead.
The other unconscious and broken.
The nightmare hanging over the orphanage and the Coleman family had finally ended.
Lucien let out a slow breath and placed one hand against the wall.
The cost had been immense.
For the first time since mastering Wind Control, he had used it at full strength.
The effect had exceeded even his expectations.
But so had the price.
His Qi was nearly exhausted.
Then a familiar voice echoed in his mind.
[Bajiquan comprehension increased. Fist Intent +3.]
[Wind Control mastery deepened through large-scale manipulation.]
[Mission complete: Destroyed the sorcerers' conspiracy.]
[Reward obtained: Nightmare Prayer.]
Lucien's eyes narrowed.
A new power.
An illusion-based supernatural ability.
A faint smile touched his lips.
This battle had ended.
But something told him—
This was only the beginning.