[Fox Girl Evolution] Chapter 4 [Interlude - Bedivere]

Bedivere felt the whispers before he even heard them, those hair-raising murmurs threading up his spine the moment the ritual reached its final pulse. It might’ve been awe-inspiring if not for the suffocating pressure coiling around his lungs, or the quiet scream of his own instincts, his power gnashing at him to get the hell away from this thing.

Everyone in the sanctum knew the deal with divinity. Knew its value, sure, but more importantly, its appetite. Mortals with low-tier aspects had no business even breathing the same air as it. Bedivere hadn’t so much as glimpsed true divine essence before and he was fairly certain just brushing against it would’ve splintered his mind into something fit for a containment chamber.

It was one of those unspoken, universal laws. You don’t speak of divinity, don’t listen for it, don’t look it in the eye. Doing any of the above was like writing your name in blood on an obituary you hadn’t even earned yet. Same went for the unknown, start hearing things that shouldn’t talk, seeing things that don’t belong, and you were already on the fast track to becoming a warning story. That was the world’s pecking order. The more power you gained, the more cracks you saw in reality, and the more things peeked back.

Which was exactly why Bedivere had passed on the [Seeker] aspect when it was offered to him. That thing was a straight-line ticket to brain soup. He’d never met a single soul who picked it and hadn’t gone stark raving mad before they could even nudge it up a tier. The skills were said to be very powerful if used well, but not worth waking up every morning wondering whether the walls were whispering or your skull was.

And yet here he was, staring directly into the sort of mess he had been explicitly told to avoid. Trust was a funny thing.

But he did trust their new leader. Still remembered when he first laid eyes on him, just a [Skeleton Weaver] back then, and within a year the man had clawed his way to Tier 3. A prodigy if there ever was one.

Still, the way their old leader just... disappeared, vanished without so much as a cryptic letter rubbed him the wrong way. And the fact that the main sanctum in the capital hadn’t sent word either? It was suspicious. But the sanctum as it stood now seemed in stable hands. For the moment.

Bedivere had his own job to do. Enough contribution points, and he’d earn access to the inner chamber, finally push his aspect to Tier 3. He wasn’t about to fumble that bag now. So he simply cradled the demon fox in his arms and waited for the ritual’s crescendo.

His gaze drifted over to Julia. Couldn’t deny it, something about her had him under a quiet spell since day one. Witty, sharp-eyed, stunning in her own ruthless way. What more did a man need? Well, maybe a little less ambition soaked in blood. She had that dangerous glint, always did, the kind that said, “give me power or give me bodies.”

If she hadn’t been the daughter of the Sanctum Head, she'd have been rendered into experimental sacrifice the moment her little rebellion flared up.

He shook his head. No use in sentiment. Her father's gone. And her stepbrother wasn’t the type to leave loose ends fraying.

Besides, she carried divinity now. Her value as a sacrifice had gone from “useful” to “ jackpot.” Losing her would be a colossal waste.

Just thinking about the kind of boon the Lord would grant for offering that on the altar made his mouth water.

And then it happened.

Bedivere’s gaze snapped upward, as if something unseen had hooked his eyes and yanked.

Ah. It had arrived.

The pressure in the room surged, ballooning into something just shy of unbearable. From above, something ripped through the ritual's blood-woven runes on the ceiling, like someone tearing open the wallpaper of reality itself.

A shadowed paw broke through. Canine, by the look of it. Or something that only looked canine.

Bedivere’s skull pulsed with pressure as the now-familiar chill of eerie whispers crept up his spine like centipedes. Laughter echoed inside his mind, faint, unhinged. A clown’s laugh, echoing in an empty circus. He could almost hear the tap-tap of its boots on hollow wooden boards.

The paw descended in one fluid, deliberate motion. It plucked something invisible, something from Julia, and dropped it onto Lord Lucian's chest before silently withdrawing, vanishing back into the rent above.

Neither of them reacted. No flinch. No glance. As if it had never happened.

A crawling itch spread across Bedivere’s scalp as he spun toward his companion.

“Fabio! Tell me you saw that! That… that shadow-paw-thing that came down from the ceiling just now!”

Fabio, his tamed death knight, stood still. His face buried in shade, unreadable as always. But a slow shake of the head said all it needed to.

Nope. He hadn’t seen a thing.

Now, some average soul might’ve dismissed that as paranoia. But Bedivere knew better. You survived long enough in this world, you learned, paranoia didn't make you hallucinate. It made you pay attention. If you alone saw something, and no one else did, that meant something had definitely happened.

You just weren’t meant to see it.

And that was the most dangerous kind of event possible.

He scratched at the itch spreading across his skull, eyes narrowing. Odd. He’d been sweating buckets a moment ago, nerves stretched thin from the ritual pressure. Now? Nothing. Not a bead. Like someone had flipped a switch inside him.

Still, he hadn’t stared at the thing for more than a moment. He shouldn’t be corrupted. Should be fine. Probably.

He turned, meaning to warn Lord Lucian about the shadow’s interference, but he was already too late.

The ritual circle erupted in a red blaze, expanding outwards and consuming the skinless sacrifices laid across the floor. The glow twisted and folded until something stood in its heart.

A flesh-born entity began to rise. It stitched itself together from the sacrificed remains like a child making a puppet out of wet clay. It stood thirteen feet tall. A deer’s skull crowned its head, empty sockets now filled with twin orbs of steady, blinding light.

Ah. It was here. So the shadow-paw hadn’t disrupted the ritual after all. Whatever it was, it had simply… added something.

Lucian was already kneeling, head pressed to the ground, voice ringing with reverence.

“O Mighty Deathless Guide! Prostrate, I honour thee!” he chanted. “Herald of the Lord of Death! Accept this tribute! Grant favour commensurate with its measure!”

The Deathless Guide was a spirit beast. Creatures like it were rumored to hold their own against Tier 5 Cultivators, and right now, just existing in the same room as one had Bedivere’s knees trembling from sheer pressure. To think that at higher tiers, he might even have a shot at taming something like that. The thought only poured more fuel on the fire inside him.

The Deathless Guide’s hollow gaze drifted slowly across the room. Bedivere kept his head low, his eyes locked on its taloned feet. Even that much was too much, just looking at the thing made his skull throb like it was caught in a vice.

The only one staring directly at it was the demon fox in his arms. It didn’t even blink. Didn’t flinch. As if the Guide’s presence didn’t affect it at all. Now that was worth remembering. Once this was over, the creature would make a prime research subject. Maybe it could even help crack the secrets behind some rare demon-related aspect.

Bedivere wasn’t just a soldier. He was a scholar too, after all.

Julia whimpered helplessly on the floor, her wide eyes locked on the towering mass of bone and meat. The light in them dimmed just a little more. 

But, instead of facing her, the Deathless Guide turned its attention to Lord Lucian.

Bedivere blinked, confused. Even Lord Lucian looked momentarily unsure. He was Tier 3, fully capable of looking the Guide in the eye without losing his sanity. But this wasn’t part of the ritual script.

He opened his mouth, possibly to speak, but was interrupted as a silver door shimmered into existence behind him. The Guide raised its bony arms, and its voice whispered something in a language Bedivere couldn’t hope to understand. The sound alone felt like someone dragging a saw across his scalp.

He winced. That was his only warning.

Rotting vines burst from the door. Thick, wet cords of flesh wrapped in veiny growths, pustules bulging with fluid. Faces—human ones—screamed and moaned along the vines, eyes rolling as their mouths opened far too wide.

Before Lucian could even react, the vines were on him.

They lashed around his limbs and torso, sinking teeth into his skin as the screeching faces began to bite. He screamed. Tried to cast something, anything. Dark mana flared and cracked as he launched missiles and shields. None of it worked.

The vines were endless.

They overwhelmed him, tearing chunks from his body while dragging him backward toward the silver gate. He thrashed, half-dead and still shrieking, but it made no difference.

The death knights that had stood loyal by his side lost their minds next. One by one, they were caught and dragged into the maw of that hellish threshold.

And just as suddenly as it began, it ended.

The Guide dropped its arm. The silver gate slammed shut and disappeared without a trace.

Silence followed. The Guide turned and hovered over Julia. It extended one bony hand, then dropped something into hers. It was a feathered accessory, bronze-colored. The boon of this ritual.

Bedivere stared. He could see it now, plain as blood on the wall. The ritual’s framework had been swapped, the roles were reversed. Somehow, that shadowed paw from earlier had flipped the intended sacrifice with the recipient. Lucian was supposed to gain the blessing. Now he’d been devoured, and Julia had received the boon instead.

Bedivere’s mind reeled.

What kind of entity could rewrite a ritual mid-casting?

Bedivere felt a tickle at the back of his neck and clenched his fingers to stop himself scratching. The absence of sweat on his skin now felt like a symptom. Something was wrong with him, more wrong than usual.

But he couldn’t move.

The Deathless Guide was still here.

It hovered in place, silent, but not indifferent. Its gaze drifted, down to the demon fox curled in Bedivere’s hands. Something flickered. A barely-there shudder passed through its skeletal form. You could miss it if you blinked. But Bedivere didn’t blink.

He felt it. The Guide was afraid.

And then, without sound the Deathless Guide vanished. Bedivere nearly let out a breath, chest beginning to loosen, until his hands began trembling. Not with fear, at least not entirely, but as if his body had just now remembered it had limits. The fox in his grip kicked hard and leapt free, and though Bedivere tried to stop it, his muscles weren’t listening.

His own flesh felt like it was running on someone else’s orders.

Nope. Definitely not normal.

But at least, for now, the chaos had ended.

Julia was still slumped in place, eyes glassy and distant. The demon fox trotted over to her with no hesitation. Strange, but not surprising anymore. Bedivere kept his distance. Neither of them posed any threat in this state, and he wasn’t about to test whatever pact that thing might’ve just made.

Still... what had just happened wasn’t routine. This wasn’t some botched invocation or minor spiritual anomaly. Their new sanctum leader was now gone, erased and consumed, perhaps a worse fate than death itself. Maybe the title itself was cursed. Not his problem.

The sanctum was intact. Dozens of undeath Cultivators still patrolled its halls. Power was still here, and so was the structure.

All he needed to do now was get word to the capital. That had to happen fast. Bedivere nodded to himself, lips tight. He just needed to gather the others and-

The thought hadn’t even finished when the walls shook.

A blast ripped through the sanctum’s upper levels, the ground rumbling with the force of it. Dust rained from the ceiling. Bedivere nearly stumbled. Fabio, standing guard nearby, hissed sharply. Smoke steamed from his dark armor, rising like mist from scorched meat.

Bedivere’s eyes widened, blood turning to slush.

There was only one type of attack that could burn a Death Knight from this far away.

He cursed under his breath, then louder.

“Sun Church mongrels?!?” The outrage tore from him. “WHAT rancid miracle brought THEM here? And HOW?”