The Awakeners inside fought bravely, sparks flew as their weapons met monstrous hide and claw. 

But it was clear they were outmatched or at least severely pressed, and the monsters seemed to shrug off the blows that would have crippled a normal Cloud beast. 

Casualties began to increase rapidly, together with the amount of source power.

[Source Power: 45.1%] ... [Source Power: 49.5%] ... [Source Power: 52.8%]

The sheer terror radiating from the scene, the pain of the wounded Awakeners, the despair of the trapped civilians, it all washed over Su Mu in waves, each one more potent than the last.

Her Source Power was climbing at a dizzying rate. Yet, she wasn't able to make any difference with her current strength level, except to stay away from the scene to avoid being dragged into it. 

The sounds of the fight – the wet tearing of flesh, the sickening crunch of bone, the desperate, pain-filled cries – were horrifyingly clear. 

The dark energy made her sickened, but her Upgrade Matrix absorbed it relentlessly. 

Her gaze was fixed on the brutal, unfolding melee, her knuckles white where she gripped Xu'er's arm.

"They're toying with them," Xu'er breathed, her voice low, her purplish eyes narrowed to slits, filled with disgust. 

"Ferals," Xu'er breathed, her voice tight with a mixture of dread and fury, her playful demeanor vanished entirely. "And controlled by these cultist scum, no less!"

"Damn it… How could these evil god followers control Ferals?" she whispered through gritted teeth. 

A mutated hybrid. A human who has undergone uncontrolled beastification by injecting raw or impure Cloud beast blood or Cloud Beast Cores (CBCs) into their bodies in an attempt to gain power or evolve unnaturally.

They were fast. Smart. And completely unpredictable.

Each Feral reflects the beast blood lineage they were corrupted by, like Frostfang Feral – Frostwolf bloodline: fast, agile, howling calls.

Slitherspike Feral – Serpent bloodline: stealthy, spine-laced tail, etc..

The chaos in the Emberlight District had barely registered its peak when a new, more sinister stillness fell upon a section of the wide thoroughfare. 

Inside the energy shield, the cloaked men ignored the desperate cries and frantic pounding of their trapped victims, their shrouded heads turning towards the entrance of the mechanic's shop. 

They were waiting for someone.

From the dark storefront, another figure emerged. 

Taller than the others, with an air of undeniable authority, perhaps their leader. 

As he stepped into the eerie gloom within the dome, the cloaked figures bowed their heads, their voices rising in a new chorus:

"All hail the Lord of Shadows!"

"All hail the Harvester of Screams!"

"All hail the Master of the Unseen!"

"All hail the Lords of the Coming Void!"

The leader moved with a slow, deliberate gait, the folds of his dark robe touching against the ground. 

As he walked, he drew a gnarled, obsidian-bladed short knife from within his robes. 

The blade seemed to drink the dim light, its black surface unnervingly sharp.

At the same time, another of the robed figures knelt. 

With a long, skeletal finger, it began to trace complex, glowing symbols on the ground. 

Su Mu watched in horror as she realized the "ink" was fresh blood from the victims inside the shop. 

The symbols pulsed with a malevolent crimson light, intricate and alien.

Soon, the very air within the shimmering dome grew visibly darker, thicker, as if a tangible shadow was descending. 

The temperature inside seemed to plummet by several degrees, a chilling cold that had nothing to do with the late afternoon air outside the barrier. 

It was so cold that it seeped into the bones of the people inside and outside, creating an almost supernatural dread.

"They're starting the ritual," Xu'er bit out, her voice tight with a helplessness that was clearly agonizing for her. 

"Damn them! Damn these evil-worshipping scum! They're going to sacrifice those people!"

The crowd outside, those who hadn't fled, murmured in fresh horror. 

Some turned away, unable to watch the grotesque preparations. 

Others, like Su Mu, remained rooted to the spot, her mind trying to process the escalating nightmare. 

Her recently awakened enhanced senses were overwhelmed by the potent waves of fear and despair radiating from the trapped innocents, her Source Power continuing its climb. 

She found herself scanning the skies, the surrounding buildings, anywhere, for the arrival of the Night Petrol or someone from the city guards. 

Only they could handle situations like this.

The knife in the cult leader's hand glowed wickedly in the light of the energy dome. 

As he raised it slightly, signaling, other robed figures to move. 

Soon, the stationary cultists turned towards the terrified group of civilians still trapped near the back of the barricaded area, those who hadn't been caught in the initial battle with the Ferals.

With rough, uncaring hands, the cultists began to drag them forward. 

Men, women, even a few older children, were pulled from the huddled group, their cries of terror and pleas for mercy echoing uselessly against the energy shield.

"No! Please, don't!" a woman shrieked, trying to wrench her arm free from a cultist's grip. She was mercilessly dragged towards the glowing symbols on the ground.

"My son! Where is my son?" a man cried out, his voice hoarse with panic, as he too was hauled forward, his eyes darting wildly.

The cultists were brutally efficient, their movements devoid of any hesitation or empathy. 

They ignored the struggles, the tears of their victims. 

One by one, they forced the civilians to kneel before the crimson-etched sigils, their faces pale with the certainty of what was to come.

The leader watched, his knife ready, his shrouded head tilted as if listening to some unheard music only he could perceive. 

The other cultist, the one who had drawn the symbols, now stood back, its skeletal finger dripping fresh blood onto the already stained ground, its chanting a low, eager hum.

Outside the dome, the onlookers gasped. Some cried out in rage and frustration. 

The attempts to break the shield had ceased; it was clear the barrier was too strong for them.

"Where is the Night Petrol?" a man in the crowd roared, his voice cracking with desperation. "Why aren't they here yet? Do they not see what's happening?"

Xu'er, beside Su Mu, was trembling with anger. 

"These monsters… they're actually going to do it. Right here, in the middle of the city!" Her breath came in sharp, angry gasps. "If I could just get through that shield…"

Time seemed to stretch and twist, each minute an agonizing eternity for those watching from outside the shimmering barrier. 

The evil god followers, those robed figures, began their work. One by one, they forced the terrified, kneeling civilians further onto the blood-traced symbols.

The cult leader moved to the first victim, a middle-aged man who was sobbing uncontrollably, his pleas choked by terror. 

With a swift, brutal efficiency that spoke of long practice, the leader slashed the man's throat. 

A choked gurgle, a spray of dark crimson, and the man slumped forward, his lifeblood pooling onto the glowing sigils.

The crowd outside gasped, some people turned away, vomiting or covering their children's eyes. 

With each sacrifice, a truly horrific thing began to happen to the obsidian knife. 

As the victim's blood touched its gnarled surface, the blade began to glow. 

It started as a faint, deep red pulse from within the black material, but with every life taken, the glow intensified, becoming brighter, more malevolent.

From outside the energy dome, Su Mu and the others could now clearly see intricate, glowing red veins, like tiny, pulsing blood vessels, spreading across the surface of the knife. 

It was as if the weapon itself was drinking, absorbing the life force of the sacrificed, growing stronger and more unholy with each death.

The cult leader showed no emotion, his movements economical and precise. 

He moved from one kneeling figure to the next, the dark knife rising and falling, the crimson glow of the blade painting gruesome patterns in the gloom. 

The screams of the victims, cut short by the deadly blade, were replaced by the horrified cries of those awaiting their turn, their despair a palpable force.

Su Mu felt bile rise in her throat. Her hands were clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. 

The sheer volume of terror, pain, and dying anguish radiating from within the dome was almost physically sickening. 

Her Empathic Siphon was a torrent now, the numbers on her attribute panel climbing relentlessly, fueled by the unimaginable suffering unfolding just feet away. 

"Fuck those basterds, they're feeding that... that thing," Xu'er whispered, as she pointed a trembling finger at the glowing knife.