The bandit leader's information was a compass point of its own, leading them away from the main trade route and into a labyrinth of wind-sculpted canyons. That night, under a cloak of darkness so deep the stars seemed like shattered ice, Ye Xingliu and Feng Shui'er left the caravan hidden in a secluded ravine and moved like ghosts towards the cult's camp.
They found it in a massive, natural amphitheater. A hundred robed figures knelt in the sand, chanting in a low, monotonous drone that grated against the soul. In the center of their circle stood a towering, jagged structure built from black, obsidian-like rock—a crude, cruel imitation of a comet. It was a Fake Comet Altar, and from its tip, a thin, crimson beam of energy lanced into the sky, as if trying to pierce the heavens.
But Ye Xingliu's Life Sensing told the true story. The beam wasn't going up; it was pulling down. It was a siphon, drawing in the faint ambient life force of the desert, the vitality of the scuttling creatures, the very will of the stunted plants. And it was drawing the spiritual energy and vitality from the chanting cultists themselves. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes hollow. They were fueling the altar with their own lives.
"It's a parasite," Shui'er whispered, her voice tight with revulsion. "They're worshipping their own executioner."
Then, the cult leader emerged from a large tent. He was a tall, skeletally thin man draped in black robes embroidered with silver, falling stars. He raised his arms, and the chanting grew feverish.
"Soon, brethren!" his voice echoed, thin and reedy yet carrying an unnatural force. "The true comet will fall! And with the energy we have gathered, we shall be the first to claim its power for the Great Devourer!"
As he spoke, Ye Xingliu's senses, honed by his encounter in the village and his communion with pure starlight, recoiled. The man's life rhythm was wrong. It wasn't a single, coherent pulse. It was a dissonant chord, a human rhythm fighting against a cold, gnawing, hollow one. It was the same vile emptiness he had felt the night his village died, but this time, it wasn't a swarm of mindless beasts. It was concentrated. Intelligent. Wearing a human skin.
"He's not just a leader," Ye Xingliu murmured, his star-flecked eyes narrowing to slits. The memory of ash and loss was a cold stone in his gut, but it was quickly buried under a wave of cold, focused rage. "He's a host. A Void Worm… but bigger. Smarter."
The pieces clicked into place. The Void Worms that attacked his village weren't a random event. They were scouts. Harvesters. This cult, this siphon, was part of a larger plan. They were preparing for the comet's fall, not to worship it, but to defile it, to feed it to their "Great Devourer."
A slow, grim smile touched Ye Xingliu's lips. It held no humor, only the sharp edge of a promise about to be fulfilled.
He looked at Shui'er, his voice a low, determined whisper.
"Round two, bugs."
The Wanderer had found a detour on his road. And this one needed to be permanently closed.
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