Novel & Cerita Bloodstained: Ritual Of The Night Platforms

I care about the scent of fear coming off the villagers. "They won't clap for those city-born fakes," I mutter to Ronan Nightcrest. He’s standing close to me, his scent a mix of cedar and wet earth, grounding me. "We’re going to give the elders something that smells like home." When 2:00 PM hits, the Bloodmoon Trials Arena is packed. The village head, an old alpha with scars mapping his entire face, bellows into the primitive sound-caster, announcing the start of the ritual.

They come to trade, to learn, to celebrate the anniversary of the day the gods stopped fighting and started cooperating. The festival is Riven's idea, and she's organized it with characteristic enthusiasm. There are performances by dreamweavers who create shared visions of beauty. Demonstrations by Bloodwraiths—yes, plural, we've found others with similar curses—who've learned to control their power. Exhibitions of relic magic, storm-calling, tide-weaving, and every other form of power Lunareth possesses. But the highlight is the Divine Dialogue—a public demonstration of the network that connects the fragments.

The ritual chamber was a creepy-looking cavern with moonlight filtering through cracks in the ceiling, pooling around an ancient altar where the Heartstone sat, now whole and glowing with unnatural light. The air was thick with the scent of blood and incense. And there she was. Solana lay sprawled on the floor, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her dress was torn at the shoulder, the sigil on her skin blazing red. Ambrose hovered over her, one hand splayed possessively over her bump, his lips brushing her forehead as he whispered something low. I saw red. Ambrose's head snapped up. He didn't flinch. His one good eye gleamed with triumph as he raised a blood-sm

Their howls stopped at the border, leaving only the sound of my boots crunching dead leaves and Lessie’s ragged breathing. She stirred once, coughing weakly, and a small trickle of blood slid from the corner of her mouth. I smiled to myself. Perfect. The ritual had already begun to take hold. I reached the ruin just as the clouds parted. The moon was out already, and I was deep red as fresh blood poured over the temple’s cracked stones. Its pillars had long since crumbled, yet the altar still stood, black granite etched with runes older than the coven itself. Power thrummed here, a pulse beneath my skin, feeding me. The perfect stage.

My blood turned into molten lava, and I cursed every weakened part of me that I couldn't make act on the rage storming inside me. “So, let me tell you what is going to happen.” He locked his eyes on mine. “The night of the Blood Moon is in four days. Until that day, the Moon Tears around you will finally shine strongly enough, and we'll have everything we need for the ritual.” My stomach churned. “What ritual?” A wicked smirk curled up one side of his lips. “You will help me summon the Dark Demon.” Pure dread exploded within me. “You… You're insane,” I breathed.

Blood stained the ancient stone. Yuna fought with everything she had, every lesson Noah had taught her, every instinct her mother's blood had given her. But Victor was stronger, faster, more experienced. He caught her by the throat and slammed her into a pillar. "Enough games," he growled. "It's time to complete the ritual." He dragged her toward the center stage, ignoring the bullets that struck his hide. The full moon hung directly overhead now, perfect and bright. "Noah!" Yuna screamed. "Now!"

He pulls me up with ease. “To the basement.” I hold out my hand to conjure another energy ball, wanting to be ready and needing the light to see. Lucas walks behind me, on the lookout for any more of those creatures. We go through the dining area and into the main hall again. “The smell of human blood is getting stronger,” Lucas tells me. “Fresh blood?” “No.” I splay my fingers, and the blue light brightens above me, illuminated crude graffiti drawn on the walls. Binx shadows out of the dark, red eyes glowing.

Apart from the gifts I had given her in the past, I found nothing that belonged to me. When she was taken away by the coroners, the only thing she had on was a thin nightgown. There was no way she had been carrying anything else on her. The same ominous question came back to me—Was it truly her in the first place? All the recent deaths were too much for me to handle. I propped my hands against Sybille’s desk and felt a metallic scent fill my mouth before throwing up a mouthful of blood. My blood splattered against the cover of a book. It was a copy of “The Book of the Dead” I had lent her.