The ferry glided across the Pearl River delta, cutting through mist that clung to the water like smoke.
Ahead, Macau’s skyline blazed with neon—gold, crimson, electric blue—towering casinos and old Portuguese churches standing side by side, a clash of old and new that hummed with restless energy.
Zhang Jiuxuan leaned on the rail, the Celestial Master’s Seal warm against his chest.
Huo Yunxi stood beside him, wrapped in a plain jacket, her gaze fixed on the glittering towers.
“Every casino here is built to drain luck,” she said quietly.
“Shaped like open mouths, like bottomless bowls, like traps that never let go.
But under Cardinal Roderick… they aren’t just taking money anymore.” “Taking luck is just the start,” Zhang Jiuxuan said.
“They’re turning every chip, every roll of the dice, every desperate bet into fuel.
Millions of people pouring their hopes and fears into the same place—perfect for opening a gate strong enough to reach across the world.” They docked late in the evening.
Instead of heading straight for the Black Cross’s stronghold, Zhang Jiuxuan walked first to a tiny dim sum shop tucked between two massive casino resorts.
He ordered two baskets of har gow and a bowl of congee, eating slowly while watching the crowds stream past.
Lin Weiyao joined him a few minutes later, carrying a thick folder of documents.
“All the biggest casinos here share one hidden owner,” he said, sliding papers across the table.
“A shell company registered in Luxembourg, but every payment traces back to the same account tied to the Black Cross.
And the biggest one—the Golden Lotus—has been expanding its underground levels for six months.
No one knows what they’re building down there.” Zhang Jiuxuan flipped open the blueprint sketches.
His eyes narrowed.
“Five concentric rings,” he said.
“Aligned exactly with the five stars of the Southern Cross.
Every corner marked for blood sacrifice.
They’re building a planetary summoning altar.” That night, they slipped past the Golden Lotus’s security perimeter, moving through service tunnels and empty VIP corridors.
The casino above roared with laughter and cheers, but down here, the air was dead cold, lit only by faint blue lights embedded in the walls.
At the end of the final tunnel stood a pair of massive bronze doors carved with twisted vines and iron crosses.
Two guards stood watch—tall, pale, their eyes entirely black, their skin hard as polished stone.
“Vampire thralls,” Zhang Jiuxuan murmured.
“Turned, not born.
Used as mindless sentries.” He signaled the others to stay back, then stepped forward.
The guards lunged at once, claws tearing through the air.
Zhang Jiuxuan didn’t draw a weapon—he simply tapped each one’s forehead with two fingers.
Golden light flared, and the stone-like skin cracked and crumbled, the dark energy burning away until only empty, harmless ash remained.
He pushed open the doors.
The space beyond was vast—larger than the entire casino above.
Five raised platforms circled a central pit, each holding a stone altar dripping with dark fluid.
Standing on the highest platform was a man in a crimson cardinal’s robe, his face pale and sharp, his eyes burning with cold silver light.
Beside him rested a heavy iron casket bound in blessed chains.
“Zhang Jiuxuan,” Cardinal Roderick said, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
“I have heard so much about the last Celestial Master.
You have broken so many of my plans.
But here—at the heart of all your greed and desperation—you have walked into the one place your talismans cannot reach.” Zhang Jiuxuan walked into the center of the room, his flip-flops slapping softly against the cold floor.
“Greed is your fuel,” he said.
“Desperation is your bait.
But neither is stronger than the earth that holds this city up.” Roderick smiled and gestured to the altars.
Hundreds of people—dealers, gamblers, tourists—stood frozen at each one, their life force slowly siphoned upward into glowing crystal spheres.
“Every soul here chose to chase fortune,” Roderick said.
“I merely offer them what they asked for.
And in return, they will power the gate that brings our masters to this world.” He slammed his staff against the floor.
The crystals flared bright.
Shadowy figures slithered from the pit—beasts made of pure envy, hunger, and regret, their forms shifting and melting as they surged forward.
Zhang Jiuxuan pulled the Celestial Master’s Seal free, holding it high.
“These people didn’t choose to be your battery,” he said.
“And this land didn’t choose to be your doorstep.” He slammed the seal down.
“Light of the ancestors—burn away the false promise!” Golden fire swept outward, not burning the people, but burning only the shadow beasts and the chains binding them.
The crystals dimmed, the frozen captives stirred, and the shadow creatures shrieked and dissolved into mist.
Roderick’s smile vanished.
He ripped the iron casket’s chains away, and the lid swung open.
“You think you have won?” he roared.
“I did not come alone.
I brought the oldest weapon of the Order!” From the casket rose a figure draped in tattered purple robes, its face hidden by a veil of shadow.
As it stepped out, the air grew so cold the stone floor frosted over instantly.
“The first fallen angel,” Roderick said, his voice trembling with triumph.
“And it hungers for the blood of the last Celestial Master.”