บท 3: Chapter 3: A Warning from Above

The next night found Ethan again alone in the shadows, keeping surreptitious watch over a decrepit building the cult was believed to use for secret rituals. His contact at Langley had radioed new intelligence from intercepted communications—plans were afoot to poison the city's water supply and cause mayhem under the cover of chaos.

If true, this could result in mass casualties among the innocent. Ethan had to act swiftly to prevent such an atrocity, even without tactical backup having arrived yet. As midnight approached, he observed robed figures filtering into the building carrying strange equipment under tarps.

The time had come to infiltrate. Drawing the hood of his cloak up, Ethan blended into the throng and passed undetected through the main entrance. Descending cracked stone stairwells, the cacophony of an obscene ceremony echoed up to greet him—maniacal chanting, bestial howls, and the sickening crack of whips meeting flesh.

His heart clenched at the torment being enacted below, yet he steeled his spirit against displaying any outward emotion. Reaching the lowest level, Ethan emerged into a vast chamber that nearly stopped his breath—carved entirely from obsidian like the maw of some hellish leviathan, its towering vaults pulsing with sinister runes that writhed nauseatingly in the lambent torchlight.

Dozens of cultists roiled about a central dais where their leader, a towering juggernaut of twisted muscle, gripped a young woman suspended upside down over a bubbling pool of liquid silver that reflected the scene in a funhouse mirror. With each thrash of her slender frame, the cavern shook, dust sifting from cracks in the demonic architecture.

Ethan's hands twitched toward his sidearm, every fiber burning to end this abomination. But he held back, scanning for clues to sabotage their plan with minimal engagement. Along the perimeter marched robed figures bearing trays of vials toward heavy stone basins, preparing to lace the water supply as planned.

He stalked closer, noticing strange luminescent residues clinging to the racks and vials as if reacting to their proximity. Seizing an opportunity, Ethan swept his cloak before one basin, watching the phosphorescent particles swirl and adhere to the fabric. With any fortune, analysis back at Command could determine this compound's properties and means of neutralizing it before unleashing a calamity.

Just then a disturbance erupted nearby—one cultist had collapsed, screaming, his flesh bubbling and melting before horrified onlookers. The vials and racks began shuddering violently, their glow intensifying malignly as whatever eldritch chemistry within reacted unpredictably.

Time had run out. Ethan bolted for the stairwell as pandemonium erupted behind him, trying desperately to escape the radioactive fallout before it consumed the chamber. Footsteps pursued him, but he would not look back; he only prayed that his mission had not been in vain and that God would deliver him from this place alive.

Bursting from the dilapidated entrance, Ethan sprinted down a serpentine alley just as the entire building detonated behind him in a blast of eldritch fire that lasted the night. Toppled by the shockwave, he tumbled end over end and collapsed in a draining heap, ears ringing as flames raged blocks away, consuming the cult's lair.

When his vision cleared, a ghastly sight emerged from the rubble: figures stumbling and writhing, their forms melting and warping piteously under some corrupting influence. Ethan realized with horror that the toxins had been released after all, though they were contained in a smaller area for now.

He had to move and coordinate an evacuation before this plague overtook the city. Radioing Command, Ethan reported the attack's failure, but a new threat was unfolding that demanded an immediate response. Within minutes, choppers were vectoring in with medics and soldiers to cordon off the infected zone as the infection's reach expanded uncontrollably.

Gunships circled overhead, pumping thermite streams into collapsing structures to contain the spread, while the populace fled in panic. Ethan helped triage and evacuate those suffering the onset of symptoms, praying a cure could be found in time as, with each passing minute, more people fell victim.

The experience shook him to his core, facing such inhuman corruption of flesh. Yet in every pair of eyes meeting his own, he saw past superficial degradation—spirits longing for rescue—and he found renewed strength there to persevere against the darkness.

Once the evac zone had been secured, Ethan collapsed into an uneasy sleep, but no respite came, only vivid nightmares. He stood again in that infernal chamber as robed figures melted and twisted, gesturing with decaying limbs towards him in accusation. Their wails echoed all around as slowly his own skin began bubbling and sloughing away.

Ethan jolted awake, drenched in sweat, Bible clutched to his heaving chest. The trauma had clearly taken its toll on his spirit, even as his body remained unharmed. In the pre-dawn light, he turned to scripture seeking solace, underscoring a passage that pierced his turmoil:For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind."

Taking refuge in those promises of divine strength and peace, Ethan regained his footing. A new day dawned, and with it came responsibility to see through the mission entrusted to him—for the sake of all trapped under oppression's pall in this forsaken place. Though darkness gathered momentum, he would shine light against it, whatever the cost.