Scott and his companions had relocated to a dimly lit coffee shop, away from prying eyes. The eldritch knight had shared some insights about himself, skimming over the details he considered trivial and holding back what he deemed unnecessary.

“Holy shit,” Slim murmured, his gaze lost in thought. “What did you do to make them hate you so much?”

“I'm still trying to figure that out,” Scott replied softly, his eyes distant as he ignored the steaming cup of coffee before him.

Orion whispered incantations under his breath, stealing occasional glances at Scott. To the other champions, it seemed like the mage was processing information on a level beyond their comprehension—or interest.

“That's my story,” Scott continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “The others will soon learn of my involvement in the ranking games. Remember, these are individuals who've navigated the tower's challenges across different timelines. Their power... it's unimaginable.”

Scott paused, his eyes scanning each face in turn. “It's up to you now. Whatever you decide, know that I won't hold it against you.”

Slim chuckled softly, cutting in, “Trying to ditch me, are you?” He met Scott's gaze with a smirk. “They might be powerful, but that's only because they had a head start. We just need to be cautious, and we'll catch up to them eventually.” Frustration clouded Slim's face as he toyed with his cup. “Accusing people based on potential actions? If that's the case, a lot of us would be in trouble if everyone could alter timelines,” he grumbled before taking a sip of his coffee.

Zara, seated next to Slim, wore a thoughtful expression mirroring his. Scott's past had always intrigued her, but even she hadn't anticipated the revelations the eldritch knight had shared.

The feline paused to collect her thoughts before speaking. “I'm with Slim. I won't abandon you. We'll find a solution.”

Llorva chimed in from the side. “I agree,” she said, staying close to Scott. Unlike before, her eyes showed no hint of desire.

“Fi-Fi's staying put too,” the elemental slime announced in its childlike voice. “Who knows, they might find out we've been with you and decide to eliminate us either way. Fi-Fi would rather stay by your side.”

Orion grinned broadly, capturing everyone's attention. “Well said,” he began, then chuckled softly. “I knew I made the right choice sticking with you.” His tone grew thoughtful. “Who would've guessed there were other timelines? I'd suspected something like that but had no proof. I wonder why the gods would allow such anomalies unless they have a way to balance things out…”

Scott cut in, “They do. I don’t know the specifics, but it's called the point of no return.”

Orion adjusted his glasses, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Interesting name,” he murmured. “My decision remains the same, but I'm eager—no, excited—to hear your plans for handling this.”

Scott cleared his throat, becoming the focus of the group once more. “First, thank you all. I'll do my best to ensure you don't regret this.” He paused, looking at Zara. “This might sound crazy, but we need to join the Blood Cult if we want to survive,” he declared.

Zara's face lit up, a smile breaking through. But it quickly faded into uncertainty.

“I was actually going to suggest that,” she admitted, hesitating. “But I wasn't sure how to bring it up. People see us as a bunch of bloodthirsty maniacs. Joining the cult might actually make things worse.”

“Fitting right in, aren't you?” Slim teased, grinning. Zara shot him a deathly glare, meeting the necromancer's gaze. Slim awkwardly scratched the back of his head. “Ignore me. Go on, my leader.”

Scott's eyes moved from Slim to Zara. A mask of feigned indifference hid his smile. He couldn't deny missing the banter between the two.

Brushing Slim off, Zara resumed, “Public perception may label us this way, but the reality is different. I'm not saying this to recruit you or justify my choices. It's not a club for saints or heroes—”

“Zara, just get to the point,” Scott interrupted. “No one here cares if they're saints or maniacs.”

Nodding, Zara took a deep breath. “I'd love for you to join me, but it's tricky. Neither of you has blood-related abilities, and it a requirement to join the cult.”

Scott chuckled softly. “Is that what's bothering you?”

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Zara frowned, puzzled by Scott’s confidence. “It's a significant issue. And there's more.” She glanced around, ensuring privacy before continuing. “Joining the Blood Cult means making powerful enemies. Especially the Celestial Blades—they’re obsessed with wiping out the cult.”

The champions' faces tightened; they all knew of the formidable reputation of the Celestial Blades.

Scott cleared his throat, pulling their focus. “Remember those people I mentioned?”

Zara and the others nodded, a sinking feeling in their stomachs. They hoped Scott wasn't about to confirm their fears.

“Well… those guys are the ones who created Celestial Blades,” Scott announced.

“Damn it,” Zara and Slim swore simultaneously. Meanwhile, Orion wore a wry smile, his chuckle barely audible.

“Buddy, it seems you might be on your own—” A sharp slap to the back of the necromancer’s head cut him off, nearly toppling him.

“Come on, it was just a joke,” Slim protested, glaring at Zara, the culprit.

“Well, it was a terrible joke,” she retorted before turning to Scott. “We've already decided to stick with you, so it doesn’t really matter how powerful our enemies are. But why do you seem so confident about joining the Blood Cult despite its rules?”

“Can you contact your friends in the cult?” Scott countered with a question. Curious, Zara simply nodded, waiting for more.

“Tell them you want to recommend some people for the blood ritual. If they’re clueless, tell them to ask their superiors. We’re bound to find someone who knows about it,” Scott elaborated.

“Blood ritual?” Zara murmured, the term unfamiliar and its implications ominous.

“I’ll contact them now,” Zara said after a brief pause. She retrieved a blood-red crystal from her inventory, pricking her thumb with her claw. Her blood stained the crystal, which then floated eerily in midair, emitting a subtle glow.

Orion watched intently as Zara’s blood shifted, forming the figure of a miniature elf without a definite form. The transformation was swift, and the distorted blood only stopped morphing when the tiny figure had attained perfection.

“Zara? What’s happening? Why did you contact me this way? And who are these people?” the figure demanded, its voice tinged with urgency and caution as its eyes darted among the unfamiliar faces.

“Itireae, I wouldn’t have reached out if it weren’t important. These are the companions I mentioned earlier,” Zara clarified.

The elf’s gaze lingered on Orion, Slim, and especially Scott. “So, what’s the urgency?”

Before Zara could reply, a reddish blur shot towards the elf. Zara looked up to see a crimson, bloody tendril extending from Scott’s mask. As she tried to speak, black tendrils covered her mouth, immobilizing her. The same restrictions locked Slim and others in place, and they could only watch in horror as the tendrils shattered the elf’s projection and fragmented the crystal.

A second later, the tendrils began to reassemble the shards like pieces of a dark puzzle.

Moments later, the fragmented crystal had transformed into a shapeless item. The bloody tendril smeared itself across it, and the transformed crystal emitted a low pulsating sound. Simultaneously, a ghostly aura filled the coffee shop, causing multiple champions to collapse. Only Scott and his companions, still ensnared by the black tendrils, remained conscious but immobilized.

Dozens of bloody faces shifted and morphed rapidly within the crystal, each contorting as if consumed by flames. A hoarse voice emanated from it, “Who are you?” Puzzlement, hesitation, and surprise tinged its tone.

A tendril twisted from the crystal, coiling into a miniature man—someone Scott instantly recognized. His older variant sneered at the shifting faces. “How pathetic. This is the blood cult's legacy now,” he said with disdain.

The faces pivoted towards the projection, their gaze heavy and inscrutable. Another voice, darker and more menacing, echoed forth. “Which timeline do you hail from?”

Scott's eyes quivered, mirroring the unease of his companions. His older variant smirked, “Finally, someone sensible,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “The timeline I come from doesn't matter. What's crucial is the threat of Celestial Blades. If you want to survive, open the ancestral blood vault for him,” he gestured towards Scott.

The faces fixated on Scott, some lunging towards him. In that instant, the yellow sign flashed on Scott’s mask, and shadowy hands surged forth, seizing the faces and dragging them into the mask amid their agonized screams.

The yellow sign flashed again, and the hands vanished. Scott’s older variant looked at him, fear betraying his eyes. He quickly turned to the remaining faces. “Understand this: he's your best—perhaps only—chance against those battle maniacs. He might even be the key to stopping that caveman’s domain,” he declared.

The faces exchanged glances, contemplating the variant’s words. After a pause, a female voice broke the silence, “Where are you in the tower?” her question directed toward Scott.

“Why would I tell you?” Scott shot back.

“I mean no harm,” she began, but Scott cut her off. “That changes nothing. Not everyone might share your intentions.”

The variant intervened, “He'll reach the Blood Towers soon. Decide before he does.”

A heavy silence enveloped coffee shop, but the hoarse voice returned moments later, “Life is fleeting. Death is the gateway. Our pact is blood; our desires, ephemeral."

“But only the Blood Cult is eternal!” the faces, the variant, and even Zara, though her mouth remained sealed, chanted in unison.

Meanwhile, the shadowy tendrils wiggled, as if mocking the declaration.

“What's your title?” the hoarse voice asked the variant.

A smirk played on his face as he began, “I am the Eidolon—” but before he could finish, tendrils yanked the projection back into the mask, and the crimson trail receded.

The faces fixed their gaze on Scott, and a new voice, markedly more refined than the rest, echoed, “We await your arrival at the Blood Towers.” The connection abruptly severed. The crystal tumbled onto the table, shattering into fragments. The tendrils that had bound the champions retracted into their hiding spots, and the constraining forces vanished. Simultaneously, the unconscious champions began to stir, though neither could move nor speak just yet.

All eyes turned to Scott, a whirlwind of thoughts and questions swirling in the room.

“That wasn't supposed to happen,” Scott murmured. “And yes, there's a lot I haven’t told you—and probably won't. Some things are better left unknown,” he added.