"I just can't go on like this..."
Ancient scriptures echoed in the forest, the black, cloaked figures solemn in the frenzied atmosphere.
At one point, the figure in the lead took off his cloak's hood, revealing an aged face. The countless wrinkles bristly like a bark of an old tree. He lifted his head and yelled, and immediately, everyone else removed their hoods too.
Revealing faces so pale they were void of all color.
Their expressions were strange, each face exhibiting bat-like features, white fangs protruding from their lips.
"Offer up your blood…"
The old man held an old black pottery jar, approaching each figure. That person would then raise a small knife they carried, slashed their wrist, and let the fresh blood drip into the jar. Then the wound would quickly heal, and the old man would then move on to the next person.
