As dusk settled over the compound, a heavy anticipation cloaked the air, thickening with the weight of unspoken fears. The excitement that once buzzed among the girls had morphed into a palpable anxiety. Each had absorbed the grim reality of their situation: whispers of a less than twenty percent selection rate had morphed into a far more sobering truth—one in every four hundred. Their hearts sank as they witnessed the sea of dejected faces being ushered away, clutching nothing but the meagre possessions they'd arrived with.
"Don't let that get to your heads!" Aysha declared, her voice a brave attempt to pierce through the gloom. Despite her tough exterior, the eldest among them was a soft-hearted guardian, determined to shield her friends from despair. If anyone deserved to be chosen, it was undoubtedly Aysha.
With a flicker of excitement, they hurried to wash and dress, gathering the few belongings they had brought. But the reality of their odds loomed like a storm cloud as they shuffled into yet another line, an endless procession leading to the ritual hall. With each passing moment, the silence grew heavier, a collective tension settling like lead in their stomachs.
When their turn finally arrived, they were handed number badges and ominous red pills, instructed to wait. They shuffled to their seats, scanning the ritual setting—underwhelming, to say the least. Cushioned chairs lined up before a sparse stage dominated by a solitary podium and a long table. Three hundred thousand hopefuls a year gathered here for this.
"It's simpler than I expected," Chaya whispered, disbelief mingling with dread.
They hard long imagine the moment to be a tale from stories, something magical and eerie.
"It may look simple, but just imagine the cost of feeding all of us for seven days, only to select a fraction of participants. If I were them, I'd serve bread and tomato soup," Aysha laughed lightly, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Yeah, yesterday's meal felt like a feast fit for royalty," Leyna added, a tinge of wistfulness in her voice.
Hours dragged on as they waited, hearts pounding with each tick of the clock. Finally, a man cladded in a maroon cloak emerged, the air shifting with an electric tension as he approached the podium, flanked by three others.
"The ritual shall commence; you may take the pills now," he commanded, gesturing towards a caldron that had been wheeled onto the stage.
A collective intake of breath filled the hall. The taste of iron erupted on their tongues as they swallowed the red pills, a visceral reminder of what they had just ingested.
"The pills contain a concoction mixed with the blood of the Champions—the three chosen hands of the perished Gods," the oracle explained, his voice a chilling melody. "This bitter mixture reveals who among you is worthy. If your body rejects the merger, you will remain unchanged."
A wave of nausea washed over some in the crowd, the weight of his words settling heavily. One by one, participants were ushered to the stage, each standing behind a cup, waiting for their fate to unfold.
"Under the crimson moon's behest,
We embrace the divine's test.
By ancient rites and mystic lore,
Transform the form to spirit pure.
Human guise, we lay to rest,
Under the blood moon's glow,
We call upon those chosen to fight thy foe."
As the chant rose, cloaked figures began to serve each participant from the caldron. Leyna's eyes sparkled with excitement, but it was short-lived. Nine participants collapsed, writhing in agony as they threw up the black substance.
"Congratulations, young lad, you've joined the ranks of the Abyssliths." The oracle stated to the man he approached, gripping his jaw and examining the unsettling black veins that spiralled from his wrist to his elbows.
"I can't believe we're witnessing this" Leyna whispered in excitement.
Hours passed as the ceremony continued, the atmosphere thick with tension. The girls grew restless, their own turn looming ever closer. Suddenly, gasps rippled through the crowd, and a woman in red rushed onto the stage.
"Ált!" a woman cloaked in red shouted as she ran up to the stage.
"What?" the oracle demanded, his expression shifting from authority to concern.
"We will take a brief break! Everyone halt!" he commanded, retreating to the shadows with the woman.
Whispers erupted, curiosity igniting the crowd. "What's going on?" Chaya strained to see.
"I think like they finally showed up," a girl said, her excitement bubbling over.
"Who's 'they'?" Aysha questioned, catching sight of the figures emerging from the back.
"Three men," someone whispered, and Leyna struggled to get a glimpse.
Aysha couldn't help but tease, "Ah I forgot, you're short"
"Not our fault you're built like a 6 ft beanpole." Chaya huffed.
Leyna rolled her eyes. "We're not that short, Aysha. Five foot six, point five is above average!"
"Average my ass, you guys can barely touch the door frame" Aysha mumbled.
"I'll stop you right there, you cloud sniffing beanpole, I'm above average, a.v.e.r.a.g.e" Leyna spelled out. "I stand at 5 ft 5.7, POINT seven!" Leyna huffed, using Aysha's shoulder for support.
Their banter faltered as the oracle returned, a smile transforming his features. The crowd fell silent, eyes drawn to the three thrones that had been wheeled in, ornate and imposing.
"Are those thrones?" Leyna questioned.
"I'll be damned, it really seems to be them, I've heard they haven't attended on of these in years" a man whispered.
"Years? According to our instructor, they have not attended a ceremony in a few decades, they assign someone to attend in their absence." Another chimed in.
"It's with great honour that we announce the three champions have graced us with their presence today. May the Moon bleed redder than before," the oracle proclaimed, his voice echoing through the hall.
A palpable tension electrified the air as the incantation resumed, their fates hanging in the balance. The atmosphere was electric, thick with anticipation. As the girls stood on the precipice of their destinies, the unknown loomed larger than ever.