In a vast, dimly lit hall, the air was heavy with the scent of dust and decay. The grey stone walls, once grand, now bore the weight of centuries of neglect. Shafts of sunlight struggled to pierce the grime-encrusted windows along the left wall, casting weak, pallid beams across the room. Despite the pervasive greyness, a slightly raised platform in the middle of the hall stood out, the only area free from dust.
Streams of blood trickled down from the platform, staining the stone with dark, ominous rivulets. On the platform, a beautiful woman hung from the ceiling by chains that bound her wrists. Her clothing was tattered, barely concealing her bruised and battered body. Her stomach and legs were grotesquely swollen, filled with some sinister liquid, a cruel method of torture meant to prolong her agony.
Around her, fourteen other women hung in similar torment. Their bodies were swollen and contorted with pain, the liquid inside them sloshing and shifting, a constant reminder of their suffering. Their faces were etched with despair, eyes hollow from the unending torment.
The hall was eerily silent, broken only by the occasional drip of blood hitting the stone floor—a macabre symphony of suffering. The women's breaths came in ragged gasps, each inhalation a struggle against the relentless pain. Chains rattled softly as they twitched and shuddered, the metal links glinting dully in the faint light.
Every inch of their skin bore the marks of their torture: bruises, cuts, and abrasions. The swollen areas of their abdomens throbbed painfully, the liquid inside a constant source of torment. Their wrists, bound by cruel chains, were raw and bleeding from their futile struggles.
In this chamber of horrors, time lost its meaning as pain and existence blurred into a nightmarish reality. Each torment inflicted upon them was a testament to the cruelty of their captors, designed to break their spirits and crush their wills. Yet, amidst the suffering, their defiance remained—a flickering flame in the darkness.
Step. Step. Step.
A man with slow but deliberate footsteps entered the hall, followed by several others. His presence was foreboding, a harbinger of even greater suffering. Clad in silver full-body armor that emanated a monstrous miasma, he moved with a calm, almost regal demeanor. The armor's surface was adorned with dark engravings that pulsed with malevolent energy.
A thin red scarf-like cloth draped around his neck, extending down his back and fluttering softly with each step, a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. At his hip, he carried a long purple katana, sheathed in a scabbard made of pure miasma.
As he stepped onto the platform, his gaze swept over the tortured women, their eyes widening with renewed terror. The silence was broken only by the soft clinking of his armor and the ragged breaths of the captives. He paused, savoring the scene before him, his presence a palpable weight that pressed down on the already oppressive atmosphere.
With deliberate slowness, he drew the katana, the blade's purple hue shimmering ominously in the dim light. The weapon was a dark beauty, embedded with three gems that glowed with dual colors, hinting at its cruel power. He approached the woman hanging at the center of the platform, her eyes meeting his with a mix of defiance and despair.
In a voice dripping with mockery, he spoke, "Ah, the Mother Goddess herself. How fitting that you should hang here, powerless and broken. Tell me, where is your divine mercy now? You, who are worshipped and revered, cannot even save your own daughters from their cruel fate."
He leaned in closer, eyes gleaming with malevolent delight. "Does it sting, knowing you are the Mother Goddess and yet utterly helpless? Watch as they suffer, their agony a testament to your failure. Your suffering has only just begun. Embrace the darkness, for it is all that remains."
With a cruel laugh, he raised his katana, the blade gleaming in the dim light. "You are nothing but a false idol, a symbol of empty promises and hollow prayers. And now, you and your precious daughters are paying the price for your failure."
He raised his katana, making it clear what awaited her if she didn't comply. But instead of fear, her eyes filled with defiance. She sneered and said, "It doesn't matter what you do or say because I will not be provoked by a filthy creature like you, corroded by that selfish devil. And as for my daughters, I have never stopped—Aah!"
Before she could finish, the katana sliced through her flesh, severing her breasts with sickening ease. The lumps of flesh fell to the ground, the impact echoing in the silent hall. The man watched with a twisted smile as dark flames consumed her flesh at the same rate it regenerated, trapping her in an endless loop of agony.
Her body convulsed with pain, muscles spasming uncontrollably. Blood poured from the wounds only to be absorbed back into her body as it struggled to heal itself. The cycle of pain and regeneration continued, a never-ending nightmare orchestrated by the man in silver armor. Despite the excruciating pain, the corners of her lips tugged into a defiant smile, knowing she had secured something more important to her than her life—something that would hinder him.
Her voice, though weak, carried powerful conviction. She began to laugh softly, a low, mirthless sound that echoed through the hall. The laugh faded as she became unable to speak again, but the defiance in her eyes burned brighter than ever. Her consciousness faded, a subtle smile on her lips, as she and all fourteen of her daughters succumbed to their torment.
(A/N: Hi! guys this is my 2nd work and 1st novel, so there might be some problem here and there. Feel free to suggest or recommend anything you might have liked or not. This story is going to be very long and as I have already said that I am a student myself, so it is quiet problematic for me to upload frequently. Which novel you want to have the chapter of, Eminence in shadow Vol.7(My Edition) or Echoes of the Last Hope: Virtue's Final Stand?)