The pitch-black night loomed overhead like a heavy curtain, with a round moon suspended in the sky, casting an eerie crimson glow that tinted the earth with an ominous hue. This monthly crimson moonlight was the most powerful manifestation of the Moon Goddess, heralding the arrival of the unknown and the unpredictable. It was a time when shadows danced and whispered secrets that sent shivers down the spines of the unwary.
Deep within the jungle, in a shadowy clearing, a group of bizarre creatures dressed in black leather quietly gathered. They wore fluffy, wide-brimmed hats, beneath which sharp, beast-like ears peeked out, revealing an aura that was distinctly nonhuman. This was the sacred ground of the wolf-men, a sanctuary where they sought the protection and guidance of the Moon Goddess. They moved with a graceful tension, their eyes glinting like embers in the dark as they exchanged glances, their senses attuned to the palpable energy in the air.
In the center of the clearing stood a ritual tower, forged from an unknown metal on a low platform. Its body was embedded with the teeth and skulls of rare beasts, emanating a chilling luster that seemed to pulse in time with the heartbeats of those gathered. At the top of the tower, a massive, translucent crystal shaped like a full moon gleamed brightly, as if it could absorb and reflect the enchanting moonlight from the night sky, casting a surreal glow over the scene.
The leader of the wolf-men, an elderly man with furrowed features, slowly removed his hat, revealing a terrifying wolf's head. He raised his hands high, his expression devout, calling out in desperation to the Moon Goddess: "Great Moon Goddess, your most beloved child implores your protection here. The foolish humans have destroyed our home, and your other children have betrayed their kin. We have reached our end; please send a messenger to save your people from this peril." His voice trembled with urgency, echoing through the silent night, each word dripping with the weight of despair.
As the elder's call reverberated through the jungle, a piercing wolf howl suddenly erupted, resonating like a spectral sound that pierced the night sky. The wolf-men removed their hats, and hundreds of wolf heads turned skyward, their howls rising and falling in haunting harmony, transforming the jungle into a ghostly realm, chilling to the bone. It was a symphony of grief, a lamentation for their lost kin, and a desperate plea for salvation.
At that moment, a purple light descended from the heavens, like the gentle touch of the Moon Goddess, granting these desperate beings a final glimmer of hope. But dawn began to break; the Sun God seemed to sense the unease, revealing a golden edge that gradually consumed the realm of moonlight. The sunlight expanded unabated, while the moonlight diminished inch by inch. The wolf-men became agitated, scrambling like ants, their four limbs clawing at the ground, sending grass flying and dust swirling. A few robust, temperamental ones tore their clothing, exposing strong muscles covered in brown fur, roaring and pounding their chests, as if this could somehow slow the encroaching brilliance of the golden light.
Where purple and gold met, an unusual spectacle appeared in the sky. One half shone brightly, while the other remained shrouded in darkness. The purple glow clashed with the golden radiance, neither yielding in its brilliance, creating a tension that hung thick in the air.
As the purple moon gradually set in the west, the sun rose slowly in the east, and the vibrant clash of lights vanished in an instant, leaving only the bright light that illuminated the Earth. Bathed in the golden sunlight, the wolf-men's brown fur gradually faded, their protruding jaws slowly retracting. The fierce giant wolves transformed into ordinary humans in the blink of an eye—some men, some women, some old, some young. Among them, the strongest man gently touched a five-centimeter-long scar at the corner of his left eye, squinting his dark, bright eyes at the rising sun. After a long moment, he turned to the elderly gray-haired man at the forefront, whose gaze remained fixed on the sky, the weight of their lost kin heavy on his shoulders.
The elder slowly cradled a swaddled baby atop the ritual tower. The child slept peacefully, with an irregular black crystal wrapped in sheepskin resting against its chest. The sight was surreal, a beacon of hope in the midst of despair.
A man stepped forward, whispering a few urgent words to the elder. The elder gazed at the baby for a long time, his brow furrowed in thought. After a soft sigh, he seemed to make a decision. He turned to the crowd, raising his voice to cut through the tension, "Children, our mission is complete. A new hope has arrived!"
"HO—" The cheers erupted once more, filling the once-ominous forest with vitality and hope. The elder smiled as he placed the baby back on the ritual tower, then led his kin deeper into the woods, leaving behind an air of tranquility and peace. "Our mission is over; it is time for us to leave."
In an instant, the commotion ceased. The crowd exchanged glances, a mixture of relief and lingering sorrow reflected in their eyes, and slowly, as if reluctant to let go, they began to walk into the depths of the forest. The sounds of their retreat faded, merging with the whispers of the wind, a poignant reminder of their struggle.
The scarred man took a deep look at the departing elder, then glanced at the lonely baby lying on the ritual tower. His gaze flickered, torn between duty and an inexplicable urge to protect. Ultimately, he followed the elder's steps into the darkness, disappearing from sight and leaving behind the remnants of a once-vibrant life.
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Time flowed like water; the years hurried past, and many bold spirits were crushed into dust by the relentless passage of time, leaving not even a fleeting glimpse. The world changed, as it always does, shifting beneath the weight of forgotten memories and untold stories.
On a stormy night, the rare crimson blood moon illuminated the sky, casting a bloody glow over the land that had forgotten the stories of the past.
In a small clearing at the edge of a grove, what was once a village lay in ruins, a haunting echo of what had been. The remnants of homes crumbled beneath the weight of time and despair, now little more than shadows and whispers.
The ground was uneven, cluttered with dead branches and fallen leaves, the air thick with the smell of blood and decay. A large patch of deep red soil marred the earth, reminiscent of a portal to the underworld, shocking to behold. It was a chilling sight, a testament to the horrors that had unfolded within the village.
"Puff!" Clods of earth flew high as a slender claw emerged from the ground, its sharp nails glinting ominously even in the dark. The claw was attached to a long arm buried in the mud, as if a dead beast had suddenly revived from its grave.
"Puff!" A second claw emerged. As it joined the first, both claws began to twist, causing the soil to crack and shift, trembling under the pressure. The air was electric with anticipation, as though the very earth held its breath.
This eerie scene unfolded for an unknown duration until, with the sound of stones rolling and earth breaking, a frail, small figure slowly clawed its way out of the ground. Each movement was a struggle against the weight of despair and darkness that had enveloped this place.
A sliver of light broke through the stormy clouds, and in that brief moment, it was enough to shock anyone who saw it. A beam of crimson moonlight pierced through the chaos, illuminating a child who had emerged from the earth, resembling a creature from the shadows. Instinctively, he shook off the dirt like a wild beast, revealing his form.
His crimson eyes, devoid of emotion yet beautiful, mirrored the enchanting moon above. The dark pupils within his blood-red irises resembled a ruby with a crack running through it, shimmering with an unsettling allure. His slightly protruding jaw appeared rough, and from his half-open mouth, two sharp fangs glistened with a hint of chill, reminiscent of a predator poised to strike.
Ignoring the unknown brownish or reddish mud and unidentifiable slime clinging to his body, the boy walked unsteadily, his hands hanging low and his body leaning forward, exuding an eerie aura that sent chills down one's spine. There was an unsettling grace in his movements, a predatory elegance that was both captivating and terrifying.
But this was not the most terrifying part; the most frightening aspect was the boy's inexplicable murderous intent. It radiated a cold, haughty disdain for all things, reminiscent of a harbinger of death, like the Grim Reaper himself, emerging from the depths of despair.
Then, the sound of hoofbeats approached from afar as nearly a thousand riders thundered through the woods. These men were remarkably fierce, with gleaming curved blades hanging from their waists, causing their mounts to neigh restlessly under the moonlight. The clash of metal and the rhythm of hooves created a symphony of violence, announcing their approach.
"Chief, there's a hole in the village we raided ahead. It looks like it was dug up from below. Could it be that someone crawled out alive?" a burly man with a tiger-like back said to a middle-aged man sitting tall on his horse.
"It must be the work of some necromancer! We killed everyone in that village and buried them over two days ago; even if they were part of the demon race, they should be dead by now." Behind the mounted middle-aged man, a gigantic man scratched his head, his voice vibrating like a low rumble, shaking the trees and sending a layer of leaves fluttering down.
"Forget it. We didn't find anything, so we should go back to the village and check. Tell the brothers to be careful; if they see someone like a necromancer, stay the hell away from him. As for others… kill them." The middle-aged man spoke in a deep, chilling tone.
The sound of hoofbeats resumed, heading toward the small mountain village on the other side of the woods.