The cultists, their faces contorted in a mix of fear and reverence, struggled to comprehend the sight before them. Their god, their dark savior, had returned...but something was amiss.
"Oh great lord," the cult leader stammered, his voice trembling, "we know you are displeased by these restraints, but they were necessary to prepare the vessel."
William's eyes, now burning with an unnatural intensity, scanned the assembled figures. They were weak, their power paltry compared to the demonic energy coursing through his veins. Only the leader posed a potential threat, but even he would be no match for a surprise attack.
A cruel smile twisted William's lips. "Ah, is that so?" he purred, his voice dripping with false reassurance. "Forgive my... outburst."
The leader, momentarily relieved, gasped as a searing pain pierced his chest. He looked down to see the obsidian blade protruding from his heart, its dark surface slick with blood.
