001. The Devil's Descent
The silver moon hung high in the starless sky, casting a cold, haunting glow over the town below. The wind whipped through the empty streets, filling the air with the mournful creaks of swinging signs and the rustle of dried, skeletal leaves skittering across the cobblestone.
The town lay in the grip of decay, buildings weathered and forlorn, the windows dark as if life had abandoned them centuries ago. But behind the thick curtains, the townsfolk hid— a trembling, dwindling few. Some crouched in silence under splintered tables, clutching rusted pitchforks, while others cowered in hidden cellars, holding silver crosses to their chests. Their hands shook, their eyes wide and haunted, unable to shut for even a moment's rest. They knew well that the creatures would come. Tonight, as with every night, they waited with hearts thundering in unison— a frantic drumbeat of terror.
The minutes crawled on, drawing closer to midnight, as the moonlight sharpened, casting twisted shadows that clawed across the ground like grasping hands. The townspeople's thin threads of hope frayed with each passing second, but it was all that kept them from surrendering to madness.
In the dead center of town, the dilapidated chapel loomed, its bell long silent, its pillars cracked and leaning, barely holding the structure together. Within, the religious order— a gaunt and grim assembly— prayed fervently, their chants rising like hollow whispers into the stifling air. They claimed their rites and supplications had kept the town safe, yet their devotion came at a price; the poor townsfolk paid dearly in taxes for every word of comfort.
Then, without warning—
PAT.
A single, echoing footstep silenced everything. The murmurs ceased, hearts froze, and a deathly chill permeated the air. Only the faint, unsettling sound of wings flapping disturbed the stillness. Ravens filled the skies, circling above in dark clouds, their numbers swelling as they descended, filling the streets with an ominous rustling.
A figure in a dark cloak stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, each step resonating in the silence like a tolling bell. His long black coat swept across the ground, his skin pale as marble, and his hair dark as the shadows he emerged from. Blood-red eyes glowed beneath his hood, catching the faint light with a sinister gleam.
He approached the chapel, and with every step, more ravens flocked around him, their obsidian feathers blotting out the moonlight. His presence stirred the town's fear to a fever pitch, as though death itself had come to walk among them.
Inside the chapel, the prayers became frantic, filling the air with a nervous crescendo. The heavy wooden doors creaked as he pushed them open, stepping into the dim, flickering light of the room. Rows of terrified worshipers watched as the priest, robed in white, approached, his face etched with horror. He clutched the cross at his chest, his voice trembling but defiant.
"Are you a man, or are you the Devil?"
The stranger's lips pulled into a smile— a vile, wicked grin revealing teeth sharp as blades, glinting in the candlelight.
The priest's voice rose in desperation, his trembling hands tightening around the cross. "Answer me! Are you a man, or the Devil?"
The cloaked figure tilted his head, his eyes blazing with a cold, crimson fire. When he finally spoke, his voice was a guttural whisper, slicing through the air with unholy weight.
"I am… the Devil."
As if summoned by his words, the windows shattered in an explosion of glass, letting in a violent gust that extinguished every candle. Shadows danced, and the air filled with the maddened shrieks of ravens as they flooded into the chapel, filling the room with a stench of decay and death. The worshippers screamed, pressing together in terrified huddles, their prayers turning to panicked pleas for salvation.
But the figure only raised his arms, his cloak unfurling like the wings of a dark angel, his voice a cold, mocking taunt. "Yes, pray to your god. Cling to your hollow faith as if it could shield you." His laugh was a low, rolling thunder, thick with contempt.
The priest gritted his teeth, rage twisting his face. "We are the holy weapon, the sword of righteousness! O father in Heaven, grant us your power to vanquish this evil!"
The disciples around him began to chant, trembling but resolute, their voices merging into a rhythmic hum as the floor beneath them glowed with an eerie blue light. One by one, they ignited in brilliant blue flames, their agonized cries filling the air as the holy fire consumed their bodies, leaving only ash.
The priest raised his arms, gathering the flame into a blazing arrow, his eyes burning with righteous fury. "I offer up their souls as a holy weapon! May the flame of their sacrifice cleanse this place of evil!"
The dark figure's smile widened, his red eyes narrowing with cruel amusement. "You sacrificed your own to wield a weapon?" He shook his head, the mockery clear in his voice. "What a pathetic, foolish gesture."
Outside, the ravens gathered in a furious maelstrom, crashing against the chapel's walls, the windows splintering further as they clawed their way in. The priest aimed his fiery arrow with trembling hands, a look of despair in his eyes as he locked onto the figure before him.
"I advice you not to miss for your sake, priest." The dark figure boomed with excitement.
With a roar, the priest released the arrow. It shot through the air like a bolt of lightning, straight toward the stranger's head.
But with a swift, almost lazy gesture, the dark figure swiped his hand through the air, extinguishing the holy flame with ease. The priest gasped, his mouth opening in silent horror as the man in black vanished, appearing an instant later beside him, his cold breath on the priest's neck.
"You missed."
The priest's scream was cut short as the figure's fangs sank deep into his throat. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, painting the altar red, while the ravens shrieked and cawed in a frenzied chorus, tearing at the flesh of anyone who tried to flee.
That night, the chapel became a scene of slaughter. When dawn finally broke, the once-holy sanctuary lay in ruin, blood staining every inch of stone, and the bodies of three hundred townsfolk scattered across the floor— men, women, and children alike— all left to rot under the ghostly light of morning.
This event was soon to be known as the night of blood!!!