Even if I wanted to resist, even if every fiber of my being screamed at me to flee from this wretched place, I was still nothing more than a helpless baby, cradled securely in my mother's arms. As our platform continued its slow descent toward the center of the ritual, I could do nothing but watch in silent dread.
When we finally reached our destination, the platform came to a sudden halt. My mother and father stepped off, their movements solemn, almost reverent. Without hesitation, they both bowed deeply toward the massive statue looming behind the grotesque figure—the High Priest.
From the surrounding circle of chanting priests, one suddenly released his candle. Yet instead of falling to the ground, it remained suspended in midair, hovering eerily as though held by an unseen force. The priest then stepped forward, his hooded figure moving with slow, deliberate purpose until he stood directly before us.
As he reached our presence, the priest dropped to his knees. In perfect mimicry of the statue behind him, he raised both hands skyward in complete submission, as though begging for something. Without hesitation, my mother leaned forward and, with quiet reverence, placed me into his waiting hands.
A deep sense of unease gripped me. Up close, I could see the priest's face—if it could even be called that. His eyes were sewn shut, thick, crude stitches binding his lids together as though sight itself had been sacrificed. His mouth, too, was sealed in the same grotesque manner, yet somehow impossibly he had been chanting just moments before. How?
His trembling hands, encased in thick layers of hardened wax, dripped like molten decay as he accepted me. I recoiled internally, the instinctive disgust of a child who did not wish to be touched by something so grotesque. Yet, no matter how much I wanted to resist, I was utterly powerless—nothing more than an offering placed into the hands of something far beyond my understanding.
Holding me high above his head, the priest suddenly rose to his feet, lifting me toward the heavens as though presenting me to some unseen force. Slowly, he began to walk, his movements steady and deliberate, carrying me toward the pool of blood where the ritual was taking place.
The closer we got, the more the pungent, metallic stench of blood assaulted my senses. From a distance, the scent had been masked by the aromatic smoke wafting from the censer held by the High Priest. But now, standing so close, the conflicting odors—the thick, cloying blood and the suffocating incense—became almost unbearable.
The priest extended his arms over the pool of blood, holding me directly above the crimson surface. His gesture was clear: he intended to let go.
Panic gripped me, and my thoughts raced wildly. Is this lunatic actually going to drop me into the blood? If he does, I'll drown!
Before I could process anything further, the priest loosened his grip and let go. Instinctively, I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable splash and the suffocating warmth of the blood.
But… it never came.
Cautiously, I opened my eyes and realized that I was hovering in the air, suspended by an unseen force. My tiny body floated slowly, weightlessly, toward the figure in the center of the blood pool—the High Priest.
He stood knee-deep in the thick, rippling blood, his skeletal frame unmoving save for his lips, which continued to chant in an unbroken rhythm. The two cybernetic skulls protruding from his back locked onto me with an unnatural intensity, their glowing red eyes boring into me as though trying to pierce my very soul. Even though his stitched-shut eyes remained hidden beneath his hood, I could feel his focus entirely on me.
The eerie chanting surrounded me, each syllable resonating deep within my mind, creating a disorienting echo that made it impossible to concentrate. The closer I floated to the High Priest, the stronger the oppressive atmosphere became, as though the very air around him grew heavier, denser suffused with an ancient power far beyond my understanding.
Glancing back, I saw the priest who had carried me return to his original position. As he stands, the candle he had released earlier drifted gently back into his outstretched hands, hovering momentarily before settling once more.
Meanwhile, my body continued its slow descent toward the High Priest. As I drifted closer, my attention was drawn to the massive, ancient-looking book floating beside him. Its surface was engraved with intricate depictions and cryptic writings, none of which I could understand. The book radiated a faint, eerie glow, pulsing as if alive.
Just as I neared it, the book shifted suddenly, gliding to the side as if making way for me to pass. The movement felt almost deliberate, as though it possessed some kind of awareness.
Finally, I reached the front of the High Priest. Now face-to-face with this nightmarish figure, I couldn't suppress the chill that ran down my spine. Up close, he looked even more unnatural—his skeletal frame barely covered in thin, parchment-like skin.
My gaze drifted downward, and what I saw made my breath catch. Through the tattered robe he wore, I could see a gaping hole where his heart should have been. From that abyss, dark, viscous blood seeped out in slow, deliberate drips, feeding the crimson pool beneath him. The realization sent a fresh wave of unease coursing through me.
The two cybernetic skulls fixated on me with unblinking intensity, their glowing eyes seeming to scan me, measure me, judge me. Then, without a word, the High Priest extended one frail, bony hand toward me, palm open in an unmistakable gesture of expectation.
In response, one of the mechanical arms attached to his back moved with eerie precision. The cybernetic limb, which had been clutching a golden dagger, carefully placed the ornate weapon into the High Priest's waiting hand.
The dagger's handle was shaped like a skull, its hollow eyes glinting ominously in the candlelight. The moment it touched his fingers, a strange energy rippled through the air, sending an involuntary shudder through my tiny body.
I had no idea what was about to happen next—but I knew, without a doubt, that whatever it was would be bad news for me.
The High Priest placed the golden dagger-sharp, its pointed tip pressing against the center of my chest. The icy metal sent a chilling ripple through me as he began chanting in an ancient, indecipherable language. I couldn't understand the words, but their intent was unmistakable.
If that dagger pierced my heart, I was going to die.
Panic flooded my mind. I tried to move, to struggle, to scream—but an unseen force held me rigidly, suspending me in place like a lifeless puppet. Even my eyelids refused to blink.
My heart pounded wildly, each beat a desperate cry for survival. Then, I saw it—his other hand rising high, preparing to strike the pommel and drive the dagger deep into my chest.
Every fiber of my being screamed to run, to fight back, to do something—but I was powerless.
All I could do was watch, frozen in terror, as the priest's hand began its slow, inevitable descent.
Death was only a moment away.
---
If we reach 100 stones, I'll reward you all with a bonus chapter!