The hooves thundered through the desolate streets, their rhythmic pounding echoing like a death knell. The minister's soldiers galloped through the area, their dark silhouettes illuminated by the flickering torches they carried. Fear clung to the air like a suffocating shroud. It wasn't just the sound of hooves that spread terror this time; there was also a voice, commanding and fierce, that of the minister's rebel, reverberating through the chaos.
There sat an old man shivering by his window, grasping the edge of the curtain in his fragile hands as he allowed himself to steal a glance out into the darkness. His heart was pounding within his chest, for he was seeing soldiers pull young girls out of their houses. The shrieks rent through the night: pitiful, anguished cries. His breath quickened, and he glanced over to his door, his dread creeping over him.
He quickly pulled the curtain closed, hoping it would conceal him. But that faint swish of fabric in the oppressive silence seemed deafening. The minister, sitting on her horse outside, froze. She turned her eyes toward his house, her eyes narrowing as though she could look through the walls.
The old man's chest tightened as she lingered in her gaze. Suddenly, she raised her hand, curling her fingers into a commanding gesture. Without hesitation, one of her soldiers dismounted and strode toward the house.
A deafening crash followed as the soldier shattered the old man's door with a single, brutal kick. The man stumbled backward, his voice trembling as he pleaded, "Please, please don't harm us. We have nothing to give. Spare us!
The minister dismounted her horse, with her dark cloak billowing and whipping in the cold wind inside the house. Her presence is suffocating, her cold calculating eyes glinting through the room she looks over. An old man went to his knees before her and clasped his hands together, "Please my daughter—she's just a child! Please don't take her! Beg of you, I!
The minister's eyes didn't flinch. She pointed down into the basement toward the muffled whimpers. Her guards went down there, and they returned with, after what might have been an eternity, pulling a frightened, tear-streaked girl through the basement stairwell.
Old man became hopeless. He took a lurching step toward them. "No, don't take her! Take me! Let him go! Please! She's innocent!
The minister's patience snapped. She drew her sword, its polished blade glinting ominously in the torchlight. Without a word, she swung it with ruthless precision.
The old man's pleas were cut short by the severance of his head from his body in one savage motion. The blood splattered across the room as the body fell to the floor. The scream of his daughter echoed throughout the house-a sound so raw and haunting it seemed to freeze time.
The minister put away her sword, her face set in stone as her men dragged the young girl out into the night. The silence at the old man's home was deafening save for the rustle of the curtain he had desperately drawn shut; it swayed gently in the wind, grim reminder of a life just been extinguished.
Outside, people's screams could still be heard in conjunction with hoofbeats and pandemonium. The minister sat again on her horse as she stared straight ahead. This was to her just another night, another sacrifice to bring herself prosperity that she hoped to win.
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The tension in the air was palpable as the door to the room swung open with a loud creak. The minister stood at the threshold, her piercing eyes fixed on her daughter, Aoi. The young girl, sitting by the window, froze in place. Her heart began to race, a deep unease settling over her. Her mother never visited her chambers without a reason, and never without her infamous air of command.
Mother?" Aoi hesitated, her voice trembling. "What happened?"
The minister stepped inside, her massive frame flanked by four attendants carrying expensive fabrics and precious jewels. The fabrics glimmered in the dim light, their grandeur stark against the humble backdrop of Aoi's room. Her mother's voice was cold and commanding, cutting across the silence. "Get ready immediately. We have to go to a special place.
Aoi's stomach twisted with dread. She instinctively turned toward her caretaker, silently pleading for guidance or comfort. But the caretaker lowered her gaze, powerless to intervene.
Moments later, Aoi was dressed up in the outfit brought by the attendants. The weight of the intricate jewelries and the elaborate bridal dress was suffocating, which was a cruel contrast with her inner disturbance. In the mirror, she looked great and radiant, yet her face indicated otherwise. Unspoken tears fell off her cheeks, and her heart sank with every pace as she is led out from her room.
The minister led her to a grand chariot waiting outside. Its ornate carvings seemed to mock her misery as she was helped inside. The journey was shrouded in silence, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the rocky path the only sound. The chariot suddenly came to a stop, and Aoi caught her breath as she looked upon the ominous temple of the demonic deity on the edge of the cliff. Its towering spires and grotesque carvings loomed against the stormy sky. Inside the temple, the air was heavy with the stench of incense and something more sinister—blood. Aoi's eyes widened as she noticed seven other young girls, trembling and silent, standing in a line. Her confusion quickly turned to horror when, without warning, her mother raised her hand in a silent command.
Temple servants came out from the darkness and set a massive wooden bowl before the first girl. In one swift, merciless motion, a blade flashed and slit the girl's throat. Blood gushed into the bowl, staining the ground. The remaining girls screamed in terror but were held firm by the servants, their struggles vain against the brute force of their captors.
Aoi's legs weakened, her knees threatening to give way as she stood paralyzed, unable to tear her eyes from the carnage. One by one, each girl fell to the same gruesome fate. The temple floor was awash with blood, and the air was filled with the mingling cries of anguish and death.
Before Aoi could find meaning in the nightmare unfolding before her, a servant approached her mother, carrying a large bucket filled to the brim with the blood of the slain. The minister, not bending a fraction of an inch in her composure, took the bucket from him. She turned towards Aoi and without so much as uttering a word, she went on to tip over the bucket, drenching her daughter in the warm, viscous blood.
"No!" Aoi screamed, recoiling in horror as the blood seeped into her skin, clinging to her bridal garments and dripping from her hair. She tried to flee, but her mother grabbed her arm with an iron grip, pulling her close. Her voice was a chilling whisper in Aoi's ear.
The demon will sate his lust through you," the minister said, her voice devoid of emotion. "You must let him satisfy his needs. Only then will our lands prosper.
Aoi wept out into the temple; she was begging her mother: "No, no! Leave me alone and don't be doing this," as she also broke free into the hands of the temple waiters who forcibly dragged her down to the sacrificial altar.
Then the temple shuddered and the air was filled with electricity. Outside, lightning exploded, sending flashes of demonic idols an eerie glow. It seemed as though the earth itself pulsed with a malevolent pulse.
Aoi screamed once more, her voice raw with despair, as the storm outside grew fiercer. The ritual reached its climax, and a sense of impending doom filled the chamber as the boundaries between life, death, and the supernatural began to blur.