In the still of the night, within a destitute village, chaos erupts. Cries of terror pierce the air, mingling with the desperate wails of children calling out for their parents. Figures cloaked in black robes encircle the villagers, their hands gripping gleaming swords and blood-streaked knives.
"Who are you people?" a trembling voice cries.
"What are you going to do to us?"
"Let us go! We've done nothing wrong!"
"Please, leave us alone!"
Terror laces the villagers' pleas, their voices quaking. The leader of the black-robed figures steps forward, his voice sharp and commanding.
"Silence!" he barks. "Make no noise and do as you're told!"
Panic sets in as some villagers attempt to escape, but their desperate bid for freedom is met with cold steel. A blade flashes, and one man collapses, lifeless, to the ground. Screams erupt as a woman rushes toward her fallen husband, her anguished cries echoing.
"No! Why did you kill him?" she wails, clutching his body.
Before anyone can stop her, another sword arcs through the air, silencing her forever. Scarlet blood pools at her feet, and the crowd's despair deepens. Cries of sorrow and rage fill the night as hopelessness spreads like a plague.
The black-robed figures drive the villagers up a jagged mountain path to a cavern hidden within its shadowy depths. Inside, a sinister glow illuminates the scene. A thin, frail woman cloaked in black sits cross-legged before a roaring fire. Her face, sharp and mean, is devoid of emotion. At the center of the cave, a large red circle is etched into the ground, adorned with cryptic symbols and ancient, unrecognizable script.
The robed figures bow deeply before the woman. "Old Priestess," the leader begins, "is everything prepared?"
Her cold eyes flicker toward the villagers. "Yes. Everything is ready. These lives will suffice, though they are fewer than desired. This village remains untouched by the righteous sects, so we must act swiftly."
Hearing her words, panic erupts once more. Villagers resist, their cries filled with desperation:
"Why are you doing this to us?"
"What do you want?"
"God, please save us!"
"Have mercy!"
The Old Priestess sneers. "Mercy? You misunderstand. We need your fear, your hatred, your despair. Resentment fuels our power. The stronger your emotions, the greater our strength. Injure them, but do not kill them outright. Let their pain fester."
"As you command, Priestess," the leader responds. The villagers are struck down, their cries reverberating through the cavern as blood stains the ground. One by one, they are dragged to the glowing circle and thrown inside, their bodies trembling with pain and fury.
The Priestess begins chanting in a guttural, ancient tongue, her voice rising in tandem with the robed figures' unified murmur. The flames surrounding the circle roar to life, creeping inward as the villagers' screams intensify.
"Even in death, I will haunt you!" a man bellows as fire consumes him.
"Mother, it hurts!" a child cries.
"You monsters! You will face retribution!" another voice wails.
The flames devour their bodies, leaving nothing but ash. Dark smoke, thick with malevolent energy, swirls above the circle. The Priestess withdraws a crimson banner from her space ring, her lips moving in whispered incantations. The smoke coalesces, its eerie cries still audible, and is sealed within the banner.
"Congratulations, Priestess," the leader says, bowing deeply. "Our Dark Holy Church will rise stronger than ever."
"Hahaha! Not without your dedication, Blood Demon Lord," she replies, her laughter cold and hollow. Together, they revel in their sinister triumph.
But deep beneath the mountain, unseen by all, black tendrils of energy snake through the earth, converging on an ancient, sealed coffin. Crafted from unknown materials and adorned with foreboding murals, it begins to tremble. As the coffin stirs, the very ground shudders. An ominous presence awakens, its power rippling across the world.
The Priestess's smug confidence falters as a chilling premonition grips her. The walls of the cavern tremble, rocks cascading from above.
"The cave is collapsing! Everyone, get out!" she screams.
The black-robed figures scatter, scrambling for the exit as the cave crumbles around them. They escape just as the cavern implodes with a deafening roar. A low, guttural rumble emanates from the earth itself, accompanied by the clanging echoes of metal chains breaking free.
Dark clouds gather in the sky with unnatural speed, blotting out the stars. Thunder roars and lightning arcs across the heavens with a ferocity that shakes the very air. A wave of dread washes over the fleeing figures. Fear grips their hearts, leaving them trembling uncontrollably.
"Priestess, what is happening?" the leader asks, his voice betraying thinly veiled terror. The other black-robed figures murmur uneasily, their whispers a chorus of fear.
The Priestess forces a calm facade. "I do not know," she replies, though her voice wavers slightly. "But nothing in this eastern region dares to challenge the might of the Dark Holy Church."
Her words barely hang in the air when a surge of power bursts from the earth. The coffin emerges, its surface glistening with an eerie light. The aura radiating from it is so oppressive that the black-robed figures are driven to their knees, gasping for breath under the weight of its presence. The weaker among them collapse, their bodies bursting like overripe fruit, spraying blood across the ground.
"Priestess, please! Do something! I don't want to die!" a desperate voice cries, the plea choked with sobs.
The Priestess, pale and trembling, struggles to maintain her composure. Her confidence shatters entirely as the coffin's lid creaks open. From within, a thick, dark mist pours forth, writhing like living tendrils. Slowly, a figure rises.
A man with long, flowing hair and a dark purple robe steps out of the coffin. His closed eyes open, revealing irises as black as the void, devoid of pupils. A third eye, glowing ominously, manifests on his forehead. His movements are deliberate, unnervingly calm. He surveys the kneeling figures before him, his gaze heavy with contempt.
The oppressive aura dissipates, yet the fear it instilled lingers. A massive dark purple lotus blooms beneath his feet, elevating him into the air. It transforms into a throne, and he sits with an air of unchallenged authority.
"Time for judgment," his voice booms, deep and resonant. "I see the past, the present, and the future. In my dominion, justice is not eye for an eye—it is eye for everything!"