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墨書 Inktalez
The principal's gaze swept painfully across the scene before him, filled with despair and anger. The low, sinister whispers echoed incessantly in his ears, seeping into his consciousness from all directions, insidiously eroding his last vestiges of reason, pressing down on his spirit, attempting to drag him completely into darkness. These voices were sometimes gentle, sometimes cold, carrying endless temptation and seduction, as if promising him something, luring him to surrender and yield.
"You will kneel and offer your soul to the Blood Moon..." The whispers flickered in and out like phantoms entwined in his mind, gnawing at his will at every moment. The principal's face twisted in anguish, his brow furrowed tightly, sweat trickling down his forehead, his eyes flickering with struggle and pain. He knew he was being eroded by this evil force; his reason was like a candle flame in the wind, flickering uncertainly, ready to be swallowed by these wicked whispers at any moment.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white, a fierce unwillingness swelling in his chest. He refused to yield, refused to bow before these mad followers, refused to show any weakness in front of James. He understood that escape was impossible; this group of fanatics could tear him apart at any moment, but he did not want to die so cowardly, becoming a sacrificial offering in their hands.
"James!" The principal's voice was hoarse with desperation and madness as he fixed a piercing gaze on James, filled with pain and boundless fury, a hint of provocation lacing his tone. "Go ahead! Let you and your lunatics kill me! Hurry up! Why keep me alive? Isn’t it for that so-called sacrifice? Don’t you want to offer souls to the Blood Moon?" He gritted his teeth, his voice trembling with contempt.
James turned slightly, coldly observing the principal's struggle with a hint of satisfaction on his face, as if the principal's resistance were merely an absurd play in his eyes. He chuckled mockingly, his gaze tinged with derision and interest, looking down upon the principal as if he were an ant trapped in an inescapable snare.
"Damn it! Come on! Kill me!" The principal nearly screamed in hysteria, his voice hoarse and pained, yet a flicker of final pride and stubbornness ignited in his eyes. He refused to become a silent offering beneath the Blood Moon; he would not fall quietly or allow these mad followers to toy with him at will. He would stand tall and face death with the last shred of dignity; even if it were futile, he could not bear to leave this world appearing cowardly and weak.
"Come on! You lunatics!" he roared, casting aside the last remnants of fear as he struggled fiercely against James with all the willpower he had left, refusing to bow down. His shouts seemed small and weak amidst the frenzied prayers but pierced through James's vision like a needle.
James laughed heartily, a deep and resonant sound that echoed cruelly through the night sky. He gazed at the principal before him with eyes full of excitement. The principal's indomitable spirit and refusal to submit brought him immense pleasure. This torment could only manifest its exquisite "beauty" when the victim was filled with resistance and rage. It was this stubbornness and defiance that gave James unparalleled delight; each act of cruelty struck against what society deemed "moral boundaries," tearing apart the surface calm and exposing humanity's deepest vulnerabilities and darkness.
He slowly floated upward like a shadow in the night sky, moving with cold authority beside the principal while looking down upon him from above. James's gaze was icy and cruel; a smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he extended a hand, fingertips lightly tapping against the principal’s cheek with disdainful amusement. That gesture was flippant as if bestowing charity but carried an indescribable cruelty; each gentle tap provoked the principal's dignity, causing his face to turn slightly aside. The principal’s complexion flushed red with anger yet still burned with unyielding light in his eyes as he glared fiercely at James as if wanting to etch that face into his memory.
"Principal," James said lightly, "I must admit I respect your stubbornness." His tone was cold yet filled with mockery; he lowered his voice like a demon whispering. Leaning closer to the principal’s ear, he spoke with a cruel tenderness as if softly announcing an elegant death sentence: "It is precisely because of this that I have decided to grant you a special favor... an opportunity to thoroughly entertain the Blood Moon God—a true 'honor.'"
As soon as he finished speaking, James waved his hand gently. The students and followers on the playground seemed to receive some invisible command as they uniformly retreated around him in perfect unison like well-trained puppets. Their faces bore expressions of numb fanaticism; their eyes sparkled with frenzied devotion. Their hands remained stained with blood; their arms marked by gruesome streaks yet they retreated without hesitation or care, standing neatly outside a circle as if preparing for a sacred ritual.
The principal stood alone in this empty circular area surrounded by followers who formed a cage-like barrier around him, isolating him completely. The blood-red moonlight cast upon his face made his pale features appear even more forlorn against the night sky. Despite being trapped in despair, his gaze remained resolute; facing James's cruel taunts, there still burned a flicker of stubborn fire within his eyes.
"James, all this madness and cruelty... will only prove your incompetence and cowardice!" The principal gritted his teeth, his words laced with fearlessness and anger. His voice was hoarse and filled with disdain as he stared directly at James, as if he were determined to maintain his dignity until the very end. His breath was rapid, yet he stood tall, defiantly raising his head, unwilling to show even a hint of fear before this group of frenzied followers.
James's smile deepened, his eyes sparkling with delight. He relished the principal's defiance; that uncontrollable dignity made the torment all the more exquisite, filling him with immense satisfaction. He shook his head slightly, his tone laced with cruel tenderness as he whispered, "No, you are mistaken. The only truly incompetent ones in this world are those who do not realize how absurd resistance is." He then let out a cold laugh and raised his hand, signaling to the surrounding followers.
As his gesture fell, the mouths of the students and cultists twisted into grotesque smiles as they knelt to the ground, hands clasped tightly together, their eyes filled with fervor and madness—like a group awaiting divine grace from their god. The blood-red moonlight enveloped these frenzied devotees, casting them in a hue reminiscent of a crimson hell.
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