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墨書 Inktalez
Thirty-four slave were brought to a magnificent statue of the God of Happiness. The statue, made of white marble, depicted a smiling deity, as if luring people into his cruel fantasies. The slaves hung their heads low, almost touching the ground, their eyes filled with despair and humiliation.
Priest Asa leisurely ascended the platform, his robe shimmering with an eerie light in the moonlight. He spoke, each word carrying a slow and deep rhythm, like a spell emanating from the abyss.
"Siblings, let us give thanks for the boundless grace of the God of Happiness. Tonight, we will offer the highest sacrifice using the blood of these innocents. God of Happiness, bestow upon us joy and grace, let us be the recipients of your blessings."
Duke Morgan stood aside, his eyes seemingly possessed, fixed on the priest Asa and the slaves. He tightly gripped a sword, its blade gleaming with a cold light in the moonlight. He trembled as he drew the sword, as if finding an outlet from deep ecstasy. His face revealed an extremely gratifying, almost fanatical expression.
Moonlight sprinkled on his face, which should have been a sacred and beautiful natural light, but at this moment it carried a sense of ominousness and evil. The light distorted on his face, making his expression look even more twisted and terrifying. His eyes seemed to devour all life, and a chilling smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"God of Happiness, your servant is ready," murmured Duke Morgan in a low voice, then slowly walked towards the foremost slave.
Every step he took was extremely slow, as if he were savoring the suffocating tension. His sword lightly touched the neck of the slave, the chilling contact between the cold metal and the skin causing the slave to shiver involuntarily.
At that moment, the entire square was shrouded in a suffocating terror, and everyone felt a perverse and eerie sense of "pleasure" enveloping them.
When the chanting of the priest Asa ended, the ritual reached its climax. Duke Morgan raised the sword high, his eyes shining with fervent light. With an almost ritualistic solemnity and focus, he held the long sword suspended at the neck of the first slave. The atmosphere around became so solemn that it was almost tangible, as if time had paused.
"Now, offered in blood, fulfilled in life, let us feel the joy of the gods!" Duke Morgan declared in a deep and powerful voice.
The sword fell fiercely, and with a single touch, the head of the first slave was accurately chopped off. In an instant, blood gushed out like a volcano, and the headless body swayed for a few seconds before slowly falling, submerged in its own blood.
Duke Morgan's whole body began to tremble slightly, and his expression instantly became twisted. He seemed to be in a state of ecstatic frenzy, his eyes filled with a nearly perverse joy. He gazed at the slowly dripping blood on the blade, feeling that his mind, body, and entire existence had undergone an incredible sublimation.
His pupils contracted, and the corners of his mouth gradually turned upwards, forming a twisted and satisfied smile. In that moment, the Duke of Morgan felt as if he had become the closest messenger of the God of Happiness, exchanging immortality's grace through the sacrifice of blood.
At the edge of the scene, a slave finally couldn't bear the fear in his heart and screamed. However, as soon as the scream came out, it was ruthlessly silenced by a soldier's indifferent slap. The slave held his face in pain, unable to make any sound.
"Shut up, or you'll suffer even more than him," the soldier threatened coldly.
The moonlight seemed to have lost its former gentleness, becoming more glaring, illuminating all the indescribable horror and evil on the entire scene. On this solemn and terrifying night, the Duke of Morgan seemed like a madman immersed in his own evil fantasies, using his twisted and selfish ways to show his so-called "piety" to the God of Happiness.
Eilena's tears seemed like an unstoppable flood, uncontrollably wetting her cheeks. Each drop carried deep fear and despair, her hands tightly gripping Alan, the helpless trembling seemed to speak, expressing her inner turmoil.
Alan gazed at her, his eyes holding a deep, bottomless sadness and love. He bit his lip hard, as if trying to suppress his emotions. Finally, he forced a faint smile at the corner of his mouth.
" It won't be us, Eilena. I promise you, everything will be okay," Alan's voice was low and hoarse, as if every word was squeezed out from the depths of his heart.
A bitter smile appeared on Eilena's face, a smile more heart-wrenching than tears. She knew that even Alan couldn't guarantee their survival. The bloody massacre orchestrated by Duke Morgan and Priest Asa left almost no chance of survival.
Asa the priest stood in front of the high altar, slowly opening his ritual book. His voice echoed throughout the space, and every word seemed to carry a kind of sacred power. He described the majesty of the God of Happiness with an almost fanatical tone, uttering hollow and hypocritical words of praise, as if all of this was predestined rather than the result of human wrongdoing.
Morgan the duke's sword movements became faster and faster, his eyes filled with ecstatic and perverse pleasure. With each swing of the blade, he took away the soul of an innocent life, yet he seemed to feel it was a supreme honor and pleasure. His sword dance became faster and faster, and within the flashing of the blade, there seemed to be a hidden smirk of the grim reaper. After each swing, he would look at the fallen slaves with an extremely fanatical gaze, as if saying, "Look, this is the end of your destiny."
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