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墨書 Inktalez
Baron Morgan's sword gleamed with a cold light in the moonlight as he elegantly wielded it, as if performing some kind of evil dance. Every time his sword struck, it took a life, leaving the floor of the temple hall increasingly wet - a mixture of the blood of countless slaves.
Alan felt his palm being deeply pressed by his clenched fist, as if gathering all his anger and helplessness there. His nails dug deep into his palm, drawing blood that mixed with the blood on the ground. His gaze was fixed on Baron Morgan, his eyes blazing like fire, as if to turn the entire hall to ashes.
Next to her, Eilena also had a resolute expression. She bit her lower lip, forcing herself to hold back from crying out loud. Her hand unconsciously grabbed onto Alan's sleeve, as if it were her only support. Her face was even paler than a sheet of paper, filled with fear and confusion: why, why did it have to be like this?
In the hall, the bloody smell contrasted sharply with Morgan's triumphant laughter. A group of priests stood to the side, dressed in magnificent robes, chanting ritual texts with emotionless faces. Those words were like curses, sending shivers down people's spines.
Blood continued to flow from the altar of the temple, eventually seeping into every stone slab, as if the earth itself was drinking up this innocent blood. The dark red liquid quickly pooled around Alan and Eilena's feet, its viscous nature seeming almost lifelike as it slowly crept up their shoes and pant legs.
Alan suddenly felt a wave of intense dizziness, as if a massive black hole was sucking away all of his spirit and strength. The rust-like smell was like a dagger, constantly piercing his nostrils and tearing at his soul. He wanted to scream in anger, to swing his fists in resistance, but his body felt tightly locked by some force, unable to move.
He glanced at Eilena from the corner of his eye and saw her tightly closed eyes due to fear. Suddenly, he felt how helpless and insignificant he was.
In such an environment, even the strongest will would be weakened, and the fiercest anger would be overwhelmed. They seemed to be trapped in an inescapable nightmare, experiencing endless desecration of life and dignity at every moment.
When Baron Morgan swung his sword again and beheaded the thirty-fourth slave, a near-sacred silence enveloped the entire hall of the temple. Each strike was accompanied by splattering blood, and each cry of agony was quickly swallowed up amidst wails and incantations. The blood flowed like a river over the stone floor, mingling with the thirty-three other bodies that had fallen before.
Alan and Eilena seemed as if they were being crushed by gravity, their eyes swollen and their faces pale to the point of losing color. Their bodies trembled involuntarily, but they forcibly suppressed their emotions. It was a helplessness that transcended fear and anger, as if an invisible hand were pressing on their throats, making it extremely difficult to breathe.
Baron Morgan stood there panting, holding the blood-stained sword, looking extremely pleased. He raised the sword high, as if displaying his great achievement to the sky and the four heavenly gods.
Beside him, Asa the priest even cried, his emotions soaring almost out of control. In a trembling voice, he said, "This scene, how beautiful it is! I wish every member of the priestly order could see all of this with their own eyes! This is the supreme dedication to the four heavenly gods! This is the pinnacle of faith!"
In the hall, apart from the words of Morgan and Asa the priest, everything else fell into a strange silence. Even the nearby soldiers dared not make a sound, as if this terrifying and sacred moment transcended all words.
Alan felt a strong wave of nausea and dizziness, but he knew that it was not just because of the smell of blood and death, but also because he deeply understood that this horrific massacre was only the beginning.
At that moment, the statue of the God of Happiness in the temple unexpectedly shed tears of blood. A murmuring sound echoed through the temple, as if it were the praise from ancient times.
"Duke Morgan, Priest Asa, your sacrifices are so sincere and wholehearted. Over the years, no one has been able to satisfy us like you have."
Upon hearing this mysterious whisper, Priest Asa and Duke Morgan immediately knelt to the ground, their faces filled with awe and reverence. The surrounding soldiers also knelt down, caught in a kind of religious fervor.
"Miracle! This is a miracle!" Priest Asa chanted in his mouth, his eyes flashing with a mad light. "God of Happiness has descended with a divine revelation, and we have received his sacred recognition!"
At this moment, Duke Morgan and Priest Asa feel superior, as if they have become the chosen ones, and the soldiers and believers see them as gods among mortals.
Baron Morgan kneels on the blood-soaked ground, his face radiant and proud, his gaze firmly locked on the statue of the God of Happiness.
"God of Happiness! Today's sacrifice, we are all conducted with you as the premise!" he announced loudly, every word filled with confidence and reverence.
"These wretches are not worthy of enjoying the happiness you bestow, they will only waste your grace. Therefore, through this sacrifice, we ensure that only deserving individuals can receive your blessings. All of today belongs to the glorious God of Happiness!"
The whispered voice suddenly turned into a burst of laughter, which not only shook every corner of the temple, but also deeply shook everyone present. The laughter was filled with a kind of almost mocking pleasure, as if it was praising the sacrifice of Baron Morgan and Asa priests, and also proving how futile their faith was.
"Hahaha! Morgan, Asa, you have indeed done well. Keep going, let this feast reach its rightful climax, let joy fill every corner!"
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