Story 1006: Vile Blood Moon

The moon bled red for the third night in a row.

The Crimson Halo cult had been waiting for this—an ancient prophecy carved into skin, not stone. It spoke of a night where the veil would thin, and the moon itself would drip life onto the dead.

High Priestess Severine, robed in black thorned silk, stood atop a mound of bones outside the ruins of Old Harrowhill, her congregation of masked zealots chanting in tongues only the stars understood.

Below her, arranged in a perfect sigil of rot and gore, lay thirteen zombie husks, heads split open, mouths agape—ready to receive the lunar blessing.

Meanwhile, Solomon Wraith and Gideon Moth watched from the broken bell tower of a crumbling church, binoculars trembling in Solomon’s hand.

“They’re trying to awaken something,” Solomon whispered. “I saw this symbol once… scrawled on the walls of a girl who bled backward.”

Gideon spat. “Cultists. Always thinkin’ the sky’s talkin’ to them.”

“It is, Moth. It just shouldn’t be.”