117 CELEBRATION OF THE UNEARTHLY

117 CELEBRATION OF THE UNEARTHLY

Behind them, wagons rolled forward, their grotesque decorations making the onlookers recoil and gape.

These were no ordinary floats—they were adorned with the hollowed skulls of beasts and men alike, their eye sockets staring lifelessly at the living. The wagons bore figures cloaked in dark, tattered robes, holding incense burners that released clouds of acrid, blood-red smoke into the air.

An army of spear-wielding soldiers followed close behind. All Skeleton and undead.

Their bodies were painted in vivid patterns of red and blue, their large, armored bones glistening as they marched in perfect unison, the rhythmic pounding of their boots echoing against the crumbling walls.

The parade snaked its way toward the center of the broken streets, where the ruins had been fashioned into a grotesque altar. The debris had been meticulously arranged to resemble an enormous head of a ram, its skeletal form rising ominously against the bloody sky.

Skulls and bones littered its foundation, forming a grim temple dedicated to an unknown and terrible power.

At the pinnacle of this shrine stood the master of the ceremony—a figure of immense and unsettling presence. Draped in robes stitched from tattered human skin, the shaman, or perhaps the god-king of this eldritch congregation, raised his hands to the heavens.

His eyes burned like twin embers, and his voice, deep and resonant, uttered an unholy incantation that seemed to make the very earth tremble.

The parade halted, its participants bowing in reverence as the shaman king began his ritual. The rain of blood intensified, soaking the crowd in crimson as an eerie silence fell over the gathering.

This was no mere celebration; it was a summoning, a demonic dance of ruin and rebirth and also the call to battle, a declaration of war against the living.

"Fresh blood for our great king, Bael!" the demonic army roared, their voices rising in unison, a cacophony of bloodlust and devotion.

"Hail Bael"

"Hail the Skeleton King"

Atop his makeshift altar of debris and bones, the Skeleton King Bael stood tall, his imposing figure cloaked in shadows that danced in the crimson light. His fiery gaze swept over the gathered masses, their grotesque forms twisted with anticipation.

"My brothers in death," Bael began, his deep, resonant voice carrying like a thunderclap.

"The time has come. The door to Sodom shall open, and new sacrifices await us. This is our time—our time to claim them and honor our purpose!"

The crowd erupted into a chant, their voices echoing like an infernal hymn:

"Sacrifice! Sacrifice!"

"Fresh blood! Fresh blood!"

As the chant reached a fever pitch, the ritual reached its climax.

The sky's crimson tears seemed to thicken, and the air vibrated with dark power. When Bael finally descended from his skeletal temple, the court of his inner circle awaited him in tense silence.

"Lord Bael," an astrologer wearing an ornate skeletal horse head stepped forward, bowing deeply. "The annual weakening of Heaven's Cage is due in exactly ten days."

Bael turned his burning eyes toward the astrologer, his voice a low growl.

"Argun, I have waited long for this moment. Watching, enduring, as those wretched human mages dared to invade our realm under the pathetic guise of exploration."

"Great Bael, our armies have grown powerful, and our soldiers grow restless. It is time we break free of this prison—this so-called Heaven's cage—and claim the realms beyond as our rightful dominion."

 "Be patient, Argun. The day of reckoning approaches, but it has not yet arrived. When the time comes, death shall overrun the Realm of Sins, purging it until the only sin left is the act of being alive itself."

The court fell silent, the weight of Bael's words settling over them like an oppressive shroud. One by one, they bowed, their loyalty unshaken.

"Await that day," Bael concluded, his voice a whisper that resonated like a death knell.

-----

[At the gate to Heaven's Cage over Sodom]

Hidden under an enormous cavern inside the mountain of Sodom City, mages and students turned toward a shimmering barrier that loomed ahead the ruins of Sodom.

When the Angels destroyed Sodom centuries ago, they trapped it beneath a mountain and an impenetrable magic barrier, one so potent it locked the ruins—and the undead and demons within—away from the world.

But every year, for a single month, the barrier weakened.

It was during this brief window that adventurers, mages, and scholars dared to enter, seeking lost treasures, forbidden knowledge, and the opportunity to thin the dreaded undead population.

"Students, remember to fight for the glory of our academy," Dean Faschae declared, his voice steady and commanding as he eyed the expeditionary teams of the other academies.

Then, lowering his tone so only those nearest could hear, he added, "But remember this: there is no glory in death. Use your wits, not just your courage. Let death be for the other academies, not you."

Knekis turned to the dean with furrowed brows. "What do you mean, Dean? Should we fight for glory or avoid it?"

Before Faschae could respond, Petunia interjected with a smirk. "He means you should strike when your enemies are down. Hide, wait, and claim heads when it costs you nothing. Glory isn't for heroes or the dead. It's for survivors."

Knekis scowled at her, but her words lingered uncomfortably. Petunia carried a calm confidence that was difficult to dismiss.

Both Knekis and Petunia were among the select students in the Sodom City Academy of Magic granted the opportunity to explore the ruins of Sodom this year, alongside Lilleo Gullee, the academy's rising star.

This was a dangerous privilege, one that came with both the promise of glory and the risk of death.

Knekis puffed out his chest. "Hide? That's not the way of the Toledo family. I brought my finest fighters with me as escorts—men in the early tiers of Svad. We won't skulk around like cowards. We'll meet our enemies head-on and crush them."

He gestured to the more than a dozen warriors standing behind him, each clad in armor and armed to the teeth. Their disciplined stances and hardened gazes spoke of their strength and experience.

Petunia rolled her eyes. "Suit yourself, Knekis. But don't expect me to save your ass when you go charging in like a moron looking for glory."