Bloody ritual

Her eyes widened, a small flicker of hope sparking in them as she watched the chains snap loose.

The silence was deafening—no alarms, no movement. Everyone around her was still fast asleep, faces calm, unaware.

> "If they used Asura-forged chains on these mortals, then something's off. They're not ordinary people… I don't have the strength to draw attention right now."

She rose slowly, careful not to make a sound. Her bare feet pressed against the frozen ground as she crept through the camp, weaving between sleeping bodies. The shadows swallowed her silhouette.

Her hair—long, tangled, streaked with ash and dried blood—dragged behind her like the remnants of royalty lost to time. The cloth draped over her was barely holding together. Torn along the thighs, soaked at the edges, hanging from one shoulder like a forgotten rag on a noble frame. She looked like a ghost of herself.

She crawled behind the tents and makeshift huts, slipping from block to block, her breath shallow. The wind bit at her exposed skin.

Then she ran.

Into the woods—no direction, no destination—just away.

Branches scratched her arms. Stones bit into her heels. But she didn't stop. Her chest heaved. Her body burned. And still, she ran.

Until—

A sound.

Crunch.

She turned, barely halfway, and something slammed into her—a hard, metal edge that struck like a boulder.

A shield.

She flew backward, spine colliding with a tree with a sickening crack. Her knees buckled. She dropped, coughing blood into the snow.

And then a shadow moved in the trees.

She looked up, slowly, breath ragged, and her ember eyes locked onto cold gray ones.

The man stepped into view. Hardened features. Pale eyes like weathered stone.

> "You would've made it out," he said coolly, "but you took the wrong path. That road leads to a cliff."

His voice. Arrogant. Familiar.

Recognition struck like lightning.

> The knight… the one who beat me bloody the first night…

Her lip curled.

> "You've been following me," she said, every breath a stab in her ribs. She clutched at her chest.

He grinned. Too wide. Too pleased.

> "Yeah. Did you enjoy the show I set up?"

She frowned, confused.

> "Ah... you're lost," he chuckled. Then—he vanished.

A moment later, he reappeared in front of her with inhuman speed.

Her head cracked against the tree as he pinned her. One hand at her throat. The other buried in her hair, yanking hard.

"Killing a god takes effort," he said, pressing harder. "But you? You took more than I expected. You hid yourself well."

"What… do you mean?" she gasped, her vision darkening.

"Every god has a vessel," he whispered, brushing blood from her cheek with a mock tenderness. "When their divine body dies, they reincarnate into mortals. The vessel is just a shell… living, breathing… until it's ready to be claimed."

"So- how do you find them?"

"We don't." His voice dropped. "We lay traps. Rituals. Things that invoke the soul of a god."

And with that, he dug a clawed finger into her cheek.

She screamed as blood spilled.

"Why?" she hissed.

"Because we cannot allow your kind to return. We ended you once. The world doesn't need gods anymore."

His hand rose, fingers curled like blades.

He slashed—

She ducked.

The strike grazed her, slicing across her shoulder. She stumbled backward, rolling in the snow, bare feet skidding on ice.

He rushed her again.

She reached for a weapon—there was none. Just the cold and her instincts.

She pivoted, grabbed a thick branch and swung. He caught it mid-air, smirked, and flung her across the clearing. She hit the ground hard but rolled to his feet.

Her body was slow—mortal. Weak.

But her reflexes were not.

She dodged another blow, then drove her elbow into his ribs.

He flinched.

But only for a second.

He grabbed her arm, twisted it, and drove his knee into her gut. She choked, the wind knocked from her lungs.

She tried to run.

He yanked her back by the hair and slammed her into the dirt.

The world spun.

And then—

Steel.

She didn't see the blade until it pierced her chest.

Her body froze. Her breath caught. Warmth flooded her ribs as blood spilled across the snow.

He twisted the blade before pulling it out. Her knees buckled.

She collapsed.

But he wasn't done.

He drove his hand into her chest—ripping flesh, bone—and pulled something wet and heavy from her ribcage.

Her heart.

She felt it. She saw it. A faint, glowing pulse… fading fast.

Her vision blurred. The world smeared into white and crimson. Her ears rang.

A frown settle on his face as he stares at the beating heart. he grabbed her by the ankle.

And dragged her.

Through the forest.

Her arms scraped against roots. Her back tore open on rocks.

She barely felt it now. Her body was shutting down. All she could see was white.

Until they stopped.

He lifted her—dangling like a doll in his grip.

At the cliff's edge, the wind howled.

He stood behind her. His chest pressed to her back. His breath cold in her ear.

"Others die when their hearts are taken… but you…" he whispered. "You're still alive. What an odd little thing."

He traced her jaw, lifting her face.

"The first possession is always messy," he continued, voice almost tender. "You must've believed the lies we fed you. All those stories…"

He turned her face to the side.

Below, just past the cliff, she saw them.

The other "slaves."

Now dressed in black armor. Eyes glowing.

"You thought they were prisoners," he laughed, lips curling cruelly. "But we… we're godslayers."

Her eyes widened.

Snap.

He broke her neck with a sharp twist.

Her pupils shrank.

Then—

He threw her off the cliff.

"You nearly killed one of my men with your bloody ritual," he muttered, watching her body vanish into the abyss.

"Had to return the favor."