The night was as heavy as thick ink, the mountains swallowed by a bloody mist, leaving only a towering stone altar, rising above the steps built from bones.
Thousands of Snow Swearers draped in tattered battle armor or robes adorned with bone decorations.
They carved dense totems into their chests with sharp blades, like self-inflicted patterns, bearing piety and madness.
They knelt uniformly before the altar, heads bowed low.
Aged veterans wept tears, their lips trembling as they muttered: "Today... is the festival of the gods’ return... we’ve finally waited for this mont..."
The young warriors, their eyes bloodshot, shouted: "Blood debts will be repaid! Our wrath will cleanse the land!"
It seed less like a ceremony and more like stepping onto a sacred journey of revenge.
So even raised the severed heads of Empire captives, saring the dripping blood on their foreheads, loudly proclaiming: "The food for the Ancient Gods... is ready."
At the peak of their frenzied prayers, the air suddenly thickened, an oppressive chill surged over the stone altar like a dark tide.
He appeared.
A half-mask of silver and black covered half his face, the exposed side like an ice sculpture under the moon, cold and indifferent.
His long hair draped like night mist, shifting lightly with the wind, like whispers from the Abyss.
With blood and snow as his carpet, his feet touched gently, leaving no trace, as if even the ground dared not taint his existence.
On the altar, all was silent.
Everyone lowered their heads simultaneously, like believers welcoming a god, trembling as they chanted his titles.
"High Priest!"
"Apostle of the Cold Abyss!"
"Divine Envoy!"
The Desperate Witch offered no response, only slowly stepped into the altar’s center, standing on the black patterned array about to split open, closing their eyes to savor the mont.
At that instant, a deep rumbling echoed from the earth’s depths.
Like a heartbeat, like gnawing, like a shell breaking.
The whole altar quivered slightly, as if the world beneath their feet was awakening.
This massive and malevolent writhing ca from below the earth.
The Nest beneath the seals impatiently began to wriggle its body, crashing against its shell wall, waiting to erge.
Feeling the rhythm beneath her feet, the Desperate Witch slowly opened her eyes, the corner of her lips curving slightly, simply raising her hand lightly, yet in that instant, all fell silent.
The man’s voice was deep yet gentle, like a fireplace burning in the winter night, but cold to the bone:
"You once knelt beneath the Empire’s iron boot, watched your kin hang from nooses, watched flas consu the Snow Country’s holand, gnawed your own flesh just to survive.
They called you ’Barbarians,’ called you ’Cursed Blood.’ But you never forgot..."
He opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping across the valley like a frosty blade.
"Yet you never gave up on revenge because you are people of the Snow Country, blood of the Cold Abyss, avengers of destiny!"
As his voice fell, the Snow Swearers trembled with excitent, breathing heavily, yet still knelt, not daring to interrupt.
The Desperate Witch spread her arms as if to embrace the entire Northern Territory.
"And from today on, we will no longer beg for rcy, no longer plead with fate. We will awaken the Ancient Gods with blood, awaken our power with spells. From today on, snow will no longer be pure white; it will be stained red for vengeance."
His voice rose, like thunder breaking the silence, piercing the clouds: "The Empire will kneel at Hell’s end, watching you return to the Northern Territory, rebuild the Snow Country, ignite the final beacon of the Cold Abyss!"
Silence lingered in the few breaths after the witch’s words fell, as if even heaven and earth held their breath.
But the next mont, a tidal wave of shouts burst forth.
"Cold Abyss! Eternal and Unyielding!!"
"Revenge for the Ancient Gods!! Dedicate to the Snow Country!!!"
Their torn-throat cries, mixed with sobbing, roaring, and prayer, swept through the entire Snow Valley.
Thousands of Snow Swearers knelt simultaneously, raising their hands high, the snow soaked with blood and tears.
Young warriors struck their chests with war axes, their eyes blazing, as if hearing the ancestral call.
Old witches raised their bone staffs with trembling hands, voicing the ancient language of the gods over and over, weeping uncontrollably.
The Snow Swearers, as if possessed by the frenzy of pilgrimage, intertwined their tears, blood, screams, and pain into sothing terrifyingly sacred.
As if they could truly see so invisible god watching over them from the distant sky.
They believed with all their hearts.
On the high platform, the black-robed witch quietly watched the scene unfold.
He did not speak, nor did he move, the snow wind brushing his silver-black hair, as if ti stood still at his feet.
Beneath the half-covered face, a faint smile played at his lips.
But it was not gentle, perhaps even sarcastic.
"Tsk, such good children, but... if you’re going to play the ga, play it fully," he murmured in his heart, carrying a hint of icy mockery.
The Desperate Witch slowly raised her arms, as if accepting worship, the black robe fluttering in the snow wind.
And then from below, the crowd erupted once again with a roar like a mountain avalanche, shaking the sky, as though even the mountains were trembling.
At this mont—
"Boom..."
A deep, bell-like knell sounded, coming from beneath the altar at his feet.
The bloodstone-paved floor tiles trembled slightly, cracks visibly snaking along.
"Boom... Boom boom..."
It was not the sound of rock breaking, but more like so great heart, slowly waking and beating below the earth.
From the depths of the earth ca a sound of wet and sticky squirming, like a massive beast covered in mud turning over; as if tens of thousands of insect larvae were hatching simultaneously, colliding and tearing at each other.
The Snow Swearers below had no knowledge of this, believing the tremors to be the Ancient Gods responding to their prayers, cheering even more frantically, so even collapsing to the ground, wailing:
User Comments
0 comments from readers