The Templars showed no reaction.
They dragged the creature to the center and forced it down.
One held it in place. The other drew his weapon.
The sword was massive, its edge wickedly clean and sharp, its purpose unmistakable.
The blade came down in a single, precise motion.
The creature's head separated from its body instantly.
And yet, no blood fell. It squirted out of the struggling body, creating vibrant red strands that floated, suspended in the air without anything to tether it.
It was an unnatural sight. A disturbing one too.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the blood began to move.
It lifted from the severed neck, rising upward as though drawn by an unseen force. The flow of each strand of blood curved through the air toward the Red Mother.
A golden goblet had appeared in her hands.
The blood filled it without spilling a single drop.
The chanting deepened.
When the goblet was full, the Red Mother raised it to her veiled face.
