Light footsteps echoed through the darkness, accompanied only by the slow, hollow drip of liquid striking stone.
A small orb of pale light bloomed in the palm of a hooded figure as it moved cautiously through the twisting tunnels of the cave. The walls were damp, slick beneath the fingers when the figure brushed against them. After a brief pause, it turned into a narrow side passage and pressed a protruding stone embedded in the rock.
With a dull rumble, a massive boulder slid down and sealed the tunnel behind it.
The passage sloped downward, roughly carved steps descending along the cavern wall. At the bottom, the space opened into a vast underground chamber. Beneath the stairs lay a lake of blood, vast and unnaturally still, its surface glowing faintly crimson like liquid embers trapped beneath glass.
The hooded figure approached the lake and fell to its knees at the edge.
"My lord…" The voice that emerged was hoarse, trembling. "Our plan has failed. The portal could not be opened. The clone sealed there… was destroyed."
For a heartbeat, the lake remained motionless.
Then it erupted.
Crimson waves surged violently, slamming into the cavern walls. One wave rose higher than the rest and crashed straight into the kneeling figure, hurling it across the chamber. Bones struck stone with a sickening thud.
The figure did not resist.
It scrambled back to its knees, forehead pressed flat against the ground, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. "I'm sorry, my lord. We truly did everything we could—"
A ghostly, wailing voice rose from the depths of the blood lake, layered and distorted, as though many mouths spoke at once.
"Useless."
The word reverberated through the chamber.
"Did I not tell you to prepare for interference? Did you not assure me your pawns could handle it?" The lake churned again. "That clone was vital. Decades of preparation. Decades… erased."
The pressure in the air thickened, suffocating.
"I should refine you where you kneel."
The hooded figure lifted its head just enough for its voice to carry. "Please, my lord. Grant me one more chance. I swear I will redeem this failure. I will not disappoint you again."
Silence followed. Long. Heavy.
At last, the voice spoke again, colder than before.
"Very well. You will have your chance."
The lake rippled softly.
"But understand this. It will be your last. Fail me again, and you will die. Your entire family will follow." A low chuckle echoed. "And as I recall… there are quite a few pleasing specimens among them."
The figure slammed its forehead into the stone floor again and again, blood spreading in a dark circle beneath it. "Yes, my lord. I will succeed. I swear it."
"Leave," the voice commanded. "And send the sacrifices as usual. Another mistake, and someone else will wear your skin."
The hooded figure rose shakily and retreated through a different tunnel, footsteps fading into the darkness.
That passage was far brighter, lined with lanterns formed from moonstones that cast a pale, steady glow. After several minutes, the tunnel ended at a towering iron door. The figure pushed it open and stepped inside.
A vast hall greeted it. At its center stood a throne of black stone.
The figure seated itself upon the throne and extended one hand. A staff materialized in its grasp, topped with a crystalline skull. It struck the ground three times.
Wisps of smoke gathered in the chamber, coalescing into more than a dozen hooded figures. One by one, they knelt.
"Greetings, Lord Pope," they said in unison.
The Pope slammed his staff into the stone floor. A crack spiderwebbed outward.
"Who led that raid?" he roared. "Did I not order discretion? Did I not warn you not to attract the Federation's attention?"
No one answered.
"You could have poisoned the examinees. Let them rot slowly." His voice dripped contempt. "Instead, you drew Saints to the field. Are you fools?"
One figure to his right trembled violently. "L-Lord Pope… this will not happen again—"
The staff turned.
White light flared.
The pleading stopped.
Where the kneeling figure had been, only an empty cloak collapsed to the floor. A single drop of blood rose into the air and was absorbed by the skull atop the staff. Its hollow eyes burned crimson before dimming once more.
No one dared breathe.
"At least two Saints intervened," the Pope said coldly. "Has humanity truly grown bold enough to challenge the Beast God?"
He rose from the throne.
"Investigate. Learn why this happened. And fix it."
"Yes, Lord Pope," the figures replied, vanishing like smoke in the wind.
The hall fell silent.
After a long moment, the Pope snarled and muttered to himself, "I could use some screams tonight."
He dissolved into ash.
That night, multiple towns and villages burned. The skies echoed with despair, grief, and rage.
By dawn, the Federation's upper echelons were in uproar.
They declared it an act of retaliation.