Yue hovered just above the cracked stone floor, her voice soft and distant, as if carried by the air itself.
"This… is the main hall of the temple."
Kael's eyes narrowed.
The air felt heavier here—like something pressing on his chest, a presence older than death.
He swallowed hard.
"So what exactly happens here?" he asked, his voice low.
In the distance, the rest of the group moved cautiously, fumbling with the torches embedded in the cold walls.
Flames flickered to life one by one, casting long shadows that twisted and danced like things trying to escape the light.
Yue didn't answer right away.
Instead, she floated closer to him, smile faint and unreadable.
"Name the temple, Kael."
Something inside him turned cold.
His breath caught.
"Temple of ...Sacrifice," he said.
The words hung in the air like a curse.
Then came the scream.
"Aaaaaaa—!"
It echoed through the hall, tearing the fragile calm to pieces.
Torches clattered to the floor as everyone turned to face the horror revealed by the flickering light:
A massive figure stood at the center of the hall.
Headless.
Its severed head cradled in one arm like a grotesque offering, the face hidden behind a Demonic red mask.
In its other hand—it held a blade as long as a man was tall, jagged and stained black with time.
Beneath its feet lay bones.
Countless bones.
Shattered ribs, twisted spines, skulls split in two.
A guillotine towered behind the figure, its blade suspended as though waiting for a signal.
The wood beneath it was soaked with something dark that had long since dried but never faded.
And beyond it all…
A statue.
Half-collapsed, yet unmistakably divine in form.
But not a god of life.
This was a god of endings.
Its eyes gouged out. Its mouth sewn shut.
Its hands raised in either benediction—or mockery.
Kael took a step back.
Then a scream pierced the silence—shrill, panicked.
"Oh my gods—what is that?!" one girl shrieked, stumbling back.
"Is that a head?!" another gasped, clutching her mouth.
"Stay back! Don't go near it!" someone shouted.
"It's holding its own damn head!"
Yue's voice echoed like a death bell in the vaulted silence.
"The final trial," she said softly. "The Blood Trial begins here."
Kael's breath caught.
He turned to Yue.
Torchlight danced across her face, casting long shadows that hollowed her expression.
She looked calm.
He was not...
Then—a sound.
Soft. Dry.
Bone against stone.
Kael's eyes snapped toward the guillotine.
The pile beneath it shifted—barely at first.
As if something long dead had just taken a breath.
Then came the rattle.
Faint.
Then louder.
Then everywhere.
Bones. Hundreds of them. Thousands.
Scraping. Clattering. Rising.
A storm of death, building all around them.
Screams broke the stillness.
A girl shrieked as a skeleton clawed its way forward, dragging shattered ribs and a half-missing arm.
Its skull twisted toward her, sockets empty but focused.
It moved closer.
And closer.
"Move!" Adam shouted, stepping in front of her.
He raised his hand, chanted fast.
A flare of fire erupted from his palm.
The skeleton shattered—ribs and vertebrae clattering to the ground in a rain of scorched bone.
Adam smirked.
"See? Just a rank one spell—"
He didn't finish.
The bones shifted.
Pulled together again.
The skeleton rose.
Behind it, dozens more were crawling from the dark.
Broken pieces twisting into place.
Skulls locking into spines.
Fingers closing around ancient, rusted blades.
Weapons drawn as if memory itself commanded them.
Adam's face drained of color.
"…Oh no."
At the far end of the hall, the headless giant still hadn't moved.
But its shadow had.
It stretched unnaturally across the floor, crawling toward the center of the chaos.
Then the first skeleton lunged.
"RUN!" Adam yelled, voice cracking.
Panic tore through the chamber like fire.
"Get back!"
"They're everywhere—gods, they're EVERYWHERE!"
"Don't stop! Don't look back!"
Feet pounded the stone.
Torches crashed to the ground.
Screams echoed in every direction.
And through the panic, Yue's voice rang out—quiet, solemn, unshaken.
"It's begun."
Kael turned to her, his grip tightening around Dreamweaver.
His voice was low—tight with urgency.
"Yue. What is this? What's happening? Just… tell me."
She met his eyes—and for the first time, really met them.
Something flickered there.
Grief.
Old and bitter.
She exhaled slowly.
"This is what I've pieced together.
From the murals. The runes. Everything in this place."
Her gaze shifted to the altar—blackened, cracked—and then to the towering guillotine.
"This temple belonged to a forgotten god.
A god of blood.
Worshipped by a single bloodline: the Morvains.
Noble. Powerful. Devout."
Kael said nothing.
Behind him, steel clashed with bone.
The other students were still holding the line, torches flaring as skeletal shapes closed in.
Yue continued, voice steady.
"Centuries ago, a high priest of this temple found an old scroll.
Forbidden magic.
It contained instructions for creating a Rank 8 spell."
Kael's breath caught. "Rank 8?"
She nodded.
"But the cost… was horrifying.
The spell required 108 sacrifices.
All of Morvain blood.
All within a single night. An eclipse."
Kael felt the chill creep back in.
"The priest called it a celebration.
He summoned every Morvain acolyte, priest, and servant.
And when darkness fell…"
She didn't finish.
She didn't have to.
Kael's knuckles whitened around the hilt.
"He slaughtered them," Yue said at last.
"One by one. In this very hall.
The screams… the blood…" Her voice lowered, almost reverent.
"He offered it all."
"And when it was done…"
Her expression hardened.
"…he counted the bodies."
Kael held still.
Frozen.
"He'd killed 107."
A pause.
"The spell demanded 108."
Yue's voice fell to a whisper.
"The scroll was explicit.
Once begun, the ritual had to be completed.
No substitutions. No exceptions.
One drop missing—and the magic would turn.
Corrupt. Twist everything it touched."
Kael's voice was barely audible.
"So what did he do?"
She turned her gaze toward the guillotine.
Toward the figure still standing in its shadow.
Still unmoving.
Still holding its own head like a relic.
"He made a choice," Yue said quietly. "He offered himself."
"He became the final sacrifice."
Her voice went still.
"He was the 108th."