The air was thick with anticipation.
In the center of the village, the elders gathered around the sacred array—etched deep into the earth with chalk, blood, and powdered bones.
Lanterns hung from every pole, casting an eerie glow over their wrinkled faces, all stretched into joyous grins.
"It is time. The sacrifices have been offered. God Moras shall rise again."
One of them whispered, arms raised to the sky.
The others chanted in unison, fingers trembling with reverence as they poured mana into the symbols lining the circle. The ground pulsed. The air grew tense.
A distant bell chimed.
The array sparked to life.
But something was wrong.
The glow that should have pulled mana toward the center… reversed.
Instead of drawing in power, it began to ripple outward, like a beast convulsing in agony.
One of the villagers took a step back.
This… this isn't right."
Another elder frowned.
"The sacrifices… they should be drained by now. Where is the power?!"
