Chapter 6: The Daemon Cult 2
"Ciel—behind you!"
Nafees's voice cracked, sharp with panic.
Ciel turned sharply, short sword in hand.
But before he could see the man behind him
CRACK!!
A brutal open-palm slap smashed into the side of his face.
Ciel's body slammed into the wall, then dropped to the ground with a dull thud. His short sword clattered and spun across the floor.
Nafees's breath hitched. His limbs froze.
The man tall, cloaked in black stepped forward
Step..step..
He approached the body of the man Ciel had attacked earlier—the one Nafees thought was dead.
He crouched. Tilted the man's chin slightly. Pressed two fingers to his neck.
A slow exhale left his masked mouth.
He's still breathing…!!
Raising one hand, the cloaked man summoned a soft glow of magic.
Hzzzz…
Faint green-white light shimmered in his palm. With practiced ease, he placed it over the injured man's injured body.
Shhhhkk...
The mangled flesh began to seal. The blood dried. The wound closed—partially. The eye didn't return, but the bleeding stopped, and the man's shallow breaths steadied.
Nafees's jaw trembled.
"No way… he was alive this whole time?"
The one-eyed man coughed, then groaned. Slowly, he sat up—face twisted in pain, but his fury was stronger.
His surviving eye locked onto Nafees.
Without warning
WHAM!
A boot struck Nafees square in the stomach.
He gasped. Air fled his lungs.
The next punch came fast
CRACK!!
snapping his head to the side.
"Think you could kill me, you little shit?" the man snarled, grabbing Nafees by the collar.
Ciel tried to move but the masked figure stepped on his hand, pinning him down like an insect.
***
They were dragged through cold, creaking hallways until the corridor opened into the familiar entrance hall.
'The inn's lobby.'
But it wasn't the same anymore.
Chairs were overturned. Tables smashed. The cozy atmosphere had been replaced with tension and terror. The warm fire that once burned at the hearth was now snuffed out, replaced by dim torchlight and shadows dancing along the walls.
And in the middle of it all were People.
Dozens of them. Locals. Travelers. Even the innkeeper.
All of them were bound. Mouths stuffed with bloodied cloth. Wrists tied so tight the skin bulged and turned purple. Ankles roped together like livestock awaiting the blade. Some lay limp in spreading pools of blood. Others sat hunched, twitching, their wide, glassy eyes fixed on nothing....broken beyond repair.
The air reeked of sweat, piss, and blood. Someone sobbed in short, choking gasps. Another shook silently, chewing on their gag until they bled.
Ciel and Nafees were hurled into the center...like trash flung onto a pile of ruined lives.
The one-eyed man who was stabbed by Ciel crouched beside Nafees, his breath hot with cruelty.
He chuckled, the sound low and coarse.
Then he whispered near his ear
"All suffering is a hymn. And pain… pain is our reverend insanity."
And then he laughed.
Not human laughter.
It was twisted.
As the one-eyed man's laughter echoed through the inn's shattered lobby,
Nafees felt it deep in his chest.
Malice.
Thick and suffocating.
Not just anger or cruelty
But something ancient.
Something that enjoyed the suffering.
His body trembled, but not from the pain anymore.
It was the sheer presence of evil.
Like invisible hands gripping his throat, whispering that this place was no longer part of the normal world.
It was a theatre of madness.
Suddenly, a man stepped forward from the shadows of the ruined lobby.
He wore a deep crimson robe, stitched with black thread in grotesque, spiraling patterns like veins of madness crawling across fabric. His hair was slicked back, and his eyes were calm… too calm.
He stared directly at the one eyed man, then tilted his head.
"What happened to your face?"
His voice was silk soft, yet laced with authority.
The one-eyed man stiffened, his swagger vanishing.
"U-Uhf… Boss…" he muttered, hand rising instinctively to cover the seared ruin where his eye used to be.
He looked away, clearly ashamed.
Before the tension could settle, another figure chuckled loudly from across the room.
A tall man in dark armor leaned against a support beam, arms folded, grinning wide.
"Looks like the 'Butcher of Ironmouth' got butchered by a damn teenager," he said, laughing through his nose.
"All that talk, and you got your eye skewered like street meat. What a joke."
A few more cultists nearby chuckled darkly, while the one-eyed man seethed in silence, his remaining eye twitching.
The man in red didn't laugh. He simply stared at them all
And the room quieted.
"Enough."
One word. That's all it took.
The laughter stopped. The one eyed man dropped his gaze.
Even the flames in the sconces seemed to flicker in fear.
The man in the crimson robe took a step closer, his boots echoing softly against the blood-slick floor.
His voice came low, quiet, but it silenced the room.
"I asked… who did that to you?"
The one-eyed man stiffened again.
Then, reluctantly, he pointed—straight at Ciel, who lay on the floor, breathing heavily, blood still dripping from his temple.
"It… it was him, boss. The blonde kid. He caught me off guard. Bastard jammed a short sword through my eye…"
His voice trailed off, full of venom and shame.
The red-robed man stared at Ciel in silence.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
Not the kind of smile people wear when they're pleased.
It was twisted.
Hungry.
He licked his lips.
"How bold…"
He turned to the others.
"Wouldn't it be fun to tear his limbs off one by one?"
he said, his voice like silk dragging across broken glass.
Then his gaze slid to Nafees.
"And how about… we feed his flesh to that boy?"
He grinned wider.
"Make him eat his friend."
Nafees's heart slammed in his chest. His breath caught.
"W-What…?"
His stomach turned.
They weren't just violent.
They were insane.
He looked at Ciel, whose eyes were wide open in shock and fear, his pupils dilated as if trapped in a nightmare.
And for the first time, a single, primal thought overtook everything else in Nafees's mind:
We're going to die here.
To be continued...