Otto's corpse now looked as though it belonged to an elderly man—just skin and bones. It was clear that what had been drained from him wasn't only his blood, but his very age as well.
Damian watched all of this with a stunned expression. The sight sent chills down his spine. He wasn't sure where the feeling came from—was it fear of the unknown, or the thrill of the discovery he had just witnessed?
"It seems there really are supernatural forces, just as Anna said… even though she wasn't completely certain," Damian thought, the astonishment still etched across his face. His heart pounded fiercely, a stark contrast to the usual calm he carried.
Even though he still didn't know how much of the information Anna had given him was actually true, what he had seen with his own eyes was undeniable and completely different.
"It doesn't matter," he told himself. Whether Anna's information was accurate or not didn't matter. Whether this feeling stemmed from fear or excitement didn't matter either. If he possessed absolute power, who would dare obstruct him or threaten his life? Fear of the unknown? Hesitation in the face of danger? None of that could exist once you held absolute power!
That was what he sought: the ability to crush anything with absolute strength, the ability to solve any problem with absolute strength! This line of thought filled him with an overwhelming sense of exhilaration. He hadn't felt anything like this in a very long time—not since he first began learning martial arts and gradually felt his strength growing bit by bit.
But compared to what he felt now, that was nothing. This was on an entirely different level. They were talking about power that surpassed human limits. How could he not feel exhilarated?
"Still… it's far out of reach," he sighed inwardly, trying to suppress his racing thoughts and refocus on the scene before him. He wanted to leave this place, yet his curiosity urged him to watch more—to understand the nature of this power and, if possible, to see what lay inside that coffin. He needed a clearer idea of what kinds of forces he might face in the world in the future.
At that moment, the ominous feeling intensified. The chants from the masked figures grew louder as well. The red light flared even brighter until it became impossible to see through—it completely obscured the coffin!
Only a few moments later, the red light faded. What remained was the black coffin and, beside it, the mummified, skeletal corpse. The chanting from the masked group stopped, leaving only the leader in the center reciting alone. Damian couldn't understand any of what they were saying. The only word he managed to catch, repeated many times, was "Heimer!"
He guessed it was either a name or a title—the name of the person for whom they were offering this sacrifice. And quite possibly… the very being inside that coffin!
The history of their cult stretched back more than two hundred years. Long ago, this site was merely a pit discovered by one of their ancestors. Driven by curiosity, he decided to investigate its depth and purpose. To his shock, he found this black coffin lying there. He tried every method to open it, but none succeeded. He concluded that whoever—or whatever—was inside must be an extraordinarily powerful being. Given the grim aura and demonic atmosphere surrounding it, he attributed its origin to an ancient demon!
Their final conclusion was that this coffin had fallen from the sky. From then on, they began to revere and worship it, even offering sacrifices. That was how they discovered its unique property: its ability to absorb blood.
From his position on the stairs, Damian continued to observe their ritual. The leader went on reciting his strange texts, looking almost like the conductor of an orchestra, directing the masked figures behind him in perfect unison.
With a gesture from him, two of the masked men—who had earlier gone to fetch the unconscious dark-skinned young man—approached. But the moment they drew near, the youth suddenly threw himself backward and began screaming at the top of his lungs:
"Someone! Is there anyone here?! Help me… Damn it, stay away from me, you devils!"
He scrambled backward on his hands and feet, clearly having suffered leg injuries earlier—possibly even broken bones. His expression was one of pure terror. Tears and mucus streamed from his eyes and nose as he desperately clung to even the faintest hope of survival.
The two masked men frowned. The rest of the circle, along with the leader, turned briefly at the sound—but it didn't stop them. They turned back and continued the ritual without giving him another glance. Clearly, his outburst caused them no disturbance at all.
One of the masked men drew a sword from beneath his robe. Without the slightest hesitation despite the youth's screams and curses, he thrust it through the boy's shoulder until the blade emerged from the other side.
They grabbed him by the arms and dragged him into the center of the circle, placing him on top of the coffin. Next to him lay Otto's skeletal, shriveled corpse—its elderly appearance sent fresh shivers through the young man. His screams and pleas grew louder; tears poured like a waterfall as he begged for mercy. But no one paid him the slightest attention.
"Please… I'll give you whatever you want! I'll give you everything! I have gold… yes, gold! Take it all—just don't kill me, I beg you!"
Sweat, tears, mucus, and blood covered his face. He looked utterly pathetic as he begged for his life.
The same masked man advanced again and raised the sword once more. The dark-skinned youth continued to plead and sob, completely abandoning any sense of dignity. When he realized nothing would save him, he switched to cursing at the top of his lungs:
"Curse you, you devils! I'll curse you even after I die, you bastards! I'll curse your descendants forever…!"
Spittle flew from his mouth as he raged—until he fell forever silent.
With a powerful swing, the cult leader's sword sliced through the air. The youth's head flew off and rolled away, finally coming to rest against Otto's skeletal corpse. With chilling calm, the leader continued his chant without the book, wiped the blade on the headless body's clothes, returned the sword to the masked man, and took up the black book once again.
Just like before, the same process repeated. Within moments, the body began to wither. Blood was rapidly drained and absorbed into the coffin. The crimson glow flared even brighter than the previous time, completely blinding everyone. Unnoticed by Damian—whose view was blocked by the intense light—the red inscription on the coffin's surface expanded by several inches, claiming new space across the black lid.
Slowly the light dimmed and finally vanished entirely. Everyone opened their eyes—including Damian. He decided he had seen enough. If he stayed any longer, something dangerous might happen that he couldn't handle right now.
The leader bowed, murmuring a few quiet words. He touched the newly expanded inscription with reverence and fanaticism clear in his eyes. He smeared a bit of blood from his fingertip onto the eye-shaped mark on his forehead, clasped his hands together, and knelt.
Meanwhile, Damian had already climbed back up the old stone stairs and was leaving—fully aware that remaining here any longer could bring trouble he wasn't yet prepared to face!