Several disappearances and unexplained events have been registered shorty after the commercialization of an ancient statue linked to some legends from a mysterious place called "Reich der Finsternis" in eastern Germany, there is no know route leadin...
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The bloody cult
The grotesque display didn't disturb Liz as much as the fear of being discovered by the monks during their bloody ritual. She stayed hidden, watching as one of them cut the rope, causing the corpse to drop to the ground with a sickening thud. The crack of its neck snapping echoed chillingly through the air. A knot formed in her stomach as she watched the ghoulish figures pick up the limp body and place it back into the wooden coffin. The group then followed their leader, who carried the bucket full of blood. After letting out a bloodcurdling shriek, the leader addressed his followers.
"Es ist fast sechs Uhr, wir müssen uns beeilen. Das Ritual beginnt in Kürze und Herr Holzmann wartet auf uns." (It is almost six o'clock, we must hurry. The ritual will begin shortly, and Herr Holzmann is waiting for us.)
His voice was rough, guttural. Liz didn't understand the words, but the urgency in his tone was unmistakable. She kept herself hidden among the trees and bushes, continuing to spy on the monks. Whatever she was about to uncover, she knew it wouldn't be good.
The monks carrying the exsanguinated body in the coffin headed down another path, while Liz carefully pursued the rest of the group. The cobblestone path sloped upward, leading to another Gothic-style church, smaller and less grand than the one in the ghost town. These places were where Liz had seen firsthand the evil and madness that ruled the people of this region.
The small group of monks carried the blood to the entrance of the church. The doors suddenly opened, revealing four hunters—the same ones who worked for Holzmann's executioner. Liz's heart began to race, a sense of dread gripping her. Something terrible was about to happen.
From her hiding spot, she watched the skeletal ghouls approach. Their decaying bodies, while grotesque, moved with a dangerous, unnatural speed. These weren't the slow, shambling undead she had imagined. These creatures radiated a sense of lethal intent. The hunters bowed in respect to the monks, who responded with a prayerful salute, their hands clasped together in a gesture of devout reverence.
One of the hunters threw a blood-soaked burlap sack to the ground. It hit with a heavy thud, clearly containing something large. The others gathered around to inspect it more closely.
"Es war viel schwieriger als erwartet, aber wir haben geholt, was ihr verlangt habt," growled one of the hunters, his voice rough and aggressive as he hefted his musket. (It was harder than expected, but we brought you what you asked for.)
"Sehr gut, ihr dürft jetzt gehen. Möge unsere Königin euch mit all ihrer Kraft segnen," replied the leader of the monks. (Very well, you may go. May our queen bless you with all her strength.)
The monks' voices were softer, but their tones carried a disturbing, dark edge. While the hunters spoke with harsh aggression, the fanatics' speech was filled with unsettling reverence.
With that, the hunters turned and disappeared down a different path, vanishing into the darkness. The monks, meanwhile, began to open the bloody sack. Inside was a hideous figure—rotting, but still clearly human in some features, though covered in black fur. From its back jutted wings, grotesquely extending from where its ribs should have been. Its prominent jaw took up most of its face, with yellow, razor-sharp fangs protruding from its mouth.
