Fortuitously, the darkness and the wide cloak rendered Nicole nearly invisible as she mingled in the patch of witches.
It was soon her turn to advance.
Keeping her head down, Nicole moved with other witches toward the bonfire, where many had gathered to form a large circle.
The chief chanted a phrase, echoed by the witches.
Nicole lip-synced the words, her eyes darting around cautiously.
Seizing a moment of distraction, she glanced at the stage.
The chief spoke fervently, and beside her on a crescent-shaped altar, a figure was tied in the shape of a âhis head drooping, seemingly lifeless.
â
Nicoleâs heart stopped.
She stared up, mouth agape, at the figure on the stage.
It was Roscoe, the man who had helped her escape.
How had he ended up as the sacrifice in the ritual? Emerie had claimed that not everyone was fit to be a sacrifice.
And Roscoe was a man! How could he meet the criteriaâ¦
Confused and dazed, Nicole stood motionless, her eyes glued on Roscoe.
As if sensing her gaze, Roscoe glanced over.
Among the sea of red-robed witches, Nicoleâs stillness caught the eye.
Roscoe spotted Nicole right away.
Then, a witch behind Nicole bumped into her and glanced up, noting Nicoleâs face unfamiliar.
The witch was just about to open her mouth to speak, but a loud crash from the altar interrupted her.
Roscoe thrashed, toppling the cross to which he was bound.
The assembly froze, their attention snapped to the stage.
Emerie, spotting the chaos, commanded, âNo speaking out of turn.
Continue!â
Despite her anger, the chief quickly turned the situation to her advantage by proclaiming to those below, âThis is a divine sign.
It shows that humans must not stand.
They must kneel and crawl before us!â
The assembly took her words to heart, bowing their heads and reassembling to continue the ritual by the fire.
âs BunnyBookery It was then that the chief, with a fierce look, stepped on the fallen Roscoeâs head.
âYou really want to die that badly? The nerve of you freeing my sacrifice! You must have a death wish.
The ritual cannot be canceled.
Today, Iâll make you suffer before everyone, let the flames engulf you, and show you the true horrors of hell.
â
The chief leaned in, her voice venomous.
âBelieve me, the agony youâre about to feel will make hell seem merciful.
â
Roscoeâs face was ghostly.
No food or water was offered to him for three whole days.
Yet, he wasnât cowed by the chiefâs threats.
He retorted coolly, âHave you ever endured such pain yourself?â
The chief paused, taken aback by Roscoeâs defiance and his bold challenge.
Despite her long history of bloodshed, she had never encountered such boldness.
With a hint of pride, she declared, âDo you think I am like you commoners? I am a Holy Spirit, aged 160 years, I have watched countless like you consumed by flames.
â
Roscoe scoffed.
âHoly Spirit? Youâre delusional.
Iâve discovered your so-called witch clan merely possesses genetic advantages, like an extended lifespan.
This Holy Spirit rejuvenation is a fabrication to deceive your followers.
â
The chiefâs expression darkened.
âWhat nonsense are you spouting?â
Roscoe sneered, âThe truth, which you know very well.
Have your repeated Lies made you convinced of them?â
âYou know nothing, young man! You canât trick me!â she snapped back.
âYou know very well whether Iâm tricking you,â Roscoe replied coldly.
âDidnât you claim Emerie is eighty years old? Sheâs your Living advertisement, with the so-called claim of maintaining her beauty even at the age of eighty, drawing many witches.
You also claimed the rightful chief met an unfortunate accident the same year you took over, correct?â