Wretched Offering
In the depths of a desecrated cathedral, beneath an altar stained with centuries of malice, the cultists prepared for the Dark Heart Ceremony. At its center lay the Wretched Offering—a pure heart and a wicked one, severed from their vessels and bound together with sinew torn from a fiend’s own flesh. The stitching pulsed with unnatural life, seething with infernal whispers, as if the suffering of both hearts had not yet ceased.
Their chant, a guttural hymn of devotion, reverberated through the chamber. The Wretched Offering was placed upon the sacrificial slab, its twin essences warring even as they bled together. A dagger, cold as the grave, carved the final rune, and the chamber trembled.
Blackened flames erupted, swallowing the altar in a vortex of suffering and sin. The cultists watched, enraptured, as the twisted ritual pulled at the veil between realms. If the rite succeeded, an archdevil would step forth to enact their vengeance upon the mortal world. But something stirred within the shadows—a presence neither bound nor beholden. Something… wrong.
Now, those who possess these relics may hear the echoes of that forsaken ritual, the hearts still locked in their endless struggle, yearning for a master cruel enough to wield their power.
In the depths of a desecrated cathedral, beneath an altar stained with centuries of malice, the cultists prepared for the Dark Heart Ceremony. At its center lay the Wretched Offering—a pure heart and a wicked one, severed from their vessels and bound together with sinew torn from a fiend’s own flesh. The stitching pulsed with unnatural life, seething with infernal whispers, as if the suffering of both hearts had not yet ceased.
Their chant, a guttural hymn of devotion, reverberated through the chamber. The Wretched Offering was placed upon the sacrificial slab, its twin essences warring even as they bled together. A dagger, cold as the grave, carved the final rune, and the chamber trembled.
Blackened flames erupted, swallowing the altar in a vortex of suffering and sin. The cultists watched, enraptured, as the twisted ritual pulled at the veil between realms. If the rite succeeded, an archdevil would step forth to enact their vengeance upon the mortal world. But something stirred within the shadows—a presence neither bound nor beholden. Something… wrong.
Now, those who possess these relics may hear the echoes of that forsaken ritual, the hearts still locked in their endless struggle, yearning for a master cruel enough to wield their power.
In the depths of a desecrated cathedral, beneath an altar stained with centuries of malice, the cultists prepared for the Dark Heart Ceremony. At its center lay the Wretched Offering—a pure heart and a wicked one, severed from their vessels and bound together with sinew torn from a fiend’s own flesh. The stitching pulsed with unnatural life, seething with infernal whispers, as if the suffering of both hearts had not yet ceased.
Their chant, a guttural hymn of devotion, reverberated through the chamber. The Wretched Offering was placed upon the sacrificial slab, its twin essences warring even as they bled together. A dagger, cold as the grave, carved the final rune, and the chamber trembled.
Blackened flames erupted, swallowing the altar in a vortex of suffering and sin. The cultists watched, enraptured, as the twisted ritual pulled at the veil between realms. If the rite succeeded, an archdevil would step forth to enact their vengeance upon the mortal world. But something stirred within the shadows—a presence neither bound nor beholden. Something… wrong.
Now, those who possess these relics may hear the echoes of that forsaken ritual, the hearts still locked in their endless struggle, yearning for a master cruel enough to wield their power.
