Filed to story: My Husband Regrets Divorcing Me (Audrey & Cornell)
Nicole and the senior man ventured into the valley, their familiarity with the terrain lessening the sense of unfamiliarity. Nicole, armed with the sulfur powder provided by the senior man for snake deterrence, navigated the winding paths with cautious determination.
As they entered the valley, the ground stirred with the presence of slithering serpents. Though the sight might have unnerved her before, Nicole remained composed, addressing the situation with practiced calmness.
She judiciously dispersed small amounts of sulfur powder, ensuring the serpents were deterred without intruding upon their habitat excessively, reserving the remainder for potential emergencies.
As twilight descended, Nicole awaited the cover of darkness to proceed further into the valley. Concealing herself, she watched silently as the senior man rose to his feet, addressing her with a solemn directive, “Remain here. There’s a matter I must attend to.”
“Alright.” Though Nicole remained unaware of the senior man’s precise intentions, she understood his profound disdain for the witches and his unwavering resolve to eradicate their presence.
Whatever actions the senior man undertook, Nicole resolved not to pry too deeply, trusting in his judgment implicitly.
As the senior man meticulously prepared his tools, he said to Nicole with solemn urgency, “Regardless of whether you rescue your friend, you must leave this place before dawn, understood?”
Puzzled by his directive, Nicole regarded him with confusion, prompting the senior man to clarify the gravity of the situation. “Did you notice the pile of red berries near the snakes when you entered? It signifies a ritual tonight. Come dawn, all witches and serpents will disperse. If you’re caught, escape will be futile. Do you understand?”
Nicole’s confusion deepened at the revelation of the impending ritual. Emerie had spoken of using her for such a ceremony. With her free from captivity, who would become their sacrificial pawn?
Recognizing Nicole’s lingering bewilderment, the senior man reiterated his instruction with firm insistence. “Remember, leave before dawn, understood?”
To reassure him, Nicole offered a nod of affirmation. Only after that did the senior man leave.
As darkness enveloped the valley and the senior man failed to return, Nicole resolved to take action alone. Retracing her previous steps, Nicole followed the familiar path leading to the ritual site. A sense of unease gnawed at her.
Arriving at the ritual site, Nicole was met with a surreal sight. Hundreds of witch clans congregated, draped in voluminous black cloaks adorned with crimson trim. Their obscured visages, concealed beneath hooded robes, rendered them enigmatic and inscrutable.
In reverent silence, the assembly knelt before the figure at the forefront. The chief was resplendent in a vibrant scarlet robe embellished with gilded accents. Amidst the swirling tendrils of rising smoke, the chief exuded an aura of regality and inviolable authority.
Unfamiliar chants, uttered in a language foreign to Nicole’s ears, resonated hauntingly throughout the valley. From Nicole’s current vantage point, clarity eluded her.
Determined to unravel the mysteries shrouded within the ritual, Nicole resolved to find a way to approach closer, navigating the shadows with silent determination.
As Nicole heard Emerie’s unmistakable voice, indicating Emerie’s proximity to the front row, a surge of determination pulsed through Nicole’s veins. If Emerie was present, Roscoe couldn’t be far.
Observing the witches rise and move toward the fire in preparation for the impending ritual, Nicole swiftly formulated a plan of action.
With unwavering resolve, Nicole drew her knife and pressed it against the throat of the last witch in line, her voice a low, menacing whisper. “Not a sound, or your life is forfeit.”
The targeted witch, clearly a subordinate member, froze in terror at the sudden threat, recognizing the grave danger she faced. It was evident this witch lacked Emerie’s authority.
Nicole wasted no time, delivering a swift blow to this witch’s neck, rendering the latter unconscious. Seizing the opportunity afforded by the distraction, she dragged the unconscious witch to a secluded alcove, appropriating the witch’s cloak to conceal her identity.
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.
G a lno ve ls . com is where the magic begins
The chief spoke fervently, and beside her on a crescent-shaped altar, a figure was tied in the shape of a cross, his head drooping, seemingly lifeless.
Nicole’s 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 criteria?
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, Nicole’s stillness caught the eye.
Roscoe spotted Nicole right away. Then, a witch behind Nicole bumped into her and glanced up, noting Nicole’s 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, “No speaking out of turn. Continue!”
Despite her anger, the chief quickly turned the situation to her advantage by proclaiming to those below, “This is a divine sign. It shows that humans must not stand. They must kneel and crawl before us!”
The assembly took her words to heart, bowing their heads and reassembling to continue the ritual by the fire.
It was then that the chief, with a fierce look, stepped on the fallen Roscoe’s head. “You 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, I’ll make you suffer before everyone, let the flames engulf you, and show you the true horrors of hell.”
The chief leaned in, her voice venomous. “Believe me, the agony you’re about to feel will make hell seem merciful.”
Roscoe’s face was ghostly. No food or water was offered to him for three whole days. Yet, he wasn’t cowed by the chief’s threats. He retorted coolly, “Have you ever endured such pain yourself?”
The chief paused, taken aback by Roscoe’s defiance and his bold challenge. Despite her long history of bloodshed, she had never encountered such boldness.
With a hint of pride, she declared, “Do you think I am like you commoners? I am a Holy spirit, aged 160 years, I have watched countless like you consumed by flames.”
Roscoe scoffed. “Holy Spirit? You’re delusional. I’ve 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.”
The chief’s expression darkened. “What nonsense are you spouting?”
Roscoe sneered, “The truth, which you know very well. Have your repeated lies made you convinced of them?”
“You know nothing, young man! You can’t trick me!” she snapped back.
“You know very well whether I’m tricking you,” Roscoe replied coldly.
“Didn’t you claim Emerie is eighty years old? She’s 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?”
“That is the truth,” the chief insisted.
“Interesting. Emerie is only twenty-two this year, which explains her youthfulness.” Roscoe disclosed her secret. He continued, “You hypnotized her when she was a child, making her believe she was seventy, and she grew up believing it. When her appearance inevitably ages, you’ll secretly dispose of her, claiming she ascended to the Holy Void to become a Holy Spirit.”
“You have quite an imagination,” the chief retorted. Her face had faltered for a moment, but she quickly masked her unease. She scoffed. “Do you think Emerie would take your word over her own judgment? She knows her age better than you do.”
The chief was not concerned about Roscoe exposing the truth, confident that after years of indoctrination, Emerie was convinced of the way of immortality.
“I don’t need her to believe me,” Roscoe countered. “A simple bone density test at any hospital will reveal her true age and your deceit.”
“Hahahaha…” The chief laughed maniacally. “Take Emerie to a hospital? Dear, you need to make it out of here alive first!”
Although the chief appeared celestial and ethereal, especially with her human skin mask giving her an immortal-like facade, the signs of age were evident up close, the wrinkles on her neck and the dark spots barely concealed.
Despite these evident signs of age, few dared to scrutinize the chief, and even Emerie avoided direct eye contact. In their clan, hierarchical boundaries were strictly maintained.
The chief’s cloak billowed as she declared her immortality, “Today was to be my day of rejuvenation, had you not interfered. But it doesn’t matter. Do you think she can truly escape? Our witches are everywhere. She will be captured soon, and I will complete the ritual. Then, in hell, you will see my immortality for yourself!”
The chief’s laughter, amplified by the swirling smoke, reached Nicole’s ears distinctly.
Suddenly, the chief commanded, “Bring the sacrifice to the stage!”
With a dramatic sweep of her sleeve, four masked women approached, hoisting Roscoe onto the altar.
As the four women hoisted Roscoe onto the altar, they positioned him at the center of the lotus platform, securing his limbs to its four corners in a configuration resembling a cross, his form facing the assembled crowd below.
With solemn reverence, the chief initiated the ritual, her voice resonating with authority as she intoned, “Today, our witch clan shall bear witness to the purification of a soul. This individual’s essence has been tainted by malevolent spirits, but through the grace of our Holy Spirit, his heart and soul shall be cleansed.
For the greater good of humanity, our Holy Spirit shall expend its divine essence to ensure peace prevails. May this ritual usher in an era of tranquility and perpetuate the eternal presence of our Holy Spirit.”
In unison, the assembled witches below echoed the chief’s words, their voices rising in fervent chant. “Peace to the world, Holy Spirit eternal! Peace to the world, Holy Spirit eternal! Peace to the world, Holy Spirit eternal!”
The collective resonance of their voices surged like a tidal wave.
The witches, ensnared by the charismatic allure of their chief, obediently echoed her words like marionettes in a macabre puppet show.
Nicole, witnessing the fervent devotion of the assembled witches, was appalled by their blind allegiance.
Enveloped in a haze of delusion, they clung to the promise of immortality and eternal life, surrendering themselves entirely to the whims of their supposed chief. What a bunch of ignorant fools!
As the chief approached the altar, torch in hand, poised to ignite the flames, Nicole seized the opportune moment to intervene.
With swift precision, she stealthily positioned herself behind Emerie, brandishing her knife and issuing a command. “Stop right there!”
The frenzied crowd, jolted from their trance-like state, fell silent, their eyes widening in astonishment as they beheld Nicole holding their revered Emerie hostage.
The chief, confronted by the unexpected turn of events, halted her advance, pivoting to face Nicole with a mixture of disdain and amusement, confident in her ability to swiftly quash any resistance.
“You dare to hold our holy witch hostage?” the chief hissed, her voice laced with scorn and disdain, a dangerous glint flickering in her eyes.
“Holy witch?” Nicole’s laughter cut through the tense atmosphere like a chilling gust of wind. “What a joke! She’s nothing more than an ordinary young girl masquerading as a so-called holy witch.”
The chief’s countenance chilled instantly, betraying a flicker of unease at the realization that Nicole had overheard her secret exchange with Roscoe.
Struggling to maintain her facade of authority, the chief retorted, “You must be afflicted with delusions, spouting such nonsensical claims. Release the holy witch immediately, and perhaps I shall grant you mercy.
Otherwise, the wrath of the Holy Spirit shall descend upon you, rendering your existence a living torment.”