Page 12 of Sacrificed to the Mountain Demon

I look around one last time at the faces of those I've known my whole life. Words soon bubble up inside me – angry words, pleading words, words of forgiveness and condemnation. But in the end, only one thing comes out.

"I hope..." My voice cracks, and I swallow hard. "I hope it's worth it."

I then close my eyes, steeling myself for what's to come. The bitter taste of the herbs fills my mouth as I chew, each swallow feeling like a betrayal to myself.

Elder Belinda raises her arms. "Let the ritual begin!"

The forest seems to hold its breath, waiting. And in that moment, suspended between the life I knew and the unknown that awaits, I feel utterly terrified.

6

JYTOS

The stillness of my cave shatters as a commotion echoes from beyond its mouth. My tentacles soon twitch as I sense a disturbance in the air. Curiosity gnaws at me, an itch I can't ignore.

"What the fuck is going on out there now?" I growl to myself, rising to my full height.

I stride towards the entrance. My muscles begin to coil with anticipation. The cool night air hits my face as I emerge. My green eyes pierce through the darkness. The forest stretches before me, a sea of shadows and whispers.

In the distance, flickering lights catch my attention. Torches. Human torches. My lips curl into a sneer. What are those pathetic creatures up to?

I move silently through the trees. My black skin blends with the night. As I draw closer, voices drift towards me, a mix of hushed tones and muffled sobs. The scent of fear hangs heavy in the air.

Crouching behind a massive boulder, I observe the peculiar procession. A group of humans, their faces etched with grimdetermination, lead a smaller figure into the heart of the forest. The torchlight dances across their features.

"Interesting," I mutter.

The smaller figure stumbles, nearly falling. A flash of white fabric catches the light – some sort of ceremonial garment. What kind of ritual are these humans performing?

I lean forward, straining to hear what is going on. Their words are too faint, lost in the whistling of the wind and the crackle of torch flames. But their body language speaks volumes. Tension. Anticipation. And... guilt?

My eyes narrow as I try to focus on the central figure. The young woman, by the looks of it. Her head is bowed and her shoulders are slumped in defeat. The others flank her like guards, though it's clear she's not a prisoner. Not in the traditional sense at least.

"What game are you playing, humans?" I growl softly, my curiosity piqued.

The procession continues deeper into the forest, towards the ancient clearing where I've often seen them leave their pitiful offerings. My territory. My hunting grounds.

A growl rumbles through me. How dare they encroach on my domain? Yet, something holds me back from charging in and tearing them apart. The mystery of their actions intrigues me, sparking a hunger for knowledge rather than flesh.

I settle back for a moment trying to grasp what is happening. Whatever they're up to, it's clear this is no ordinary night.

I soon start to watch them again, transfixed, as they enter the clearing. My muscles tense even further, ready to spring into action, but curiosity keeps me rooted to the spot temporarily.

The small figure in white stumbles forward, and I catch my first real glimpse of her face up close. She's young, with wide brown eyes that dart around nervously. Her curly hair fallsaround her tear-stained cheeks. Something stirs deep within me at the sight of her vulnerability.

An old crone steps forward, her voice cracking as she speaks. "Great Umbrath, we bring you this offering. Protect us from the waira that plague our lands."

My eyes narrow as my earlier suspicions are confirmed. These pathetic humans really think they can buy my protection with this girl.

The crone continues, "We have prepared her as the ancient texts describe. She has been purified and..."

I tune out the droning, focusing instead on the girl. She trembles uncontrollably. Her chest heaves with barely contained sobs. The sight of her fear should please me, but instead, it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Suddenly, the crone produces a small pouch. "Take this," she commands, holding it out to the girl. "It will ease your passage."

The girl hesitates, her eyes darting around as if searching for an escape. Finding none, she takes the pouch with shaking hands and brings it to her lips.

"What the hell is that?" I growl, leaning forward. The scent of unfamiliar herbs reaches my nostrils, pungent and sharp.

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