Call Me Akuma

When the massive doors opened, they revealed a luxurious hallway adorned with intricate scriptures, elaborate drawings, and ornate furniture. This time, no one accompanied us, nor was there a guide to lead the way. Instead, my father took the lead, striding confidently down the corridor. It was clear he knew exactly where he was going, walking with unwavering certainty and not hesitating even once. It felt as though he had been here countless times before. 

We followed closely behind him. After a few minutes of walking through the grand hallway, we arrived at another massive gate. Like the previous one, this gate was flanked by two Custodes standing guard. The moment they saw us, they bowed deeply, placing their fists over their chests in a gesture of respect. Without a word, they moved to open the enormous doors with effortless grace. 

What lay beyond left me utterly stunned. The room wasn't what I had anticipated—it was a colossal stadium, its sheer size almost incomprehensible. Thousands upon thousands of seats stretched out in every direction, all occupied by a vast array of individuals. 

Many of them were unlike anything I had ever seen before. Some were taller than my father, towering giants whose presence was nothing short of intimidating. Others were diminutive, barely the size of a child. Among them were beings with wings that shimmered like stained glass, horns spiraling from their heads, multiple arms or legs, and even additional heads. Their features defied human understanding. While they shared a humanoid shape, each was distinctly alien. They had to be different species, gathered here from across the galaxy—or perhaps even beyond. 

The sheer diversity and grandeur of the scene left me speechless. I had never seen such a collection of beings gathered in one place. 

One thing that struck me was their attire. Despite their vast differences in form, they all wore tunics and togas. The only variation was the color of their clothing—none of them bore any gold. Most wore red, blue, or black, with only a select few dressed in purple. 

Above us, suspended in the air, was a massive screen displaying our arrival. Though enormous, it seemed small compared to the overwhelming scale of the stadium itself. 

What was most unsettling, however, was the silence. Thousands of beings sat watching us, yet no one spoke. No one made a sound. The only noise was the faint, haunting melody of music that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once—like an orchestra playing directly in my ears. 

As we walked forward, I couldn't help but feel nervous. Thousands of eyes were on us, and the weight of their gazes sent chills down my spine. Many of them exuded an aura so strong it felt suffocating, far more intense than the Custodes. Thankfully, my father was still shielding me from the brunt of it, but even his protection couldn't entirely block out the pressure. It was overwhelming. These beings weren't just strong—they were on an entirely different level. 

As we continued walking, the platform beneath our feet began to shift. Slowly and steadily, it started to descend, levitating downward toward the central platform of the stadium. The scale of this main platform was immense—easily two to three times larger than a tennis field. The descent took several seconds, during which the atmosphere seemed to grow heavier, thick with an unfamiliar tension. 

When we reached the bottom, a strong scent hit me—a pungent mixture of burning candles and incense. It was overwhelming, almost stifling. At the very center of the platform, the source of the light became clear. Thousands of candles, perhaps tens of thousands, were arranged in a circle, their flickering flames casting eerie shadows across the space. 

In the middle of the circle lay something profoundly unsettling: a pool of blood. The dark crimson liquid flowed continuously from four grotesque fountains positioned at the platform's corners. Each fountain was intricately designed, its macabre artistry evoking a sense of foreboding, as though the structures had been created solely for this unholy ritual. 

Encircling the pool of blood stood a group of priests, their figures cloaked in dark, tattered robes. Hoods obscured their faces, casting deep shadows over their features, leaving only the faint outlines of their mouths visible as they chanted in low, guttural voices. The rhythm of their chanting was hypnotic, the words incomprehensible but heavy with power. In their hands, they each held a single candle, its weak, flickering flame casting eerie light over their forms. The collective glow of the candles illuminated the swirling blood, giving it an otherworldly shimmer. 

At the very center of this nightmarish tableau stood a towering figure, his presence both terrifying and awe-inspiring. He loomed over the ritual like a living embodiment of death. 

He was unnaturally tall, easily 11 or 12 feet, his skeletal frame stretched thin to the point where he looked more like a walking corpse than a living being. His gaunt form was barely covered in flesh, as if life itself had been drained from him. His eyes were sewn shut with crude, thick stitches, yet it felt as though he could see everything. 

From his back extended two cybernetic skulls, their glowing red sockets scanning the room with eerie awareness. These floating skulls seemed alive, shifting their gaze with an unnatural precision, as though they were the true eyes of this monstrous figure. 

Four mechanical arms emerged from his back, their metallic joints moving with an unsettling fluidity. One arm held a censer, releasing thick trails of aromatic smoke that spiraled into the air, filling the room with a heavy, intoxicating scent. Another gripped a simple wooden bowl, its surface worn and splintered, almost out of place amidst the figure's grotesque grandeur. 

The remaining two mechanical arms wielded objects of unnerving power. One held a massive staff, grotesquely crafted to resemble a ribcage, with a spine-like structure that appeared both ancient and alive. The other arm grasped a golden dagger, its hilt carved to resemble a skull. The gleaming blade looked ceremonial, yet its aura suggested it could cut far deeper than flesh. 

The figure was clad in a tattered robe of white and gold, the once-luxurious garment now faded and frayed. The long, flowing fabric barely concealed his withered form. A hood, pulled low over his head, obscured his face in shadow, adding an air of menace to his already horrifying appearance. 

Before him stood an enormous, ancient book. Its pages glowed faintly with a dim, otherworldly light, as if inscribed with something far beyond mortal comprehension. He was chanting in a low, guttural voice, the words unintelligible but heavy with an unshakable weight of power. 

Towering behind him, overlooking the entire scene, was the statue of the old beggar I had seen engraved on the gate earlier. It was massive, far larger than life, its weathered features eerily serene in contrast to the unsettling atmosphere around it. The statue seemed to watch over everything with a quiet, haunting presence. 

The candles around the figure flickered and danced in unison with his chanting, their flames bending unnaturally as though responding to his words. The air was heavy with the weight of ceremony, power, and something else—something ancient and unknowable. 

Only one thought echoed in my mind: "Fuck no. I'm not going anywhere near that thing." 

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If we reach 100 stones, I'll reward you all with a bonus chapter!