The middle peak plaza, which had served for centuries as the grand gathering ground for outer peak assemblies, was now a nightmare carved in bone and dried gore.
The ancient granite steles that bore the names of legendary sect masters had been smashed into rubble, their fragments scattered across the wide flagstones.
In their place stood four massive, fifteen foot altars constructed from welded human skulls and iron chains, dripping with fresh, black blood moon fluid that drained into central stone gutters.
Chained to heavy iron posts around the perimeter of the plaza were over two hundred outer disciples, commoner artisans, and young scribes.
Their clothes were torn, their faces pale with starvation and terror, as six mutated cultist executioners prepared long bone knives beside a boi
