"Here, the Ritual of the Blood Moon," Samuel said, pointing to the page in the ancient tome.
I leaned in, eyes scanning the ink. "Seems like everything about the ritual is written here."
Samuel nodded, then read aloud in a neutral tone:
"Chi no Tsuki no Gishiki—The Ritual of the Blood. This curse was conceived in ancient Japan, around 225 AD, in the city of Fukuoka. A noble warlock and a samurai named Hizakura Motonari, belonged to the Order of Mercury, was its creator. Renowned in both the supernatural and mundane worlds, Hizakura was a prodigious experimenter in magic. He devised countless spells, many of which he tested on himself, growing ever more powerful. Yet power, once tasted, demands more."
"When his well of ideas ran dry, Hizakura turned to black magic. It was not a path tread lightly. He began to hear voices whispers no one else could perceive. Dark forces clung to him, unseen but ever-present. Each time he read a black spell, he suffered excruciating pain; his eyes would turn pitch black, and dark veins would crawl across his skin. But with time, he grew accustomed to the torment. He learned to control it and the entities that haunted him."
"Fearing discovery, Hizakura withdrew from the world, hiding his descent into darkness. After years of experimentation, he finally created the Ritual of the Blood. To complete it, he sacrificed eight mundanes who had survived the Shadowmark. Each was branded with a sigil depicting the eight planets orbiting the sun, with a unique rune inscribed within each celestial sphere. One sacrifice was made under each blood moon."
"With every offering, Hizakura grew stronger, drawing closer to the dark forces that whispered to him. Upon the final sacrifice, he gained dominion over all eight Orders. He slaughtered thousands of people from mundane and supernatural world and ruled over the Cosmic Courts across the globe. That era remains one of the darkest chapters in supernatural history."
"Eventually, Hizakura was defeated by another Japanese warlock Mizuno Harunao. In the aftermath, the Cosmic Courts agreed to conceal all knowledge of the ritual, fearing its resurrection. Yet the secret had already spread. Many attempted the Ritual of the Blood Moon, drawn by its promise of power. Most were consumed entirely reduced to ash by the volatile forces they could not command. A few survived, but survival came at a terrible cost. The dark forces, once summoned, did not leave. They entered the bodies of the survivors, corrupting them from within. These individuals became vessels of torment neither fully alive nor dead forever haunted by the magic they had dared to wield."
Then he turned the page and began to read in a neutral tone:
"Sometime during the 10th century, the British Cosmic Court finally uncovered Hizakura's forbidden spells. Fearing their destructive power, they resolved to burn them all. Yet one among them a commander named Oswin Godricson defied the decree. He stole one of the spells and attempted the ritual. He failed.
The ritual did not kill him, but it invited too many dark forces into his soul. Twisted by corruption, he descended into a life of unrelenting misery. Eventually, the forces dragged him away into their own realm Shaedorin.
Though the Court recovered most of the arcane writings, the Spell of the Last Sacrifice was missing. Legend holds that it remains with Oswin, hidden deep within Shaedorin, beyond the reach of light. It was the final time the ritual was ever attempted. Since that day, none have dared to invoke it again."
"So, the final spell is still missing?" I asked.
He glanced at the page, then nodded. "That's what's written here."
A moment passed as he stared at the script, thinking. Then, suddenly, he said, "I know what the culprit is doing next."
"What?"
"He's heading to Shaedorin to retrieve the last spell."
"Is there a way to get there?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Then we should leave. Now."
"Wait," he said, eyes narrowing. "Let me check if there's anything here this curse wiped out everyone's memories."
"There are far too many spells like that," I said, sceptical. "Are you sure we'll find it here?"
"Maybe," he replied. "That curse didn't just erase memories from the people of Saint Harley.whoever that was it erased them from our entire world. No one remembers the ritual. The record's missing. It's like it never existed. Whatever it was, I'm certain it was something dark."
Before he could say more, something struck.dark creatures, Shaezraks, tore through the air like flying shadows. They looked like smoke but burned like fire when touched. As more poured into the chamber, the guardian statues activated, and a harsh alarm blared.
Without hesitation, Samuel pulled out the Veil Stone and grabbed my hand. We ran. The stone worked on the statues they couldn't see us, but it had no effect on the Shaezraks. One lunged at Samuel and threw him across the chamber, separating us. The Veil Stone slipped from his grasp.
Now the statues could see us. Enforcers could arrive any second.
We fought, the statues and Shaezraks closing in. I drew their attention briefly, but Samuel was their true target. Amidst the chaos, his eyes locked onto the Veil Stone near the book's pedestal. He sprinted, reclaimed it, and vanished from the statues' sight.
He rushed back to me, took my hand once more, and we bolted for the door. Shaezraks still surged around us, their fiery shadows lashing at the air.
As we neared the exit, it swung open the enforcers spilled in, flanked by three Wardens.
But they couldn't see us. The Veil Stone still held.
Samuel glanced back, his expression turning grim. The Black Testament was gone from its place. Stolen. No doubt by the Shaezraks.
We didn't stop and left
A few minutes later, we slowed to a halt on the main road.
"Are you all right?" Samuel asked, breathing heavily.
"I'm fine," I replied, catching my breath, "but you're injured."
The side of his neck was scorched, marred by scratches wounds left by the Shaezraks' attack. His shirt collar was singed as well.
"Don't—huh—don't worry about me," he said, still gasping. "I'm fine."
"Let's get that cleaned," I insisted, and we headed towards my house.
Moments later, we reached the front door. I unlocked it quickly, and we stepped inside.
May rushed towards us, pale and visibly shaken.
"Something's wrong with me," she said, voice trembling. Her eyes darted anxiously,
"What happened?" Samuel asked, stepping closer.
"I felt something… strange," she whispered. "After I wore your amulet. A burning sensation on my back."
I noticed that She had already taken off the amulet . I gently turned her around and lifted the back of her shirt. There it was: the same mark described in the Black Testament, the same symbol Iris had borne.
Samuel's eyes widened with alarm.
"What is it?" he asked.
"She's been marked," I said softly.