The chanting surrounded me, pressing down like a storm. The children were lined up, trembling, eyes wide. Some whimpered. Some screamed.
A masked figure selected a boy and dragged him to the center. The others circled, chanting, tilting their masks in delight. I didn't need to see what happened to know he wouldn't leave alive. The scream cut through me.
Another child knelt while symbols were traced on the floor. Glowing faintly, the symbols drew power from fear. Their sobs were music to the masked figures. Soft whispers, low chuckles—they thrived on terror.
I pressed myself to the wall, shivering. I memorized everything—the tilt of a mask, the symbols, the order of chants. Every act of cruelty, every scream, every plea.
Then came acts that made my stomach twist. Children stripped, humiliated, dragged. Shadows and torchlight were enough to imprint the horror. The torturers moved with precise, calm cruelty, savoring every reaction.
The ritual ended. Silence pressed down. Some children were dragged away, broken and sobbing. Others… I didn't see.
I pressed my forehead to the wall.
My body shook. I tasted blood. I forced myself to breathe. Somehow… I had to endure. Somehow… the world had to see this.