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墨書 Inktalez
The principal's gaze swept painfully over everything before him, filled with despair and anger. The low, sinister whispers echoed in his ears, seeping into his consciousness from all directions, insidiously eroding his last shred of reason, pressing upon his mind, attempting to drag him completely into darkness. These voices were sometimes gentle, sometimes cold, laden with endless temptation and seduction, as if promising him something, enticing him to surrender and yield.
"You will kneel and offer your soul to the Blood Moon..." The whispers flickered in and out like phantoms entwined in his mind, gnawing at his will at every moment. The principal's face twisted in anguish, his brow furrowed tightly, sweat trickling down his forehead, his eyes flickering with struggle and pain. He knew he was being eroded by this evil force; his reason flickered like a candle in the wind, swaying precariously, ready to be consumed by these wicked murmurs.
He clenched his fists, knuckles turning white from the strain, a fierce unwillingness swelling in his chest. He refused to submit, refused to bow before these mad followers, refused to show any weakness in front of James. He understood that escape was impossible; this group of frenzied devotees could tear him apart at any moment. Yet he did not want to die so pitifully, becoming a sacrificial offering in their hands.
"James!" The principal's voice was hoarse with desperation and madness as he fixed his gaze on James, filled with pain and endless fury, laced with a hint of provocative anger. "Do it! Let you and your lunatics kill me! Hurry up! Why keep me alive? Isn't it for that so-called sacrifice? Don't you want to offer souls to the Blood Moon?" He gritted his teeth, his voice trembling with disdain.
James turned slightly, coldly observing the principal's struggle. A satisfied smile crept onto his face as if the principal's resistance was merely an absurd performance in his eyes. He chuckled mockingly, his gaze tinged with derision and interest, looking down upon this ant who seemed unable to escape from him.
"Damn it! Come on! Kill me!" The principal nearly screamed in hysteria, his voice hoarse and pained, yet a flicker of final pride and defiance ignited in his eyes. He refused to become a silent offering beneath the Blood Moon; he would not fall quietly or allow these mad followers to toy with him at will. At the very least, he wanted to stand tall and face death with dignity; even if it was futile, he could not bear to leave this world appearing cowardly and weak.
"Come on! You lunatics!" he shouted, casting aside his last fears as he struggled fiercely against James with every ounce of willpower he had left, refusing to bow down before him. His roar seemed small and weak amidst the frenzied prayers but pierced through James' vision like a needle.
James laughed heartily, a deep and resonant sound that echoed cruelly through the night sky. He gazed at the principal before him with eyes full of excitement. The principal's indomitable spirit and unwavering resolve were the greatest pleasures for him. This torment only revealed its exquisite "beauty" when the victim was filled with resistance and rage. It was this stubbornness and defiance that brought James unparalleled delight; each act of cruelty struck against what society deemed the "moral baseline," tearing apart the surface calmness and exposing humanity's deepest vulnerabilities and darkness.
He slowly floated up beside the principal like a shadow in the night sky, moving with cold authority as he looked down upon him. James' eyes were icy and cruel; a smirk played at the corners of his mouth as if mocking the principal's plight. He extended a hand, fingertips carrying a disdainful playfulness as they lightly tapped against the principal's cheek. The gesture was flippant like a patronizing caress but bore an indescribable cruelty; each gentle tap provoked the principal's dignity, causing his face to tilt slightly away. The principal's face flushed red with anger while his eyes still burned with unyielding light as he glared fiercely at James as if wanting to engrave that face into his memory.
"Principal," James said lightly, "I must admit I respect your stubbornness." His tone was cold yet filled with mockery; he lowered his voice like a demon whispering sweetly. Leaning closer to the principal's ear, he spoke with a cruel tenderness as if announcing an elegant death sentence: "It is precisely because of this that I have decided to grant you a special favor... an opportunity to thoroughly entertain the God of the Blood Moon—a true 'honor.'"
As soon as he finished speaking, James waved his hand gently. The students and followers on the playground seemed to receive some invisible command; they uniformly retreated around him in perfect synchronization like well-trained puppets. Their faces wore numb yet fervent expressions; their eyes sparkled with blood-red fervor. Their hands remained stained with blood; their arms bore gruesome streaks but they retreated quietly without hesitation, standing neatly outside a circle as if preparing for a sacred ritual.
The principal stood alone in this empty circular area while the followers surrounded him like a cage centered around him, isolating him helplessly within it. The blood-red moonlight cast upon his face made his pale features appear even more desolate in the night. Despite being trapped in despair, his gaze remained resolute; facing James' cruel mockery, there still burned a flicker of stubborn flame in his eyes.
"James, all this madness and cruelty... will only prove your incompetence and cowardice!" The principal gritted his teeth, his words laced with fearlessness and anger. His voice was hoarse and filled with disdain as he stared directly at James, as if he were determined to maintain his dignity until the very end. His breath was rapid, yet he stood tall, defiantly raising his head, unwilling to show even a hint of fear before this group of frenzied followers.
James's smile deepened, his eyes sparkling with delight. He relished the principal's defiance; that uncontrollable dignity made the torment all the more exquisite, filling him with immense satisfaction. He shook his head slightly, his tone laced with cruel tenderness as he whispered, "No, you are mistaken. The only truly incompetent ones in this world are those who do not realize how absurd resistance is." He then let out a cold laugh and raised his hand, signaling to the surrounding followers.
As his gesture fell, the mouths of the students and cultists twisted into grotesque smiles as they knelt to the ground, hands clasped tightly together, their eyes filled with fervor and madness—like a group awaiting divine grace from their god. The blood-red moonlight enveloped these frenzied devotees, casting them in a hue reminiscent of a crimson hell.
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