In the "blessed land". Outskirts of Aldesh town.
Mule-drawn caravans remained alit with their iron-gridded lamps. Illuminating a leveled area atop a high hill, overseeing the foreland ridge of dessert and jungle.
There was a silhouette of a very distant pyramid outlined from the pallid glow of intense Blood Moon.
Fifteen ladies stood at the congregation. They were veiled, they dressed in a white gown made of sheep's wool, with its hems smudged with speckles of dirt.
They were silent, as if lifeless, listening to the sermon of the Head Pastor, Zelfafa, Child of Gestation.
Isabelle looked around in terror and helplessness, there were about thirty Primordial Moon believers, and similar to her had their hoods draped and concealing their face.
At the center of the grassland, was not a symbol seen at the chapel of Aldesh town. It was a tree, baring luminous dark-brown barks whiles its center was hollowed out.
Reflected in the fifteen pregnant women's empty eyes are instances of their young, unborn child, drifting and fading, perching on the branches atop the crown of this tree.
When Zelfafa finished his sermon. All women began chanting on their own accord. Blathering in Ancient Hermes:
"The one and only Crimson Moon...
"The Symbol of Life and Beauty...
"Mother of all Spiritual Forces."
...
At the end, their voices withdrawn. Their stomach glowed in a disgusting, vile carnage of both flesh tearing, roses blooming, and orb gestating.
They saw their illusory offspring with tainted colors hovered around the tree, as if only one more attempt would make them merge with it.
"Now. Each will touch the Tree of Life!"
Invisible roots extended from deep beneath the tree. They look like lines that tethered to each of the person in the vicinity, however some are especially bulged.
These exceptions are the lines connected to the fifteen ladies.
Amidst the lowered cloaks. Dylan walked carefully, passing by his fellow Primordial Moon members under the streaks of the candle lamp.
"I can't believe that girl gets to receive the Moon's gift."
He suddenly heard a banter of a woman, bearing a ragged skin with multiple marks and a rather disfigured eyes. Dylan glanced at her side-profile.
"I hoped she's next to the sacrifice, just like her old man..."
Dylan's steps slowed down a bit, before he continued in an increased pace. He maneuvered the venue until he saw an elevated platform, from which Zelfafa and other Madame of the Convents are seated.
Zelfafa had a coursed dark hair with gray-silver linings near his scalp. Deep-brown eyes that glints with blood. With an aloof gaze, he appeared to be reflecting from the moonlights.
Dangling on his elk's robe painted with either red or white strips is a set of ragged dolls. Some either had pins embedded in their hearts while others are recognizable by their hair colors.
There was also a locket at the palm of one of the Madams seated on their high-back chairs. The locket had a silver string, smooth and silk connecting to a heart-shaped pendant.
Dylan froze seeing it. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist. That locket, looks exactly like the one his deceased mother had lost!
"Klarman..."
...
Isabelle felt the hairs of her body stood on ends. She was seeing phantom infants drifting and hovering around the previously frail tree.
Thoughts gripped her heart. She began to doubt whether Dylan's plan would work. On the high-platform, right to where the executives could oversee the entire congregation, she saw Zelfafa, St. Madam Lorma, St. Madam Xelfe and St. Madam Rurahel.
Those four are the Aldesh town's executive leaders. Titled children of the Primordial Moon! Child of Gestation, Daughter of Vein, and Moonlight Child!
Three Sequence 6 Vampires and one Sequence 5... Isabelle's mind whirred as he saw them shed and writhe the contacts on their eyes, revealing deep-blood crimson pupils.
Zelfafa opened his arms and proselytized under the veiled attention of the Moon.
Yes, the Crimson Moon was directly above them. In Dylan's pocket watch, it struck 8:23 pm.
Click!
Dylan closed his pocket watch and withdrew it into his robe and garb. By now, the crates in the old hut, meters distant from here are emptied.
He stopped right above a candle lamp, with a burgeoning flame inside. Suddenly, he turned to a member and smiled.
"This seems to be dying down. Might as well turn it off?"
"Tch. Do whatever you want." The hooded man sneered at him. He did not care less and instead felt entirely fixated at the fifteen ladies about to approach the tree.
Once this is over. They'll have a feast for their own. A bountiful harvest! A celebratory ascension!
Dylan grinned and did not respond. He simply took the candle lamp and as if doing his job, turned and tried to leave in haste. However, something is wrong.
His hand would immediately bump onto the long table inside of an erected tent if he continues!
Clink! Clank!
"Ah!" Dylan grunted as the fire lashed on the back of his hand. The iron-gridded case was opened, the wax was spilled and the fire burgeoned!
How unfortunate! He just so happened to have dropped it right next to the tent's flammable flax sheet!
Woo!
The flame quickly attached itself to the fine cloth of the tent, the fire grew wildly as a response.
"What the..." The members of the Rose School of Thought turned when a massive bonfire suddenly ignited a striking light, casting their shadows toward the fifteen ladies.
"Damn it! You stupid piece of... Close the lamp!" Another hooded man yelled at Dylan who was clueless.
"Get some water! Water! Near the riverbank!"
Dark bats suddenly appeared from the shadows. The Vampires of the organization had utilized their shadow bats to isolate the burning tent!
Meanwhile, while their attention was directed to stopping the fire from proliferating. Dylan closed the lamp.
...
Suddenly a massive flame roared a distance away from the platform.
Zelfalfa had his hands into the air openly before his incantation was cut short. He proceeded to slowly lower his arms.
Without uttering a word. He narrowed his gaze and quickly spotted Dylan, whose draped in his hood, clutching a candle lamp.
This man had become one of their informants for the Loen kingdom settlements in the South Continent. Endorsed by another Child of the Moon, Dylan have the qualities of becoming their spy within official organizations.
However, that's not the only the matter from his. Dylan is also one of the believers of the Child of God that has spilled by the blood of the Ivory family's only descendant.
Zelfalfa is aware, one day this informant might rebel. He was just surprised that day would come sooner.
"I didn't take that rat's resolve to be this..." he spoke.
Bam! A deafening roar tore through the pristine night just as the Head Pastor was about to take matters.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
One after another. A series of warzone-like wails reverberated in everyone's ears and at the hearts of the lower rank members of the Primordial Moon.
Zelfalfa was slightly agitated as seen from the reflection of his eyes glowing and veins protruding on his temple.
But he sighed. He watched as the members deemed by the Primordial Moon erratically turned their heads, like lambs finding their shepherd when an issue erupt.
...
"The North Continent soldiers are here! I don't want to be imprisoned!
"The Head Pastor! The St. Madams!"
Each of their heads turned up toward the platform. Their hearts vibrating from the explosions. They did not even noticed that the fifteen ladies had each regained their consciousness.
"What's happening? A tree?
"What's Father Zelfalfa doing there? At the platform?
"Explosion! Explosion!"
Like ants, the fifteen unsuspecting ladies abruptly darted their heads. Seeing how the congregation felt like an assembly of cults. Surrounding them was smoke bellowing and dirt flinging onto everyone like pelts of rain.
Their horror and panic made them scatter.
... This must be Dylan's doing... Zelfalfa remained calm and shouted to everyone. "Restrain the sacrifices! We can't let them escape! We'll reconduct the ritual later!"
By then, the fifteen women have caught on. "Huh? No! No!
"Where's Pelten? Shouldn't we at the chapel? I-I need to see..." As the woman turned, a hooded cultist was already standing in front of her.
They're being cornered!
Woo! Bam!
Another massive explosion emanated nearby. Producing a deafening roar and trails of spark from the lit candle lamps. The spark ignited the surrounding tents, more flames appeared reaching to the sky!
The whole blessed land is in smoldering circle of fire!
...
Isabelle, pressed in-between the venue of the Primordial Moon members, saw the innocent ladies at the center.
Their bronze skin and faces was plastered in deep despair, horror, and dread. Clinging into each other's arms.
The illusory infants hovering around the crown of the mysterious tree had not dissipated. Suddenly, Isabelle heard another order from the Head Pastor:
"Have them touch the Mother Tree!"
Isabelle's heart skipped. Her thoughts became rigid. Suddenly, each one of the women was grabbed by their arms and forced as their thrashed.
No... No!
But she couldn't possibly do anything. Her faith was placed into the hands of the White Maiden and Dylan with the hope of escaping.
This was supposed to be the reason this chaos is happening. Where dark bats swarmed the sky. Casting crimson moonlight on the platforms.
Soon enough, she'll be free once the dust settles.
But something is wrong within Isabelle. Deeply foreign. A fragment of her past with her negligent grandfather surface in her mind.
Used to being indifferent. Her grandfather would kill for his ritual, the cries of his victim would reverberate in the young Isabelle, haunting her in her sleep, the constant chants would briefly make her grandfather turn into something else.
She feared them. Only by reading fairytales did she found the solitariness and comfort amid her childhood.
Fairytales from books, rhymes and poetries of wonderful worlds allowed her to detach from the moral degradation of his grandfather.
This fostered curiosity of the world sat alongside the horrors of what her grandfather calls mysticism. Soon, she'll take on a similar role, preaching the Primordial Moon.
Isabelle faintly bit her lips.
This is the sin of being incapable. She saw lives bled under a ritual dagger multiple times without intervening. The Primordial Moon conducting as if the people of the Southern Continent are guinea pigs.
But she can't do anything. So she just watched. Perhaps enduring it would one day allow her to accept.
Until... a certain silver-haired lady from a rural town broke this thought.
Isabelle witnessed her frustrations, her loneliness and helplessness. It reflects her own life.
But something is different. Even in this gruesome circumstances. She was able to smile. She was able to think, to analyze and to wait.
She used the wedding, the climax. To stab a Child of the Moon's heart, with a long silver hairpin, Isabelle herself did not notice was taken.
Even if the letter did not reached its intended person. Even if her only chance for a rescue was cut off. Even if death was certain.
This lady, smiled in gentleness as the Primordial Moon believers shed into frenzy.
What would she do in this situation? Isabelle, even if her face felt cold and petrified. Suddenly forced her lips to lift.
Her face calmed down and from her chin that the hood fails to conceal—a faint, gentle, determined smile rose.
Then, she picked up a burning wood and ran toward the tree, to the sea, raging with currents of Primordial Moon faction members.
...
Dylan appeared right next to the platform, amidst the dark bellowing smoke, large fires and plague of bats at the peak of the steeples.
He took the chance to throw a lighted dynamite right to where the platform's weakness, and...
Bam!
The explosion tore a chunk of the platform. One after one, he saw the four St. Madams unfurl their dark, collectively shadowed wings to fly away in response.
Crash!
The high platform crumbled down in less than a minute.
Within the massive smoke caused by the platform's destruction. Dylan concealed himself until he saw Head Pastor Zelfafa landed on the venue and withdrew his bat wings.
He wanted to quickly initiate the next plan when suddenly, he saw a familiar figure rushing past the agitated crowd, holding a torch.
Due to the wind, her hood fell off. There it was, a woman with a curly chestnut-brown hair, solemn face and hands gripping the hems of her robe as she ran.
Dylan's eyes widened, "Isabelle?"