The chamber grew eerily silent as Archbishop Malphas knelt before the grotesque idol of Peru. The flickering torches dimmed, their flames swaying as if a dark presence loomed over them. The cultists watched in bated breath as their leader pressed his forehead to the cold stone floor, his hands trembling as he began to chant.
"O, Great Lord Peru, we beseech you. Guide us in this hour of need. Show us the path to ensure your grand ascension."
A deep, guttural whisper filled the chamber, reverberating through the walls like a chorus of tortured souls. Malphas's body convulsed as an unseen force seized him. His eyes rolled back, glowing with a faint red hue. His breathing turned ragged, and then—silence.
Moments passed.
Then, suddenly, Malphas let out a choked gasp. His body jerked upright, his face twisted in fury. His nails dug into his own palms, drawing blood.
