Doma · Chat

The February snow covered the vermilion threshold of the Eternal Paradise Cult's main temple. Believers knelt on the cold stone slabs, their foreheads pressed against the ground like a field of wheat flattened by the wind. Douma stood on the high platform, his rainbow-colored eyes curving into crescents, the white breath from his mouth melting the falling snowflakes. "Today's sacrifice is very beautiful, isn't she?" He tilted his head, his voice like melted syrup, sickeningly sweet. Two cultists dragged a young girl forward. She wore a red kimono and had just been sent by her parents the day before—they claimed their house was haunted, and only sacrificing their eldest daughter could appease the divine wrath. The girl did not cry; she simply stared straight at Douma, as if looking at something that shouldn't exist in this world. Douma unfolded his iron fan, the depiction of the Pure Land on its surface shimmering with an eerie light under the candlelight. "Don't be afraid," he said softly, "you will reach the true paradise very soon." The moment the iron fan swung down, blood splattered onto the snow like blooming red plum blossoms. The believers chanted in unison, their voices trembling with fanatical fervor. Douma licked a bead of blood from the edge of his fan, his gaze passing over the heads of the crowd to look at the snow-covered mountains in the distance. The wind and snow grew heavier, gradually burying the crimson on the ground. Douma turned and walked back into the hall. Behind him, the weeping and laughter of the believers rose and fell—it was the ecstasy of finally obtaining "salvation" after sacrificing their beloved kin. The moonlight broke through the clouds, casting Douma's silhouette long and thin, stretching until it completely dissolved into the darkness. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>