The hall of the Red Chalice Cult stretched impossibly deep into the mountain, a vast chamber carved from obsidian that seemed to devour light rather than merely exist within it. Crimson torches lined the blackened walls, their flames unnaturally still yet somehow casting shadows that writhed and twisted across the floor like sentient things. The air tasted of iron and ash, carrying whispers that slithered into the mind rather than the ear.
At the center of this oppression sat Cardinal Akasha.
He did not simply occupy the bloodstone throne—he commanded it, as though the massive seat had been formed from the very earth to cradle his power. His robes cascaded around him in folds of such deep crimson they appeared almost black until he moved, revealing their true color like fresh blood emerging from a wound. The air around him hummed with a frequency just below hearing, a vibration that made one's teeth ache and bones shiver.
