The moment the woman's body slumped lifeless to the blood-soaked altar, the ritual transformed into something far more disturbing. There was no mourning. No reverence. Only hunger… and madness.
The native warriors surged forward like a tide unleashed, no longer chanting, no longer dancing. Their faces twisted with primal desire, driven by something ancient and dark—beyond even ritual. It was a frenzy.
One man, painted head to toe in red and white stripes, grabbed the woman's arm and with a stone hatchet hacked it free in a single brutal swing. Bone cracked. Flesh tore. Blood spurted.
