Chapter 14: (The God of manzkiny tribe **Ohl'Varrek**)
They forced me down, gripping my arms so tight I could feel their nails digging into my skin. I twisted my body, trying to break free, my breath shaking as I shouted,
"Let go of me! This is all a misunderstanding! I'm really one of your missing tribesmen!"
But the leader stepped forward, his shadow swallowing the light around him. He spoke in a cold, sharp voice.
"Shut your mouth. I don't know how you learned the Manzkiny tongue… but one thing is certain—you're a worshipper of another deity. Or someone who sold their soul to demons."
The others pulled harder, dragging my legs through the floor.
"We will offer you as a sacrifice to our God," one of them said, almost excited. "Rejoice… he will devour you, gain strength from your flesh, and you will become part of his power."
"No! Let me go!!!" I screamed, my voice cracking.
Inside my head, panic and anger mixed together.
"These people are insane… not just barbarians, but full of cultists.
I felt my heart pounding, every step pulling me closer to something worse.
Wait… maybe if I accept it for now, maybe I can find something—any clue—that will guide me out of the West."
With that thought, my struggle slowed, but my mind kept running, searching for any chance to survive.
The one restraining me leaned close, his breath hot on my ear as he whispered,
"That's right… accept your fate. Be proud. Our God will use your filthy mortal body. He will rejoice as he eats the descendant of his enemy."
I felt his grip tighten as if he enjoyed every second of my fear.
Then the leader stepped forward, his voice echoing.
"Enough. Prepare the sacrificial blade. We will cut off each of his fingers one by one… until he tells the truth about how he can speak our language. Only then will we feed him to our God."
"T-Torture!?" I said, my voice shaking. My knees almost buckled, but they held me upright.
"Yes," one of them answered bluntly. "A torture for people like you—liars who dare trick our tribe."
They dragged me farther down, the ground and air getting colder and heavy with every step. When we reached the lower floor, they forced me to sit in a rough wooden chair placed right in front of a massive round stone altar.
The altar's top was flat—smooth from centuries of use—but the sides were decorated with stained skulls, cracked bones, rusted spears, broken swords, dented armor, and clay masks with twisted faces. Everything looked old and cursed, as if countless sacrifices had soaked into that stone.
Behind it hung a thick leather curtain, stitched together from the hide of something huge. It swayed softly… and behind it, I could see a vague outline—an enormous shadow moving slowly, breathing heavily.
My throat tightened.
"What… what is that?" I asked, unable to look away.
One of them answered proudly,
"It is the Manzkiny Tribe's God."
Before I could react, they shoved me into the chair. Thick ropes wrapped around my chest, arms, and legs, digging into my skin as they tied every knot tightly. I couldn't move, not even an inch.
And there I sat—bound and helpless—facing the curtain where their "god" waited for me.
"Alright… let the fun begin," the leader said with a slow grin. The others smiled with him, their eyes glowing with excitement.
One of them picked up the sacrificial blade—a dull, uneven knife made from red stone, its handle made from a polished bone. Another man brought a long, needle-like bone, sharpened to a needle like point.
"You two, hold his arms," the leader ordered. "I'll start with the pinky."
"Yes," they replied in unison.
Their hands clamped onto my arms, pinning them down. Sweat began dripping down my face, running cold across my skin. My body felt numb—pale, shaking—like I was freezing.
The leader raised the stone knife only an inch above my pinky.
Then he hammered it downward.
The blade crushed and sliced in one brutal motion.
"AAAHHRRRGGG!!!"
My scream echoed across the room. The men around me burst into laughter.
"What a beautiful sound you make," one of them said mockingly. He leaned closer. "Now speak. Tell us—how did you learn our language? You're clearly a Vixxon."
I couldn't answer. I bit down on my lip hard, trying to hold in the pain, tasting blood on my tongue.
The leader didn't wait.
He lifted the knife again, this time above my thumb.
Another sharp hammering strike.
Another finger sliced off.
"SPEAK," he commanded.
Inside my mind, everything blurred.
Should I tell them? If I die… I'll regress again. They won't remember. So… is it fine? Liam… what should I do?
A system window suddenly flickered before my eyes.
[YOUR CHOICE♧
My heart dropped.
"F-fine… I'll speak now!" I shouted as they prepared to chop off another finger.
"Good," the leader said. "Now tell us—who are you? And how did you learn the Manzkiny language!?"
I swallowed hard. My whole body trembled. But I answered.
"I… I'm the last descendant of the Vixxon. And I learned your language because… a being helped me. It taught me instantly."
The men looked at each other.
"That seems true," one said. "It explains everything. Foreigners can't even understand us after ten years of trying."
"So you're a Vixxon," another added, "and the last one. Our God will rejoice."
The leader pointed at the man holding the needle-bone.
"You. Use those. Make sure he can't move. Then prepare him for sacrifice. Bow to our God."
The man stepped in front of me and plunged the needle-sharp bone into my chest and joints—shallow but precise, hitting every place that controlled movement.
A cold paralysis spread instantly.
"I… I can't move…" I whispered.
They left me tied to the wooden chair, directly in front of the massive leather curtain.
Then they began chanting loudly:
"Our God! Ohl'Varrek—GOD OF MISCHIEF AND EVIL CHILDISH! Enjoy your feast!"
The thick curtain swayed.
Then it slowly opened.
The first thing that appeared…
was a huge, hairy, muscular hand—bigger than my entire body—reaching out from the darkness behind the curtain.