Chapter 1: Shattered Sanctum

In a vast, dimly lit hall, the air was thick with the scent of dust and decay. The grey stone walls, once resplendent, now bore the weight of centuries of neglect. Shafts of sunlight struggled to penetrate the grime-encrusted windows along the left wall, casting weak, pallid beams across the room. Despite the pervasive greyness, a slightly raised platform in the middle of the front part of the hall stood out, the only area free from dust.

Streams of blood trickled down from the platform, staining the stone with dark, ominous rivulets. On the raised platform, a beautiful woman hung from the ceiling by chains that bound her wrists. Her clothing was little more than a few tatters, barely concealing her bruised and battered body. Her stomach and legs, grotesquely swollen, were filled with some sinister liquid, a cruel method of torture designed to prolong her agony.

Around her, fourteen other women hung in similar states of torment. Their bodies, too, were swollen and contorted with pain. The liquid inside them sloshed and shifted, a constant reminder of their suffering. Their faces were etched with despair, their eyes hollow from the unending torment they endured.

The silence of the hall was broken only by the occasional drip of blood hitting the stone floor, a macabre symphony of suffering. The women's breaths came in ragged gasps, each inhalation a struggle against the pain that wracked their bodies. Chains rattled softly as they twitched and shuddered, the metal links glinting dully in the faint light.

Every inch of their skin bore the marks of their torture. Bruises of varying shades covered their bodies, interspersed with cuts and abrasions. The swollen areas of their abdomens throbbed painfully, the liquid inside a constant source of torment. Their wrists, bound by the cruel chains, were raw and bleeding from their futile struggles.

In the dimly lit chamber of torment, an eerie silence hung heavy, broken only by the occasional drip of water echoing off cold stone walls. Suddenly, the air shuddered with the whistle of arrows slicing through the air. With deadly accuracy, they found their mark, piercing vital body parts with unforgiving precision. Flesh tore, and blood spilled, as the agonizing pain ripped through their senses.

As if that weren't enough, iron rods, propelled at terrifying speeds, collided with their bodies, the impact shattering bones and sending shockwaves of excruciating agony coursing through every fiber of their being.

Yet, even as they writhed in agony, their bodies broken and battered, a perverse twist of fate awaited them. In the next moment, they were forcibly regenerated, the gaping wounds sealing shut, bones reforming, and flesh knitting back together. But there was no respite, no escape from the torment. With each regeneration, they were filled with fluid once more, their bodies replenished and revitalized, only to endure the cycle of torture all over again.

Time became meaningless in that chamber of horrors, as the boundaries between pain and existence blurred into a nightmarish reality. Each torment inflicted upon them was a testament to the cruelty of their captors, a relentless onslaught designed to break their spirit and crush their will. And yet, through it all, they endured, their defiance a flickering flame amidst the suffocating darkness of despair.

The hall was a chamber of horrors, a place where hope had long since faded. The air was heavy with the weight of despair, the very walls seeming to echo the silent screams of the tortured women. The sunlight, though weak, was a cruel reminder of the outside world—a world from which they had been mercilessly torn.

Step. Step. Step.

A man with slow but steady footsteps entered the hall, followed by several others. His presence was foreboding, a harbinger of even greater suffering. Clad in silver-colored full-body armor that emanated a monstrous miasma, he moved with a calm, almost regal demeanor. The armor's surface was adorned with intricate, dark engravings that seemed to pulse with malevolent energy.

Around his neck, a thin red scarf-like cloth draped and extended down his back, covering his entire form from behind and lending him an eerie, twisted semblance of a hero. The fabric fluttered softly as he walked, a stark contrast to the grim surroundings. At his hip, he carried a long purple katana, sheathed in a scabbard made of pure miasma.

As he stepped onto the platform, his gaze swept over the tortured women, their eyes widening with renewed terror at his approach. The silence was broken only by the soft clinking of his armor and the ragged breaths of the captives. The man paused, savoring the scene before him, his presence a palpable weight that pressed down on the already oppressive atmosphere.

With deliberate slowness, he drew the katana, the blade's purple hue shimmering ominously in the dim light. The weapon was a thing of dark beauty, embedded with three gems, each glowing with dual colors, hinting at the power and cruelty it possessed. The gems embedded within it pulsed with a sinister glow, reflecting the miasma that surrounded him. He approached the woman hanging at the center of the platform, her eyes meeting his with a mix of defiance and despair.

In a voice that was both commanding and cruel, he spoke, his tone dripping with mockery, "Ah, the Mother Goddess herself. How fitting that you should hang here, powerless and broken. Tell me, where is your divine mercy now? You, who are worshiped and revered, cannot even save your own daughters from their cruel fate."

He leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with malevolent delight. "Does it sting, knowing you are the Mother Goddess and yet utterly helpless? Watch as they suffer, their agony a testament to your failure. Your suffering has only just begun. Embrace the darkness, for it is all that remains."

With a cruel laugh, he raised his katana, the blade gleaming in the dim light. "You are nothing but a false idol, a symbol of empty promises and hollow prayers. And now, you and your precious daughters are paying the price for your failure."

He raised his katana, making it clear what awaited her if she didn't comply. But instead of fear, her eyes filled with defiance. She sneered and said, "It doesn't matter to me what you do to me or what you say because i am not going to be provoked by filthy creature like you, who are corroded deep down to their root by that selfish devil. Anyway, now it is no longer matter of weather i want to give you my spirit stone or not as I can't give it you anymore, NO MATTER WHAT! As for my daughters, I have never stopp—Aah!"

Before she could even finish her sentence, the katana sliced through her flesh, severing her breasts with a sickening ease. Two lumps of flesh fell to the ground, the impact echoing in the silent hall. The man watched with a twisted smile as dark flames continued their gruesome work, devouring her flesh at the same rate it regenerated, trapping her in an endless loop of agony.

Her body convulsed with pain, her muscles spasming uncontrollably as the relentless torment continued. Blood poured from the wounds, only to be absorbed back into her body as it struggled to heal itself. The cycle of pain and regeneration would continue, a never-ending nightmare orchestrated by the man in silver armor, his presence a constant reminder of the hopelessness and despair that had overtaken the hall. Yet, despite the excruciating pain, the corners of her lips tugged into a defiant smile as she knew she had secured what was most important to her, more than her life, more than this world. Knowing that she had successfully done something which he didn't know and would surely be a hindrance in his path, he could do nothing other than inflict more and more pain upon her body as her life force slowly drained due to whatever she had done. He had very little time to deal with her, once his own canopy.

Her voice, though weak, carried a powerful conviction. She began to laugh softly, a low, mirthless sound that echoed through the hall. The laugh faded as she became unable to even open her mouth once again, but the defiance in her eyes remained, burning brighter than ever and a subtle smile as her consciousness faded away followed by all the 14 of her daughters.

(A/N: Hi! guys this is my 2nd work and 1st novel, so there might be some problem here and there. Feel free to suggest or recommend anything you might have liked or not. This story is going to be very long and as I have already said that I am a student myself, so it is quiet problematic for me to upload frequently. Which novel you want to have the chapter of, Eminence in shadow Vol.7(My Edition) or Echoes of the Last Hope: Virtue's Final Stand?)