The Crimson Harvest

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The story contains graphic violence and is intended for mature audiences only. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
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In the shadowed depths of the Blackwood Forest, where ancient oaks whispered secrets to the wind, lay the forgotten village of Eldritch Hollow. For centuries, the villagers had clung to a dark pact with Vorath, the Devourer—a demonic entity said to dwell beneath the earth, hungry for flesh and blood.
The ritual was passed down through generations: every full moon, a young woman of pure vitality must be offered. Her blood, collected fresh and warm, would anoint the high priest, granting him unnatural strength and longevity. But the true gift came after—her body, stripped of life, would be butchered under the stars. The flesh was prepared as sacred meat, roasted over a ritual fire and consumed by the coven. In return, Vorath blessed the land with bountiful harvests, and the villagers' bodies remained hale, free from the decay of age.
Elias, the current high priest, was a man twisted by decades of these offerings. His eyes burned with fanatic zeal as he dragged the latest sacrifice—a trembling woman named Lira, captured from a nearby town—into the clearing. She was bound tightly with coarse rope, her wrists and ankles raw, her body clad only in tattered cloth that clung to her skin.
The wooden altar, stained black from countless rites, awaited her. Elias forced her down, face-up, her legs bent and tied to expose her vulnerability. With a rusted blade, he sliced deep into her throat. Blood sprayed in hot arcs, soaking his face and shirt as he held her head back, letting the crimson torrent pour into the large plastic bucket placed beneath.
Lira's eyes widened in final terror, her mouth gaping in a silent scream as life ebbed away. Elias grinned maniacally, his teeth flashing white against the mask of gore. He gripped her hair firmly, tilting her severed neck to drain every drop—the life essence that would fuel Vorath's favor.
As the bucket filled, brimming with thick, viscous red, Elias chanted the ancient words: "Vorath, accept this vessel. Her blood renews us; her flesh sustains us."
Later that night, around the roaring fire, the coven feasted. Lira's body, expertly carved, became the communal meat—tender portions grilled and shared, infusing the participants with demonic vigor. Elias felt the power surge through him, his skin tightening, his wounds from years past healing anew.
But whispers grew among the younger villagers. How long could the pact hold? Vorath's hunger was growing... and one day, it might demand more than just one woman.
The forest swallowed their chants, and the cycle continued under the blood moon.