If one wanders the endless expanse of the Wonton Fields, they are bound to find a number of supernatural occurrences in the wastes. Some of these are wonders of nature and others are remnants of a bygone era of mankind. The marred pit of death and devils that is a gathering place of damned souls is neither. This is not because of the recent construction of the infernal pit, it is because the people who made this place of demonic qi can no longer be considered man. With what they've done, and what their machinations drove them to become, they would be known as something far more grotesque than mankind.

If viewed with the humble eyes of modern man, they would be granted a number of titles. The men of science would call them abominations, for what they've done with their bodies. The men of religion would call them demons, for their countless affronts on the human soul. The men of morals would call them monsters, for that is what they are. The men of reason would invent new titles, for there is no appropriate designation for those who commit mass murder and mass rape on a personal scale. The men of law would call them a target, for they could not be allowed to exist for the sake of society.

However, the men of Pangea simply call them demonic cultivators, for that has been what they have always been.

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In the bottom of a dank, damp pit, there lays a deep source of demonic energy. It is called many things by those powerful enough to know of it. Here, surrounded by those who seek to profit off of it, it is simply called the blood moon. The Cult of The Blood Moon has one purpose, as their foundation establishment warriors dance around a mountain of corpses, and as their core formation elders watch on, that purpose comes close to fruition.

"We're almost complete in our preparations."

The 'man' who had talked was one of the elders of the cult. If someone asked what he did, he would probably kill them, but if he had to answer he would say he leads the efforts on enchanting for the cult. If he did say that, the other enchanters would kill him, even if it was basically true. The only reason that people didn't constantly kill themselves in this cult is due to the fact that they all wouldn't attack people who are stronger than themselves. They used to have people who will attack those above them. Used to anyway...

"What do you mean 'our' preparations, you fancy 'scribes' only put scribbles on the floor! It was me an' my men who gathered the sacrifices. If you try to weasel your way into getting more credit than you deserve again, I'll stick you like the pig you are."

The only thing that the demonic cultivators could do in absence of killing themselves is threatening to do it anyway. Even if it's banned, as long as they don't do it openly, the cult head won't intervene.

"Hah!? What did you do but tell your men to distribute demonic artifacts among bandit clans? Who is stealing credit here. What can you do to me? A lazy barbarian isn't a strong barbarian. You have no chance to match my magic."

Normally a fight to the death would have broken out then and there, but today the cult head was present, and everyone was acting the best they could. Their best happened to be 'just barely not killing each other.'

Suddenly, the noise from the blood ceremony stopped completely. The ceremony continued unaltered, the revelers unable to notice the difference. Immediately, the chatter of the elders stopped. In the absence of noise, one voice commanded the void.

"Followers of the Blood Moon! Our labors are almost over. We have the necessary sacrifices, our enchantments are sufficient. Soon, we will have our revelry. Soon, we will fight for the glory of the blood moon! SOON, THE BLOOD MOON WILL RISE!"

Cheers erupted at the good news, if everything goes to plan, the Blood Moon will cover a fourth of the Verdant Plains, and demonic cultivation will reign supreme. This was what all the hard labor was for, this was what all the sacrifices were for. The sacrifices here being the people who died trying to make this happen, not the people dying to make this happen.

///

Brik had never run as fast in his life. During one of the rare nights of rest, he had heard his new boss talking. His new boss wasn't planning on working them to death, they were planning on sacrificing them to death! They might call Brik head in the slow slow in the head, but they never called him slow in the feet! It took him less than ten seconds to leave the forced march. Brik wasn't aware of it, but they weren't on his trail, and it's likely they will never be on his trail.

Brik assumed that everything happened normally. The people who killed his boss realized he was a cultivator, then that he was an asset. They then made him carry large amounts of equipment. It was the same as always.

That's not what happened. The demonic cultivator just assumed that bandit clans couldn't have cultivators besides the chief. They just handed him the equipment because he's a big man.

What he saw as a legitimate escape attempt, they saw a desperate attempt to flee. They didn't stop to it, and Brik got away.