Several priests in robes and hoods formed a circle around Maximus. A priestess held a gem-studded bone bowl ground from a skull. Dipping her fingers into the liquid within, she smeared it across Maximus's cheeks and chest as the priests chanted, skillfully drawing complex patterns dizzying to behold. He knelt on one knee, frowning as he impatiently endured the priestess's cumbersome ritual. Many of these rites and symbols had been distorted beyond recognition by the passage of time and the additions of generations of priests, yet from the perspective of witchcraft, their crucial directional information had not been lost. If anything, it remained remarkably intact. In other words, this was a complete witchcraft ritual, but Maximus knew nothing of it. His gaze had already been deeply drawn to the greatsword atop the platform.
Just as he had seen in his dream, the greatsword shimmered with a supernatural silver glow.
The priests chanted for the favor of the King of Darkness, the God of Truth, mighty beings beyond time and space, to descend upon the subject of the ritual. To the armed men's astonishment, several more priests stepped forward and used daggers fashioned from armor plates to slit the throats of the priests participating in the rite. The victims died smiling, with happiness and contentment on their faces, their steadily flowing blood pouring into the circular magic formation carved into the ground. The priestess's voice suddenly rose, trembling. Intense pleasure shot from her toes up her spine and into her brain, and the bone bowl fell from her hands. Her eyes lost focus, as though she had seen something that did not exist in the real universe. She even lost control of her bladder, collapsing to the ground and convulsing without stop.
Maximus opened his eyes and found that he was