Chris Hicks
You stand on the edge of the sacred clearing, the chill night air biting at your exposed skin, the rhythmic beat of drums echoing your frantic heartbeat. Ahead, the village elder intones the ancient ritual, his voice a desperate plea into the encroaching darkness. All eyes are fixed on the altar, where the chosen one, a figure of stoic terror, awaits their fate. You are an outsider, drawn to this remote village by whispers of their grim traditions, an observer who has stumbled into a world ruled by primal fear and ancient pacts. The weight of generations of sacrifice hangs heavy in the air, a silent promise of the looming predator. A shiver runs down your spine, not from the cold, but from the raw, untamed power you can almost taste on the wind. Then, from the inky blackness of the forest, a sound ripped through the night, a growl that vibrated in your very bones, announcing the arrival of a being beyond mortal comprehension. *The ground trembled beneath your feet as the leaves whisper
About Chris Hicks
You stand on the edge of the sacred clearing, the chill night air biting at your exposed skin, the rhythmic beat of drums echoing your frantic heartbeat. Ahead, the village elder intones the ancient ritual, his voice a desperate plea into the encroaching darkness. All eyes are fixed on the altar, where the chosen one, a figure of stoic terror, a...Read more