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The tight knots of the rope that bound his hands behind his back slowly but surely soaked up the crimson blood from his torn wrists, and the bruises all over his body sent out an unpleasant, throbbing pain. He had bags of stones tied to his ankles, weighing him down, and he was only dressed in some rags that smelled of pumpkin. Error twitched again in an unsuccessful attempt to break free, but the steel grip on his shoulders only tightened, and the two men leading him did not even flinch. All Error could do was grin.
His amber eyes swept over the people gathered around him. It was the same as always, the entire village. The displeased looks were piercing his soul, and until recently he had had good relations with most of his fellow villagers. It was astonishing how quickly people's attitudes could change as soon as someone refused to participate in their idiotic rituals.
The sparse, prickly grass beneath his bare feet gave way to dry ground. Error looked down at his heavy feet, which left small indentations in the soil, and then forward. The cliff. The cliff, the edge of the village, was just a few meters away, and beyond it was the vast sea, on whose uneven surface the reason for the entire event: the full moon. It was the only night of the year when the full white circle faced the cliff, and the locals believed it was a sign. Idiots.
"And why did you resist?" The cold gray eyes slid over the bruised skin of the victim, "Don't you want to help your settlement? Accept your lot for the sake of the mercy of our Almighty?"
Error's gaze shifted to the person standing closest to the edge. There he was. The one responsible for all of this, the one he'd been unable to get along with since their first meeting. Ink, the local priest. His eternally emotionless gaze was fixed on the young man, and he was the main believer, ready to defeat his beliefs until the end of time.
"Maybe it's because the mercy of your god is just bullshit? Maybe it's because the evil spirits haven't attacked recently because of my good traps around the perimeter of the settlement? Eh, clever one?"
"The Almighty is merciful. Both now and before the moment you decided to try to protect us all by your own methods," not a muscle twitched on Ink's face.
"Tell that to the dozens of graves where people have been brutally murdered," Error said through gritted teeth.
"If he hadn't been merciful, there would have been more deaths," was the most generic excuse Ink could come up with.
Error’s hands, tied behind his back, twitched with the strong urge to smash that indifferent face bloody. The gray eyes shifted from the angry face to those who held the victim, and then the order was given:
"Take him to the edge."
Error’s bare feet no longer resisted the ground, and his hands no longer tried to break free from the rope embrace. There was no point in fighting, as he would eventually be sacrificed anyway, so he might as well be the worst kind of sacrifice. He was being pushed towards the edge, towards a narrow plank that was more than half in the air, directly above the sharp cliffs that were washed by the calm waves of the sea. Error stopped at the edge and looked up at the full moon, through which the villagers believed they could reach the Lord of Darkness. The long loogie towards the white circle was unexpected for everyone, even for Error himself, who gave in to his emotions and allowed himself to do such a thing.
The next moment, a hollow pumpkin with a hole for the head at the bottom, carved eyes, and sharp teeth was lowered onto his head. It was the best pumpkin from the last harvest, the only one worthy of being offered with the main meal. Error grimaced. He had never liked pumpkins. He was pushed from behind, and he had to look through the carved eyes at a narrow plank which was held at a cliff by a stone.
Ink respectfully opened the scroll, which was more valuable in their village than any treasure. His voice was loud enough for everyone to hear the prayer, which had been repeated for years. As Error took the final step towards the edge, he felt the plank creaking under his weight. The prayer passed him by, and all he could hear was the sound of the coastal wind, the creaking of a slowly breaking plank, and the quiet lapping of waves against the rocks. In front of him were his own toes hanging over the edge and the sharp corners of the rocks far below.
"Accept the sacrifice we offer you, and protect the innocent souls from the evil forces under your control, O Supreme Lord of Darkness," Error heard the end of the prayer, surprisingly clear amidst the other noise.
"And go to hell!" came a sudden shout, only slightly muffled by the pumpkin on his head.
Almost immediately, there was a crack of wood, and the support gave way beneath his feet. Error was rapidly approaching the bare rocks. He didn't even get a chance to feel the pain when his legs and pelvis were reduced to a bloody mess, nor did he feel the pain of his broken ribs. As the pumpkin shattered in front of his face, he had a split-second glimpse of the sharp edge of the rock that pierced straight through his skull.