The Night of Sabat
Deep in the night. On a night when the full moon rose and six red and blue stars shone brightest in the western sky, the secret festival of the black witches was held.
Sabat. The darkest festival on earth and the most important ritual for the black witches, granting youth and longevity to the oldest among them and power to the younger witches.
“Hweite hweite. Dekes dekes.”
“Hweite hweite. Dekes dekes.”
Each witch, clad in bizarre garments and wearing wide-brimmed hats, waved her staff or broom while chanting the incantation. The trees around them began to shake violently.
Though no wind blew, and even a typhoon would have struggled to move them, the thick trunks swayed left and right. Suddenly, leaves and branches started to fall. Then the thick bark peeled away layer by layer, as though guided by a master craftsman’s hands, shaping itself into forms.
The largest tree at the center took the shape of a round, obese woman whose arms had become long tentacles. Her overlapping belly fat and sagging breasts were exaggerated, making her body appear almost spherical. Strange symbols were carved into the talismans hanging from her tentacle arms. Her crude face, buried in folds of flesh as though she had no neck, was rendered with realistic wrinkles and boils. Yet her eyes alone were depicted with deep, dark mystery.
The surrounding trees transformed into male figures, each bearing abnormally large phalluses ending in the heads of goats, pigs, or owls. Aside from the meticulously carved phalluses, their arms, legs, and faces were almost entirely omitted.
Sukku Goetina.
Also called the Swollen Woman, this ancient huanma was summoned alongside Dede Samudi during Sabat so the black witches could beg for power. The phallic statues around her were her servants, the Inku Seobeorim. They followed her always, and when her lifespan neared its end, they sacrificed their own lives to offer her their essence. Sukku Goetina would receive that essence and give birth to a new version of herself, thereby escaping death.
Once every carving was complete, the witches stepped back. Black-robed attendants, large and small, carried an altar, white candlesticks, and large objects wrapped in cloth, placing them before the statues.
“……”
From a corner, Olsidra watched the scene, unable to hide the disgust on his skeletal face.
—Please compose your expression, young master. You know what will happen if the mistress finds you displeasing.
At his side stood an object mimicking a human shape, its core a broom entwined with branches and black mist.
“…It’s repulsive no matter how many times I see it. To think they grovel before such a huanma after losing the path to the gods.”
The black witches had not always worshipped Dede Samudi or Sukku Goetina at Sabat. They once possessed a path to the demon gods and drew power through it.
But the gods had abandoned them. Disappointed by witches who had given up progress and sought only to prolong their lives, the gods grew furious at the witches’ attitude—worship in form only, reverence long lost, and a desire to command the gods at will.
Thereafter, the witches created beings like Dede Samudi to sustain their waning lives and power, and they sought out high-ranking huanma such as Sukku Goetina. Yet how could these compare to the gods?
The eternal life and youth once enjoyed by nearly all witches had become the exclusive privilege of the four Great Witches. The power they gained through grotesque offerings was meager at best.
Olsidra clenched his fists as he watched the attendants endlessly offering sacrifices upon the altar. Ten years ago, he had stood there himself, forced to carry one disgusting offering after another like the rest.
He had escaped amid the chaos of the last great war, met Alshu Unak—the apostle of Urshus—and become a Dark Priest. Never had he imagined he would attend this cursed Sabat again.
“Why? Do you want to carry them yourself like before?”
A woman in a tattered, filthy robe approached. Her face alone was hauntingly beautiful. She was the one who had mercilessly slaughtered the Dark Priests trying to flee that moonlit night.
“…You’re late.”
“What kind of tone is that with your own mother?”
“I have never once thought of you as my mother. Just as you never thought of me as your son, Swamp Witch.”
“Hmph. The fault lies with you for being born from my womb yet failing to inherit any talent. I raised you without killing you because of our blood, yet you repaid me by running away. And now you come begging for help. Who taught you to be so shameless?”
—P-Please, both of you, calm down.
The broom between them desperately tried to intervene, but a single gesture from the witch sent it flying backward to the ground.
“This arrangement isn’t bad for you either. Unlike you, we Dark Priests have not been abandoned by Lord Urshus even after all this time.”
For an instant, the eyes of the woman called the Swamp Witch glowed green, and the stains on her robe writhed as though alive.
“Don’t get cocky. Even if you carry a feeble flame in your soul, I could crush a wretch like you right now…!”
She never finished. Red serpents raised their heads from within Olsidra’s robes. The intense malice each one radiated made even her tense for a moment.
“Did you think I came here without any safeguards? No matter who you are, you should at least be prepared to lose an arm.”
Olsidra’s eyes burned with rage, hatred, and resolve. The green light in her eyes faded.
“A blood pact using the serpents of Naraka. You came prepared. Sabat is about to begin. I’ll overlook this once, considering your resolve.”
She turned and walked toward the nearly completed altar. The broom that had been knocked aside slowly rose and returned to Olsidra’s side.
—Young master, you know the mistress’s temper. Why do you keep provoking her? I understand your hatred, but you’re the one who needs her help right now.
“Don’t treat me like a fool, Selkel. I know better than anyone what that woman is thinking by cooperating with me.”
—…Yes. Of course you do.
Olsidra glared once more at the witch’s retreating back, then turned and walked toward the group of witches in blue robes who had just arrived. His sole reason for attending Sabat was to obtain forbidden books and ancient records. Once he secured the cooperation of the Library Witches—the western witch assembly—he intended to leave immediately.
“…It has been a long time, Lady Olgen Dinis.”
“Indeed. So you are the runaway son Mering spoke of—the one who became a Dark Priest?”
The one who answered Olsidra’s greeting was a short, androgynous girl with cropped hair. Despite her youthful appearance, she was the representative of the western witches and one of the only four remaining Great Witches.
“Yes. Thank you for making time for me.”
“It’s nothing. I had to attend Sabat anyway. And seeing a Dark Priest in person is no easy task.”
She let her eyes turn crimson as she looked Olsidra up and down.
“So. You wish to see the forbidden books stored in our library?”
“Yes. With El Nergavil destroyed, we must find a new way to reach Lord Urshus.”
“And what will you do once you find it? El Nergavil has fallen, its leader is lost, and most of the Dark Priests have defected, haven’t they?”
“…It is only a temporary defeat.”
“Well, perhaps. But what benefit is there for me in helping you?”
Olsidra barely swallowed the curse that rose to his lips. These witches had no faith, no conviction—only their base desires. In any moment, in any situation, their own profit was all that mattered. Everything else was merely a tool to that end. Worst of all, they felt no shame about it.
“You already know what the Swamp Witch desires. Don’t you wish to avoid owing her a debt?”
“That is secondary at best, and uncertain besides. I want a clear, direct promise.”
“…What do you want?”
At his question, a smile appeared on Dinis’s lips.
“Very simple. Contact me before Mering makes her move. Can you do that?”
“I will.”
Olsidra nodded. He knew exactly what the witches wanted. And to him, whether it was Dinis or Mering made no difference.
“Good. Shall we make a contract?”
She curled one finger inward and extended her hand. The bent finger had a slightly longer, sharper nail than the others. If he took her hand, his palm would surely be cut.
Yet Olsidra grasped it anyway. As expected, a long wound opened on his palm. When she moved her hand, he felt blood flow and soak his skin.
“Excellent.”
But when she released his hand with a satisfied expression, not a single drop of blood or even a small scar remained on his palm. She beckoned to another witch nearby—an elderly woman whose face was covered in wrinkles. The old witch produced a crystal orb and a worn, unremarkable copper key from her robes and handed them to Olsidra.
“Thank you for your assistance.”
Olsidra accepted the orb and key, then turned away. He already knew the library’s location, and with permission granted, he had no reason to remain.
“Leaving already? Sabat is about to begin. Why not enjoy the old feeling again?”
Seeing her mischievous smile, Olsidra spat on the ground. The other witches and attendants around her shouted in outrage at his rudeness, but he paid them no mind and walked on.
Shortly after Olsidra departed, the preparations finished. All the witches began chanting in a gloomy tone and rhythm. Following the incantation, black mist and shadows gathered over the wooden statues. The finely carved figures began to rot and decay. Soon, entities identical to the statues—yet far more grotesque and repulsive—appeared in their place: Sukku Goetina and the Inku Seobeorim.
The witches and attendants knelt and bowed before them. When the white cloths covering the offerings on the altar were removed, countless genitals and entrails—belonging to monsters and animals—were revealed.
As Sukku Goetina began stuffing one of the offerings into her mouth with her tentacle arm, the sound of profane flutes and drums like cracking bones rang out.
The witches’ festival, Sabat, had begun.