Inside the slaughterhouse, the air was heavy and stale, a sticky mixture of the coppery tang of blood, cold sweat, and failure. Two goat-headed figures lay on the filthy floor, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles in pooling puddles of their own darkening blood. Above them, two long shadows loomed, cast by the flickering lantern light.
Horse Head: "Are these two idiots dead?"
She said it with a sharp, annoyed tone, not a shred of sympathy in her voice. Impatience radiated from her every gesture as the large Stag Head crouched down, calmly checking the condition of the Goat brothers. His thick fingers pressed against their necks, searching for a pulse amidst the carnage.
Stag Head: "No… not yet."
His reply was flat, like a veterinarian giving a diagnosis on injured livestock. Hearing this, the Horse Head clicked her tongue in disgust. Without warning, she drew a curved, ritualistic dagger from beneath her cloak. With a single, swift, practiced motion, she sliced open her own arm. The blood that flowed out was not red, but a viscous black, thick like crude oil and smelling of ozone. She let her supernatural lifeblood drip down, dousing the two prone brothers, washing over their wounds.
She then turned and walked away, as if her business was concluded. However, the Stag Head's heavy voice called out from behind, stopping her in her tracks.
Stag Head: "You're leaving?"
Horse Head: "Is there anything else to do in this pigsty?"
The Stag Head stood up slowly, his movements heavy and laden with exhaustion. He leaned his massive war hammer against the doorframe, waiting for the black blood to work and the brothers to rise.
Stag Head: "You seem agitated, lately. More than usual."
The Horse Head's body went taut for a moment, her shoulders tensing beneath her mask. But she quickly forced herself to relax, dropping her shoulders as if releasing an invisible weight.
Horse Head: "No. Just a little tired these days. Is that a problem?"
The Stag Head let out a low snort, a sound more like the low growl of a bear.
Stag Head: "Really? The Father loses more of his mind by the day, the Dome protecting us weakens to the point that I can feel the wind from the outside world, and our villagers are dwindling. Whether it's because they go mad, kill themselves… or… you sacrifice them."
Each of those last words was spoken with a cold, accusatory emphasis. The Horse Head spun around quickly, staring at him sharply from behind the glass eyes of her mask.
Horse Head: "It's for the survival of the village. Traitors must be sacrificed. Otherwise, the Dome would have broken from the start and we would all be a feast for the Lunarians!"
The Stag Head let out a small laugh. It wasn't a humorous sound, but the bitter crack of shattered despair.
Stag Head: "Is that so? Hehe… nghehehe… you always say that. 'For the village.' It used to make sense. But for how much longer? Until there are only the three of us left in this ghost town?"
Stag Head: "Daughter of the village chief… err, I mean… daughter of the Father. I think we're all losing our sanity, one by one. I fear it won't be long before we all end up like the Father, talking to shadows and sacrificing sheep to beg for rain."
Just then, a groan was heard from the floor.
???: "D-Damn it..."
The Horse Head glanced at the Black Goat Head, who was trying to rise, his body trembling, black blood drying on his face.
Black Goat Head: "Wh-What do you mean? Wh-What do you mean the Dome is weakening?!"
Driven by a mixture of pain, confusion, and a burning rage, he roughly grabbed the large antlers on the Stag Head's mask.
Black Goat Head: "Are you kidding me?! So, the Dome is going to break?! Then what have we been doing all this time?! All those sacrifices?!"
The Stag Head roughly swatted his hand away.
Black Goat Head: "Then what's the point?! Then what's the point of you sacrificing villagers when there are no other offerings for that Father of yours?! Then what was the point of my brother becoming one of your insane sacrifices?!"
His wild eyes now fixed on the Horse Head. He staggered toward her, before she leveled her black-blood-slicked dagger at his throat.
Horse Head: "Don't make yourself the next offering."
The Black Goat Head froze. A tense silence filled the room. Then, he began to laugh. A hoarse, broken, and utterly mad laugh.
Black Goat Head: "Hehehe… khahahaha!!! I get it! I finally get it! So this was all for you, wasn't it?! All the sacrifices 'for the village' were just to save your own skin and that of your crazy Father?!"