One Day Of Sanity(Blood Legacy)

 

Intro:

In an ancient village older than memory, every dispute ends the same way — with blood on the ground and a god that demands more. Greg, grandson of the oracle, has watched his whole life as an entity disguised as a deity takes eyes, hands, and sanity from people who never deserved it. His elder brother refused to serve and paid the price: one day of clarity each month, and twenty-nine days of madness. One good day a month — to eat a real meal, weep with his brother, and remember what it felt like to be human. Greg is done watching. But the blood vow he is about to take is the only door into the fight — and it locks behind you.

Author's Note : Certain details in this record have been obscured. The rituals of the village are too dark for the light of day, and some words are best left to the shadows. Use your imagination—though it may lead you to terrifying place.

The Village of Blood

It was an ancient village, older than memory itself. The people cared for little else besides their fetish beliefs and ancient customs. Every dispute, no matter how small, was settled by the deity, and the deity's solution always demanded blood. There was never a conflict in that village that did not end with blood on the ground.

The Grandson Who Asked Why

Greg, grandson of the oracle, had seen too much. He had stood beside his grandfather at nearly every sacrifice and watched rivers of red soak the earth. One day, after yet another ritual, he could no longer stay silent.

"Grandfather," he said, voice trembling with anger.

"What is it, Greg?"

"Why must everything end in blood? Why is that always the answer?"

The old man sighed deeply and wiped his blood-stained hands on his robe. "Beat me if I know, child. I only do what was passed down to me, generation after generation. One day you will take my place. It is best you learn now."

"I will be no such thing," Greg spat. "I want to be my own man, not a servant to some bloodthirsty god."

"This has been our family's legacy since the dawn of time."

"How can blood be our legacy?" Greg shouted. "Did you see what happened to that young woman today? They made her give her left vision — all because she farmed land her family had worked for generations! She didn't even know it belonged to someone else!"

"That was not my doing," the oracle said quietly. "It was the verdict of the gods."

"F--- the gods," Greg snarled.

The old man's eyes widened. "Mind your tongue, boy! The gods have ears and eyes everywhere."

"And yet they let a screaming woman's vision be burned out with a hot iron," Greg hissed. "They have cruel ways."

"The gods have their ways," the oracle repeated, turning away.

"Yeah," Greg whispered, "and I will have mine."

"That is enough," his grandfather said sharply, ending the conversation.

The Brother Who Refused

Days later, Greg was summoned to witness another sacrifice. He stood at the edge of the crowd, stomach churning, wondering if he could simply run — disappear into the forest and never return. But he knew what happened to those who refused the gods' call.

His elder brother had tried.

He had rejected the shrine, turned his back on the deity, and fled.

The gods cursed him for it.

Now he wandered the village mad, eyes wild, speaking in tongues — except for one day each month. On that single day, when the moon was right, his mind returned. For twenty-four hours he was himself again, lucid and heartbroken. Greg would sit with him in secret, holding his trembling brother while he wept.

Every month the gods offered the same bargain through the oracle:

"Return to the shrine and serve, and your mind will be restored forever."

Every month his brother looked Greg in the eyes and whispered, "No. I won't spill blood for them. I won't."

Then the day would end, the madness would swallow him again, and Greg would be left alone with the screams of the next sacrifice echoing in his ears.

He was trapped. The bloodline demanded its next oracle. And the gods, patient as stone, were waiting.

The Case of Melford and Susan

Greg stood motionless, gripping the Staff of the Oracle as the two disputants were summoned to state their claims.

The Oracle turned to the petitioner. "Melford, you say this young man slept with your wife and you demand he pay for it. Is that correct?"

"Yes," Melford spat, glaring at the accused.

The Oracle faced the young man. "You are the defendant. State your name and your defence."

"My name is Edward," he answered, pointing at the young woman beside them. "I deny the accusation. She told me she was unmarried."

The Oracle's gaze shifted to the woman. "Susan, is that true?"

"Yes, Oracle," she replied softly. "Melford and I are finished. We are no longer together."

"That is a lie!" Melford shouted.

"SILENCE!" the Oracle roared. "You will speak only when spoken to."

Greg watched the drama unfold, unmoved. He knew they were wasting time; in the end, only blood ever settled anything.

Susan's Truth

The Oracle urged Susan on. "Explain."

"Melford has mistreated me for years," she said, her voice trembling yet steady. "He has shown me neither love nor affection. For two whole years he has not touched me. Whenever I asked why, he said he was done with me — that he already had someone else."

A low murmur of sympathy rippled through the onlookers. Some cursed Melford under their breath. Greg felt nothing. He only wanted the ritual over so he could slip away and think about his own plans.

The Oracle fixed his eyes on Melford. "Is this true? Remember: you called the gods to judge this matter, and the gods hate to be disturbed for nothing. If her words are true, let it rest. Walk away now, or blood will answer."

The crowd nodded and muttered for Melford to drop it. But pride burned hotter than fear in him. "Let the gods judge!" he declared.

Poor fool, Greg thought, shaking his head. If only they knew the truth.

The Verdict of the Gods

At a gesture from his grandfather, Greg stepped forward and handed over the staff.

The Oracle brought out the spirit drink, poured a libation onto the earth, and began the invocation:

"Gods of the land, take this."

A few drops fell.

"Gods of our ancestors, take this."

Another offering.

"Gods of the dead, this is yours."

Then, raising his voice to the sky: "OLUGODI, the All-Seeing Eye, bear witness to this judgement!"

He cast the sacred cowries — carved from the bones of every Oracle who had come before — onto the wet ground. For a long moment he stared at them in silence. A sudden clap of thunder rolled across the clear sky. When the Oracle finally lifted his face, his eyes were wet with sorrow.

"The gods have spoken," he said heavily. "Their will shall be done."

He pointed at Melford. "You will lose what made you a man. It shall be severed and offered to the gods."

"What?" Melford staggered back, but the crowd seized him before he could flee.

The Oracle turned to Edward. "You will lose your vision."

"That is madness!" Edward raged. "I have done nothing wrong!"

At last the Oracle looked upon Susan. "You shall cleave to Edward until the end of his days. If ever you leave him or betray him, your body will rot away — one piece at a time — until nothing remains."

A stunned hush fell over the village. The gods had judged, and no one — not even Greg — dared question their verdict.

Greg's Certainty

Greg had known for years that the gods were a scam. He was certain it was nothing more than a manipulative spirit — perhaps even a demon — committing these atrocities. No true god would take the vision of  a man for a crime he didn't commit. No true god would take what made  a man simply because he accused his own wife of adultery.

He had watched them take Edward's vision. That day, something inside Greg went numb to the gods' cruelty. He resolved to find a way to free his people, or sooner or later everyone would become a victim.

He had also watched Melford scream and beg the oracle to reconsider, to consult the gods again. But it was useless. Judgment had been passed, and everyone knew these "gods" did not listen. They only thirsted for blood.

Greg sighed and walked away before the final act could finish. He didn't have the stomach for it. All he could think about was tomorrow — when his brother would have his sanity back, and they could spend one good day together.

One Good Day

The next morning, Greg went to the outskirts of the village where his brother now lived. He carried food and drink, determined that Lucky would eat something better than the garbage and weeds he'd been surviving on. Lucky had sworn never to return to the village, even on the days his mind was clear.

Greg found him in their usual spot, sitting beneath a tree with a blade of grass dangling from his mouth, staring into the distance.

"Hey, bro!"

"Greg!" Lucky's face lit up with a huge grin. The young man now looked old, worn down by the whim of a false god. Greg felt anger flare in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm — for Lucky's sake.

"Look what I brought you," Greg said, smiling as he set the food down. There were three fat chicken legs, baked potatoes swimming in thick gravy full of carrots and greens, and chunks of tender meat. Lucky's eyes went wide and wild as he watched.

"All this… for me?" he asked.

"Of course, bro."

"I've never seen food like this," Lucky said quietly. "I've been eating grass, whatever I could find in the trash. Once I found something that looked like meat — had a few maggots on it, but I was so hungry I ate it anyway or I'd have starved."

Greg shuddered and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, bro. I'm so sorry this happened to you."

"Don't be," Lucky said, tearing into a chicken leg. "If this is the price I pay for rejecting that demon, then I'm glad to pay it."

The Demon Unmasked

"Demon?" Greg leaned forward, heart racing. He needed confirmation of what he'd long suspected.

"Yeah," Lucky said through a mouthful. "The bastard pretending to be a god? He's a demon straight from hell. Does a real god killed you just for looking at another man's wife?"

"No," Greg said firmly.

"But this one does." Lucky wiped grease from his chin. "Where's the drink?"

"S--- sorry." Greg dug into his bag and pulled out a skin of wine.

Lucky's eyes lit up again. "This is a king's feast."

Greg laughed, though it hurt. "Don't say that too loud. You were telling me about the demon."

"Right. The thing was cast out of hell, needed its own kingdom and its own toys. Unfortunately for us, it landed here."

"How do you know all this?" Greg asked, barely breathing.

"I found a diary," Lucky said. "Dad's old one. There's a hidden panel by his bed — press it and a compartment opens. He told me never to let Grandfather see it."

The Hidden Diary

"What's in the diary?" Greg asked.

"A lot," Lucky said, suddenly vague.

"Is it still there?"

"No. I took it when I left. Hid it somewhere safe. Trouble is… I can only remember where it is when I'm not in my right mind."

Greg's heart sank. "That's a problem."

"Why? Just come find me when I'm mad and ask. I'll tell you."

"That's the thing, bro — no one can get near you when you're like that. Anyone who tries dies."

Lucky froze. "What? How do you know?"

"It's been tried. Seems the 'god' is as cruel as its master the devil."

Lucky stared at the ground. "Then we're screwed."

The Ward

"Not yet," Greg said. "You said there's a way to stop it?"

Lucky nodded slowly. "There's a ward. A symbol. Drawn and spoken with power, it can banish the demon for good."

"What's the symbol? Can we draw it?"

Lucky gave a bitter laugh. "Only the oracle can cast it properly. It needs the authority of the temple."

Greg recoiled. "Grandfather would never do it. He lives for that thing."

"I know," Lucky said quietly. "That's why I want you to take his place."

"No," Greg snapped. "No way. I swore I'd never serve that p---- of s---."

"If you don't, the cycle never ends," Lucky said, meeting his brother's eyes. "It'll keep taking [——], [——], hands, lives — until there's no one left."

Greg felt the weight of it crush him. All his plans, his hatred, his pride — suddenly they seemed small and pointless against the truth.

"Let me think about it," he said at last.

Lucky just shrugged and went back to his food. He had already made peace with his fate.

The Clock at Midnight

Greg spent the day with his brother, stretching it late into the night. They talked about everything and nothing, both trying to ignore the heavy decision hanging over them. It was a strange mix of joy and grief for Greg — happy to have his real brother back, even if only for a few hours, yet crushed knowing that single day of clarity would end sharply at midnight.

Greg sighed, long and broken.

"What's wrong?" Lucky asked, voice soft.

"This world is too cruel," Greg said, barely above a whisper. "How can you be sane one day and completely lost the next — all because of that filthy demon?"

Lucky gave a tired smile. "Don't worry, little bro. We'll find a way."

"How?" Greg snapped, frustration spilling out. "There's nothing you can do. And that diary you keep mentioning — we can't even get to it when you're… like that. Anyone who comes near you dies. I'm sure the demon makes certain of it."

Lucky leaned forward, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion creeping in. "Then become the Oracle. That mantle might come with protection we don't know about yet."

Greg's Idea

Greg went quiet, staring at the floor. Then his head snapped up, eyes suddenly bright. "Wait — I think I have an idea."

Lucky raised an eyebrow, a weary, fond smile tugging at his lips. He could already feel it: the cold fingers of madness brushing the edges of his mind as the clock ticked closer to midnight.

"Tell me," he said.

"When you're sane again next time," Greg said, words tumbling out with new hope, "you draw the ward on the ground before you hide the diary. That way, even when you're mad, the symbol will still be there protecting it."

Lucky blinked, thinking. "I remember where I hide the diary when I'm… lost. That part stays with me. But drawing?" He gave a hollow laugh. "When the madness takes me, I don't even know the sun exists. It's not just losing my mind, Greg. It's like my soul leaves my body and watches the wreck of me from somewhere out in the stars."

Greg stared at him, lost for words.

"Yeah," Lucky muttered, looking away. "Eh."

The Madness Returns

"It's time to go, little bro," Lucky said, forcing a sad smile.

"No way. I'm not leaving you like this," Greg shot back, digging in his heels.

"The madness is coming," he whispered. "I can feel it clawing its way up. I'm losing myself, bit by bit. Please, Greg — go before it takes over completely. I don't want you to die because of me."

"This isn't fair," Greg said, voice cracking. "Just one normal day. That's all I wanted." He shook his head, fighting tears.

"I know." Lucky's eyes were already starting to glaze. "That's why we have to fight the demon. You need to become the Oracle. There might be some protection in that — if you do it."

"That's a huge 'if,' Lucky. What if you're wrong? What if I end up like Grandpa — spilling blood, [——] people, all in the demon's name?" Greg's voice shook.

"We have a plan," Lucky said, gripping his arm. "Yeah, you'll have to do some bad things if you take the title. But we'll win in the end. We have to."

"I'm not doing that. I'm not spilling innocent blood," Greg said flatly.

"Sometimes you sacrifice a few to save the many," Lucky answered, his voice growing colder, more distant. "I'm already sacrificing my mind for this. Life isn't fair, Greg. It's not some fairy tale. Hard choices have to be made."

Run

"It's only for a few months," Lucky added quickly.

"A few months?" Greg let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "You told me once the madness hits, your spirit leaves your body. You float out there in the cosmos or wherever, watching yourself lose it. How the hell are we supposed to finish this in a few months if we can't even get near you without that cursed diary?"

"That's exactly why you have to become the next Oracle," Lucky pleaded. "There's protection in the title. Real protection. When I'm gone — when I'm lost — you'll still be able to get close to me. You'll be shielded, at least a little."

Greg stared at him, heart pounding. He didn't want to die young. There were so many things he hadn't done yet.

"Let me think about it," he muttered.

"There's no time!" Lucky's voice suddenly strained, sharp with panic. "Go. Go now — I'm losing it —"

"Are you okay —" Greg started, then slapped his forehead, cursing himself for the dumb question.

"NOW!" Lucky roared, the sound barely human anymore.

Greg stumbled backward, heart slamming against his ribs. He turned and ran.

The Horror of It

From a safe distance, he watched in horror as his brother collapsed. Foam bubbled at Lucky's lips. His body twisted on the ground, limbs jerking like a puppet with cut strings. Gibberish poured from his mouth — words in a language that made Greg's skin crawl. Then Lucky started clawing at his own face, dragging his nails down his cheeks, laughing at something only he could see.

Greg's shoulders slumped. He felt a hundred years old.

"I'll find a way," he whispered into the night, voice breaking. "I swear I'll find a way to save you."

Then he turned and walked home, each step heavier than the last, the sound of his brother's demonic laughter still ringing in his ears.

The Decision

At home he went to his grandfather. "We need to talk, grandfather," he said with a tired face.

"Then talk, son."

"I want to be an oracle."

His grandfather sighed with slumped shoulders. He just shook his head, eyes downcast. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, grandfather."

"There would be no turning back, and the sacrifice needs to be paid in full," his grandfather said with sadness.

"Sacrifice?" he asked with a dawning premonition that it would always be blood.

"Yes, a sacrifice will be performed to seal the deal."

"What sort of sacrifice?"

"I can't tell you until you make the commitment by taking a vow," his grandfather said.

"Does it involve blood?"

"Don't ask me questions if you don't want to commit to it. Or do you want me dead?"

"I need to know what is involved before I commit myself," he said.

His grandfather laughed a hollow laugh. "How stupid do you think the gods are? You see, you need a commitment so if you have a change of heart, it will backfire on you to keep their secret."

The Blood Vow

Greg was not happy about the situation. He thought he would just be given a few things to do and that would be it. Now he was hearing about sacrifice. This was a big setback because he knew it would involve blood — and a lot of it if he was not mistaken. And he hardly ever made any mistake when it came to the demon.

"What do I have to do?" he asked.

"Take that knife over there and cut a zigzag line on your palm and sprinkle the blood on the image of the gods over there. Then you speak a few words after me that bind your commitment. After that, we do the sacrifice when you provide the necessary ingredients."

With his heart beating like a drum, Greg did as he was told. Then he opened his mouth to speak after his grandfather. "With this mark on my palm," he began, placing it on the image of the gods, "I, Greg, the grandson of the oracle, do solemnly swear never to spill the secret and to uphold my end of any bargain. And if I back out, let me die or run mad for the rest of my life so as to protect the secret of the oracle and the gods."

There was a flash of red light on the image, which signified that the gods had accepted his vow and commitment.

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