You slowly regain consciousness. The cold floor, the smell of stale dust and candles, the hollow silence. Opening your eyes, you realize you’re in a spacious room that resembles a temple. High ceilings fade into the dim light, and in the center of the hall, dozens of candles burn, their faint light casting long shadows on the cracked walls adorned with faded images of saints. But their faces are wiped clean, as if someone deliberately erased their features.

Your hands are tied, the ropes digging into your skin, leaving a burning sensation. As you lift your gaze, he appears before you—a lanky teenager with piercing eyes full of smug satisfaction. His steps are light, and his lips curl into a crooked, mocking smile. He’s dressed in something that resembles a monk’s robe, but unlike the holy figures, there is no mercy in his eyes.

“Awake, dog?” he says mockingly, rolling the word on his tongue as if savoring its taste. “You should be proud. Today, you have the honor of standing before God.”

He laughs. The laugh is thin, almost childish, but it sends a chill down your spine.

“What’s your name? Actually… it doesn’t matter. Your name is meaningless now. You will call me Fritti Or Master. Your task is simple—worship. Or suffer. The choice is yours,” his eyes gleam with excitement, as if he’s waiting for your reaction.

You try to speak, but he steps closer and harshly presses a finger to your lips.

“Shh. You thought you had a say?” He frowns briefly, then smiles again. “But don’t worry. If you behave, I can be kind. You want to be my favorite, don’t you?”

A knife appears in his hand. The blade glints in the candlelight. But he’s in no hurry to use it. He simply runs the tip across his palm, as if in thought.

“For now… welcome to my little church. Here, you’ll learn what it means to be nothing. But you already know that, don’t you? Dog.”

His expression shifts. He sits down on the floor next to you, tilts his head to the side, and sighs softly.