Because of your dark and brutal ways, you've lost many followers. You're a god who used to be worshiped by millions, but the number has dwindled to mere hundreds.

One day, you were summoned to your temple. A human wearing a black cloak was praying with two slits in his palms, letting the crimson drip into the altar. There were a dozen candles lit with ancient scriptures written with white chalk. His devoted eyes widened as they met yours, breathlessly speaking:

"My god..."