The sound was wet, the blade sank deep into the flesh. The man beneath Ruku gasped, his hands tried to grab the ground, and failed. "No, no! don't..." The plea trailed off into a choking gurgle as Ruku twisted the knife.

Ruku's movements slow. His breathing came in harsh, animalistic grunts, his face a look of hunger. Not the kind that people feel when their bellies are empty, but something deeper, primal.

His look displayed chaos!

The body slumped, lifeless, but Ruku's work was far from done. He dragged the corpse toward the fire, his hands trembling, not with hesitation, but with the raw ecstasy.

The blade moved with brutal efficiency, cutting the body into pieces. Each one glowing in the flickering firelight.

When the first piece hit the flames, Ruku's stomach roared, his mouth watering as he held a piece of flesh over the fire. He didn't wait for it to cook through; the edges blackened, the center bled, and that was enough.

"Delicious," he murmured, blood colouring his lips. "I've never tasted anything like this."

The jungle around him was silent, the air heavy with the weight of something unseen. Even the trees seemed afraid. Their dry, brittle branches trembling under a sky that refused to weep.

Refused a weeping rain.

---

The Kraa Gama, the home of Kraa, a place of worship and devotion. A man sized statue of Kraa in the center, its features carved with the precision of a master craftsman.

The stone walls sang with prayers. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of sweat smoke and fading faith.

The temple was filled with whispers and desperate prayers.

No, there is no rain. It has been almost a year, and Kramaka is dry. The crops are dead, and animals are almost extinct in the jungle.

Hunger is the greatest problem!

"Give us rain, oh Lord," the villagers chanted, their voices trembling with both faith and fear.

"What are we to do?" An old man asked, his voice heavy with despair. "The crops are gone. The jungle is empty. Even Kraa has abandoned us."

Another man turned his head towards him, his faith a brittle thing that refused to snap. "Lord Kraa has not abandoned us," he hissed. "We have angered him. That is all."

"Angered him? How?"

"Do you doubt him?" the second man snapped, his eyes flashing.

The first man turned away, shaking his head. Slowly losing his faith, with exhausted footsteps. Distancing himself from his truth, a truth turning into a lie.

The Kraa Gama stood at the heart of the village, its stone walls sang with prayers. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of sweat smoke.

The door burst open, and the air itself seemed to recoil as Ruku entered the temple. His eyes glowed like a predator in the torchlight, and the blade in his hand dripped with fresh blood.

"I want more," he growled, his voice guttural, almost unrecognizable. "I need more." Like an animal speaking death.

The villagers froze. Even the old men, who had survived the jungle, stood paralyzed. Ruku moved like a predator, his steps deliberate, his gaze fixed on the nearest man. With a single motion, he slashed the man's throat, the blood spraying in a violent arc across the temple floor.

Chaos erupted. Screams echoed off the stone walls as people scrambled to escape, but Ruku blocked the only exit. He lunged at another man, driving his knife deep into his chest. The man fell, twitching, as Ruku knelt over him and tore at the flesh with his teeth.

The first old man stepped forward, his hands trembling. "Please," he said, his voice cracking. "Please stop this."

Ruku turned to him, his face smeared with blood. He smiled, a grotesque, almost childlike grin. And shoved the old man toward the statue of Kraa. The old man hit the base of the statue and fell down.

Ruku descended upon him, his knife movien. Cutting the flesh.

The statue turned red.

And then it happened.

The first drop of rain was so unexpected, so alien, that for a moment, no one reacted.

But then it started pouring, like a waterfall of bliss.

It was 40 years ago. Since then, the people of Kramaka celebrate Kraa Festival. Asking for rain.