The fallen moons rise and in their cold glow a package emerges from the ground. Swelling and gangrene, crimped as if by a tourniquet. A dark promise twists inside him. Grasp the fibrous handles, feel the jagged imprint of your soul in your palm. Now shoot! Tears the tendons, tears the muscles from the bone, hatches its fetid gift! The yoke is coming! Take the sheet of paper and read the words on the front.
It's time to enjoy your adorable joke!
Q: What did the Sekiro Fan Club say to the waiter at their Christmas party?
A: “Nine soles, please.”
The ritual is complete. Happy new year!