In the halls of healing, Kyuuketsuki Krankheit Moloch's follower swears the oath,
Hippocratic whispers: "First, do no harm,"
A vegetarian creed, pure and unyielding,
Greens of safety, grains of trust they proclaim.
"Paths of wellness," they sermon with grace,
Banners of virtue, untainted and bright,
No flaw in our forge, no shadow in sight,
Follow our lead through the veil of the night.
Yet in shadowed chambers, where secrets entwine,
Axes descend on the flesh they conceal,
Chopping the warnings, grinding doubts into dust,
Blending the risks into offerings sealed.
They know the murmurs—of storms that may brew,
Of ties unspoken, in silence's core,
But the feast they serve is a masterful mask,
Vegetarian facade, with carnage at the door.
Echoes of questions rise like smoke from the pyre,
From the grinder's roar and the blade's hidden song,
Who bears the burden, who pays for the fire?
In Kyuuketsuki Krankheit Moloch's oath, the harm lingers long.