Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
My throat constricted as he attempted to wedge it in her mouth, cutting into the tender flesh on either side.
The blood didn’t seem to faze him. Nor did the woman’s anguished cries. She wasn’t even standing on her own but supported by one of the men in red and another dressed similar to Mr. Hawthorne. Once the blade was in, he began the process of removing her tongue.
Caught in a chasm of horror and disbelief, I grappled with the power that this man wielded and the nightmarish reality that had become my own. Mr. Hawthorne finished what he was doing and passed his blade off to one of the men in red before turning around and showing off the servitor’s tongue he now held in his hand. His people marveled at his act, repeating their earlier incantation.
"Laus Diabolus, dominus tenebrarum, qui regnat in aeternum. Gloriamus in malum suum et nutrimus per viam obscuritatis."
A wave of nausea hit me as I gazed at the lump of bloody muscle.
The odd device was removed from the woman’s mouth, and she began to cough, choking on her own blood. Her jaw hung at an odd angle, making her situation all the worse. Two of his nuns donning demonic styled masks came forward and quickly took hold of the unstable woman, leading her away through the same unseen door she’d been brought through.
Mr. Hawthorne placed her tongue on the altar and his indifferent voice pierced the room. "After reflection, she will give back to our Isle by being disbursed amongst our swine, a fitting honor for one who has shown such disrespect."
His words settled over me heavily. How was one given to pigs? I prayed to God that didn’t mean what I thought it did. With a noticeable shift in his demeanor, he turned his attention back to the front of the room.
"Now, the time has come for the Rite."
A subtle undercurrent of excitement immediately seemed to ripple through the room as he continued, now addressing the two men in red specifically. "I know you are both eager to get your new brides home and strengthen your bond." His gaze swept over the masked followers, and he motioned with a bloodied hand.
“Bring them to kneel.”
From opposite sides of the dimly lit church, two women were led forward. The first was a stunning black woman. She appeared unnaturally calm, her movements strangely fluid as if under the influence. Her eyes bore a vacant expression, hinting at the extent to which she had been drugged to remain composed.
The second woman was blindfolded, an iron skeletal mask cradling the top half of her face. A fancy collar wrapped around her neck, its gleaming chain snaking down to her bound hands.
Despite her apparent captivity, her posture and demeanor carried an air of defiance, her hidden beauty only accentuated by the chains that bound her.
"Tonight, Tenebrarius Graves, you shall claim the woman bound before you," he announced, his words carrying a sense of command. "And Tenebrarius Asari, the one you’ve patiently coveted shall be under your dominion."
A hushed murmur erupted through the masked followers, their anticipation evident in the way their gazes remained fixed on the scene before them. As if choreographed, two members emerged from one of the unseen doors, carrying a small fire pit to the stage. The flames danced and flickered, casting eerie shadows across the ritualistic space. Their movements were deliberate, each step resonating with a sense of purpose. From the other door emerged the nuns.
With an air of reverence, they approached the altar and presented each man with a branding iron, the end obscured from my view. My heart raced, and my breath caught in my throat as I tried to make sense of the impending horror. The blindfolded woman trembled, her bound hands betraying her anxiety.
My heart broke for her vulnerability. She could see nothing and had to rely on the ones responsible for her misfortune to guide her through this nightmare. Beside her, the other woman's vacant gaze conveyed a disconcerting sense of submission. Whatever she’d been given had to be extremely potent.
"Tonight marks a pivotal juncture in our journey as we welcome these two chosen souls into the dark embrace of Impío. "
A hushed reverence swept through the masked audience, their anticipation more palpable with each passing second.
As Mr. Hawthorne continued speaking, the men in red he’d referred to as Tenebrarius began to heat the brands they held, holding them in the flames that danced inside the pit.
"Through careful observation and trials, they have demonstrated their resilience and capabilities of adaptation. With their submission, they will become a part of our society and bearers of our future legacy."
The Tenebrarius stepped forward simultaneously, each bearing a branding iron. As they approached the women, a mixture of rage and dread twisted within my gut. They were going to brand them like cattle.