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Damned Fucking Shit Issue 53
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D a m n e d F u c k i n g S h i t
- Presents -
Issue #53
Date: 8/26/95
Title: The Ritual
Author: Vald The Impaler
The Ritual
==========
Disclaimer: I'm not satanic.
Everything was quiet. Even the crackling of the fire seemed
to silence itself as I withdrew the gleaming silver blade from its
black velvet covering. My hooded face reflected in the polished
surface of the cold silver, black eyes gleaming in pleasure at the
thought of what I was finally getting my chance to do. The chanting
started around me, the four other cloaked figures slowly moving into
position around the table. I closed my eyes and began the chant as
well, the deep baritone of my voice overpowering the others this
night as my tongue recited the familiar words. We took our positions
around the table, myself at the head with the others in a pentagram
formation encircling the stone altar. My eyes shot open, my voice
rising yet louder as I began weaving intricate patterns in the air
with the ancient blade.
Below me lay the unconscious form of our willing sacrifice. He
was heavily sedated, not wishing to feel the pain that he would have
to endure otherwise. He had asked us to help him attain his place
of power over others in the netherworld. He knew who his master
was, and chose to embrace him with open arms rather than run from
him as so many others did. He wanted to be the master of his death,
not a slave to it. This night, I was to set him free.
From my pocket I withdrew a black leather pouch. I loosened the
drawstring and removed a pinch of the fine yellow powder contained
within, a mixture of the burnt remains of past sacrifices to the
unholy lord. I opened my friend's mouth and sprinkled the ash upon
his relaxed tongue, letting his saliva turn the powder into a
brownish paste. His mouth closed itself as his head fell back onto
the stone altar. I returned the pouch to my robe, then withdrew a
small steel circlet in the shape of a pentagram. This I put into a
bowl of water boiling above a strong fire next to the altar. We waited
then, chanting the entire time, giving praise to this one who would go
forth into the netherworld and become like a god unto others, the
poor condemned souls who were not strong enough to realize their full
potential in death.
When the time came, I reached into the scalding water and removed
the unholy symbol of power. My hand was scorched lightly, but when I
positioned the charm upon my friend's exposed chest, the skin under
the heated metal began to hiss softly as burn blisters formed. I again
picked up the knife from where I had unconsciously laid it next to his
head. The four hooded figures backed away from the table, giving me
room to move freely about the sedated man lying supine upon his altar
of sacrifice. I circled to the left, lightly tracing a line from his
forehead to the simmering pentagram upon his chest, never breaking the
surface of his skin.
The chanting of the other four men silenced as I began to speak my
own verses in a tongue not known to men, not even known to myself. My
pulse quickened as the words came to me, echoing supernaturally in my
mind and burning there until they were released by my speaking them.
My hand raised unbidden by me to place the dagger above my friend's
forehead. I lowered the gleaming blade to touch his skin, making a
small indentation in the smooth surface of his forehead before drawing
blood. The sharp blade easily pierced the thin layer of skin above his
skull, although little blood flowed. I traced a line down his nose,
dividing his lips in perfect symmetry, forcing a thin line of crimson
to appear wherever the blade had touched. I slid the blade gently down
his neck, my steady hand cutting no deeper than the skin for I was not
to end his life just yet.
Blood began to flow with more strength than it had upon his head,
surging out in small rivulets to the beating of his heart. I
continued quickly now, knowing that if he perished before I was through
with the vivisection he would not be assured his rightful place of
power over the dead. I continued to draw the red line down from his
neck to his chest. The iron pentagram had long since cooled, but when
I removed it from his chest the skin underneath continued to sizzle
with an unholy heat of it's own. Never slowing the pace of the blade,
I bisected the symbol of our lord branded upon my friend's chest, and
continued downward without pause. I passed the bottom of his rib cage
and was surprised at the supernatural ease with which I cut through
the muscle of his abdomen while not damaging any of his organs inside.
I felt filled with power - not merely the feeling of mastery over life,
but the feeling of a greater power joining me, a greater power guiding
my ritualistic movements.
The razor-sharp blade seemed to remove itself from his flesh as I
completed the cut, dripping a single deep red drop of my friend's life
blood as I inspected the perfect line running from the top of his
forehead to the bottom of his abdomen. Low chanting began behind me,
and I remembered the other members of my cult who had fallen silent as
I made the long cut down our sacrifice's body. They circled uniformly
to the other side of the altar, their bare feet hardly making a sound
underneath their heavy robes. I made a second cut below his rib cage,
quickly changing the single original line into the greater part of
an unholy cross upon his body. Then he moaned softly.
I faltered slightly, trying not to be distracted by the fact
that his life was slipping quickly away. I knew that this was what
he wanted, what we all wanted, but I still had a twinge of guilt
about killing another human. The feeling faded quickly though as
foreign powers within me told me that this was right. They reminded
me that he would have power in death, but that I would have a great
power over death myself once I passed from this plane, if I would
prove I already have some mastery over life. My cut across his
abdomen complete, I moved to the middle of his chest and traced the
lines that the scalding-hot pentagram had left in his skin without
further qualms.
Two disciples moved to stand on either side of him, and I
positioned myself over his head. They reached forward, tracing the
line I had made across his chest, and took hold of his skin where
the two cuts met. His flesh tore sickeningly as they pulled the
skin away from his rib cage, exposing the bloody white bones
underneath. I leaned forward with the knife still in my hand, and
began to cut through the tough cartilage between his ribs. Logic
kept telling me it would not work, but as my brain told me I was
attempting the impossible powerful forces within me easily guided
the ritual blade through bone and cartilage, creating an impossibly
perfect line through his sternum. The two hooded figures reached
forward and pulled back on his ribs. The bones did not wield much
strength though against hands guided by our dark lord, and they
were pried back to reveal his beating heart inside.
Even though he must have been completely drained of blood from
the cuts, his heart still beat strongly. I felt power deep
inside me as I knew what I must do. The others backed away and
turned to the woods about us, a horribly powerful voice inside each
of us telling us that none other than he who wielded the blade
may witness this act. I raised the knife high above my head, a
drop of blood falling in slow motion to land upon the sacrifice's
forehead, spattering tiny droplets of blood outward from the cut
that divided his face in two.
I closed my eyes, drawing power from the dark presence I felt
within my soul. Slowly, I opened them again, and saw before me the
face of a man different than that of my friend, different from that
of any mortal being. The cut was there, the beating heart was the
same, but what lay before me was the essence of evil, dormant,
waiting to take the soul of his host back to hell with him. He was
the ultimate evil escort; Satan himself come to take my friend back
to hell, and his eyes were open and staring into mine. I nearly
panicked at the sight, feeling all willpower and strength drain from
my body, mind, and soul. I had never once felt fear before in my
life, but looking into the eyes of evil incarnate nearly stopped the
beating of my heart.
Terror gripped me, but a power did too. My mind was no longer
my own. My body became taken by another. My soul itself seemed to
be controlled by the dark presence before me. I no longer needed
urging from my lord, I no longer needed directions. The dark angel
before me was in control now, directing my body where he would have it
go. No longer myself, I leaned forward and plunged the silver blade
through my friend's beating heart, I the unwilling master over life
and death.
Find DFS On These Fine Systems (When they're up...)
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