Page 114 of Mortis

And soon, he would be just as dead.

“Behold!” Sebastian called to his congregation. “The prodigal beast returns to us at last.”

His hand disappeared beneath his cloak, and the Beast roared inside my skull.

MOVE.

Sebastian withdrew a dagger. Beside me, Arlo whimpered. Moonlight flashed across the blade as Sebastian raised it above Teddy’s chest, directly over his heart. My blood turned to ice when Sebastian looked straight at me and grinned.

“Let the sacrifice begin.”

18

THE BEAST

1966 – The Escape

Time had grown meaningless. Caged in the darkness, there was no way to tell how many days had passed since we were summoned. We could only measure our existence through ceremonies, feedings, and punishments.

Twice a month, the herd of mortals gathered above our prison to worship Mammon. To perform their rituals and make their offerings. To sacrifice innocents in the name of devotion. And when they were done, we were ordered to consume the soul of the deceased. To act as messenger and deliver their precious gift to our master.

After that?

The bodies were ours to devour.

We remained bound by the same chains as the day we were tied to our summoner. The vessel no longer fought against them, having decided decades ago that there was no point.

But whenever I stepped forth, I raged against our imprisonment.

I pulled at the chains until they tore through our skin. Roared at the ceiling until our throat grew raw. Threw our body against an invisible barrier that refused to yield, no matter how many times I tried to break through it.

The vessel had surrendered, but I refused to.

I refused to add to his despair.

I would keep us alive.

I would wait.

And when the opportunity came, I would get us out.

It came sooner than I expected.

Judging by the noise overhead, it was time for another gathering. Voices echoed through the ceiling, muffled by the heavy door separating us. Footsteps sent vibrations through the stone, loosening dust that drifted down around our body. Furniture scraped across the floor. Drawers opened and closed. Sacred objects were dragged from wherever the mortals stored them between ceremonies.

But there was no sign of their leader.

He was usually the first to arrive, his presence announced by the deep laughter that sent a bolt of unease down our spine. His absence was unusual, but the vessel didn’t care. He believed that curiosity led only to pain. I considered it an opportunity to listen.

Eventually, confusion turned to irritation. We heard the leader’s wife complaining to another believer about her husband’s increasing arrogance. His carelessness.

The hypocrisy almost made me laugh.

What had begun as religious devotion had morphed into grotesque excess. More sacrifices. More souls.

The mortals always wanted more.

Money, good fortune, life. They adorned themselves in expensive jewellery and tailored clothing beneath their ceremonial cloaks. They arrived in gleaming luxury cars that looked absurd parked beside their ancient headquarters. The entire cult had become corrupted by the very thing they worshipped.