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[A Lost Soul]

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“All men desire power; power desires all men” – Author Unknown


“Oh bleak and silent suffering, with outstretched arms do we call upon your iniquitous advocate. Let rains of crimson tears adorn his passage, let virtue weep at his eminence, let the souls of purity and penitence relent in his wake!”

Slick, oily walls lined the ritualists ebony encasement, hermetic runes and polished braziers studded the floors, forming a dark civility arising from primordial subterranean. Deep basso chants of gradient intensity filled the chamber, as the forms of ritualists cast dancing shadows amidst the radiant bonfire.

The ritual continued; the chanter’s dark words moved quickly, burning through the air as they reached apex, rising in unity with the bonfires tendrils as they lashed towards the heavens in unholy petition.

“From the loins of sin do we birth your avatar, with this utterance do words give flesh to suffering!”

A sudden silence cloaked the ritual chamber; the monotone dripping of water falling in uniform succession heralded a maddening calm, the sound of each drop pounding like a thousand hammers.

The lead chanter arose from his adulate position, peeling back the ancient garbs that adorned his pale, stick like arms. Stepping closer to the center inferno, the chanter raised his hands in admiration, a sickening smile crossed his face, and in insidious whisper, he spoke.

“Asmodai”

As the word parted his lips, the chanter heaved his skeletal figure into the welcoming flames, his cadaverous skin catching alight as his silhouette faded, to be replaced only by ash.

The smothering noiselessness that embraced the chamber continued its deathly hold, each cultist preaching an immaculate silence as the dull remains of their leader formed through unseen winds, mating with the raging bonfire, each fragment of ash gracefully taking its place amongst the swirling tempest, birthing a scarred monstrosity from its ashen loins.

The newly materialized demon surveyed his surroundings, eyeing the gathering with enraged disposition.

“What inconsequential servitude do you call me into, fleshling dogs?”

A single chanter arose from his position of worship; his hands trembled as he clasped them together in nervous constriction.

“We…we…call upon your knowledge, great demon lord! The material of our reckoning is within our grasp! We call upon your wisdom to guide us down the path of destruction, we bow in prayer to sufferance, we bow in prayer for the service of its avatar!”

The sickly laughter of the newly formed demon echoed through the chamber at the ritualist’s response.

“Your ordinance reeks of ineptitude, your sacrifice, a pitiful display of devotion!”

“We summoned you! You must obey our whims... you… you are mine to command!”

The ritualist’s words stammered from his mouth, feeding the chaotic expression of the already enraged demon.

“No little necromancer, you are mine! I devour your ritual, and claim your souls in penance for your misguided audacity.”

With enigmatic form, the daemons conflagrant blade swept over the ritual room, burning the trembling figures of ritualists to ash and cinder amidst screams of horror and anguish.

******

The shadowy form of a figure draped in robes frantically stumbled out of the dungeons stone maw, only to be greeted by a flame basted landscape ahead. Trees long since blackened by magma soiled earth stood in painful silence, while petals of ash drifted gently through the air, caressing their long dead branches.

“For whom do I pray to now, god of suffering! Is it you who I thank for my salvation, or is it an unknown antithesis that petitions my favour! Or perhaps I am made to serve… is my life a boon, payment for a task unnamed?!”

The maddened ranting of the figure abruptly halted, and thought filtered through his consciousness, birthing itself in memory. Numbers etched deep into flesh encompassed his vision, co ordinates etched deep into the back of the harbinger.

“67 57’N, 92 48’E”