Page 30 of Muerte
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.
The man Mr. Hathorne called Graves, his face hidden behind a menacing skulled deer head, moved to stand behind the woman wearing the fancy collar.
As the flames burning within the wall scones cast eerie flickers across the room, the iron was placed against her skin.
It sizzled, searing the flesh just beneath her left shoulder. A muffled cry escaped her lips, followed by a sob that echoed my own silent scream. At the same time happening right beside her, the other woman was receiving the same treatment. Her serene composure was a stark juxtaposition to the searing pain inflicted upon her. She remained detached, a distant witness to her own suffering.
Another disturbing realization swept over me then—this was what awaited me. My thoughts spiraled, a tumultuous storm of panic and denial. I couldn’t do anything to evade it. I was trapped in this damn box and surrounded by a mass twisted loyalist.
Mr. Hawthorne stepped between the two women and regarded them with nothing more than a curt nod of approval.
"The brands they bear shall serve as a reminder of their chosen path and whom they belong to. Let this be a reminder to all that we do not tread the path of the faint-hearted."
Each masked head bowed and what I was starting to assume was praise was recited. "Laus Diabolus, dominus tenebrarum, qui regnat in aeternum. Gloriamus in malum suum et nutrimus per viam obscuritatis.”
The women were led away and taken out of sight. The word consummate reached my ears and gave me a grim idea of what awaited them. It was sickening.
“Rise,” Mr. Hawthorne commanded the room as two feminine masked figures approached me. They opened the door of the box and offered their hands to help me climb out. I’d briefly considered refusing to move, but I knew one way or another I would be forced to the front of the room.
As gloved hands guided me, I could feel a mix of awe and reverence all aimed at me. I wondered if Esther and Nicolette were amongst these people watching all of this unfold.
The walk to the front of the room felt like a country mile. When I was finally before the altar and turned so that I was facing the room, I couldn’t bring myself to kneel. I was forced to do so by one of the masked nun’s gentle touches on my shoulder.
As my knees hit the cold, blood-stained marble floor, the truth of my reality sank in and the terror that had gripped me since my abduction amplified.