C23 Evil Ritual

In a quaint wooden cabin tucked away in a small town corner, Joseph cradled his feverish infant son, his eyes brimming with worry and fear.

A 42-year-old European, Joseph's years of toiling as a lumberjack had tanned his skin and sculpted his muscles to an iron-like firmness. Yet, for all his physical strength, he was powerless to do anything but watch his baby boy suffer from a mysterious illness, his life hanging by a thread.

Three years prior, his eldest son, Aydi, had been lost to the sea, claimed by a tempest during a voyage. Now, his youngest—and only remaining—son was gravely ill. The steely man found himself overwhelmed, his heart heavy with the dread of possibly losing another child. The memory of the doctor's words haunted him; after his wife had given birth to their son, they were told they could no longer conceive a third child.

The door creaked open, and his wife entered, her face a tapestry of complex emotions.

"Did the witch agree to help our son?" Joseph asked with urgency.

"She did, but she requires us to..." His wife's voice trailed off, her face ashen and her eyes vacant with shock.

"What does she want? If it's our house, it's hers. Money? I'll borrow it from those greedy lenders..." Joseph pressed, his desperation palpable. He would pay any price to save his child.

"She demands that we renounce our faith and worship the deity she serves," his wife said, her voice hollow.

For devout believers like them, abandoning their faith for another deity was an unforgivable sin.

Joseph faltered, torn. His life as a simple lumberjack had never strayed far from this town, and his faith was the compass of his soul, more formidable than any law or enforcer.

The child in his arms let out a feeble cough, blood trickling from his lips.

"No more hesitation. If our god can stand idly by as our son slips away, then forsaking our faith is justified," Joseph declared through clenched teeth.

Faced with the agonizing choice between his beliefs and his family, he chose the latter.

"We'll be damned," his wife murmured, her face contorted with fear, her body quivering at the thought of eternal damnation.

"No, a new god will save us. At least for now, it seems he can heal our child, something Belser, the deity of the local faith, cannot do." Joseph felt the life in his arms ebbing away and steeled himself for what was to come.

His wife, though visibly unsettled and trembling, did not voice any objections.

She was, after all, the child's mother. Perhaps the bond forged during ten months of pregnancy made her love their child even more deeply than her husband.

Together, they carried their child into the night, heading for the woods just outside of town.

There, nestled among the trees, stood a small cabin, home to the witch cast out by the townspeople.

"Dong dong!"

The Owens glanced around stealthily before gently rapping on the door.

"Squeak!"

The door creaked open, revealing an old woman shrouded in a veil.

"Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Owen. The great Roandalth already revealed to me that you would seek his embrace," the old woman said, her mouth—a dark void save for two yellow teeth—twisting into a smile.

"We're prepared to forsake Belser and embrace this new deity you speak of, but only if he can save our child," Joseph said, lifting the child just a bit higher.

The infant in his arms was now limp, its skin flushed, breathing ever so faint.

"Fear not! The great Roandalth is all-powerful," the old woman declared with fervor, brandishing her short staff before stepping aside to let the couple enter.

Once inside, she glanced around to ensure they hadn't been followed and shut the door.

As Joseph stepped into the cabin, a murmuring filled the air, as if countless mouths whispered in his ear, sowing chaos in his mind and scattering his thoughts.

"Do not listen. You are not yet fit to hear the voice of the divine."

The old woman admonished them upon noticing their discomfort.

His wife bowed her head, hands over her ears, quivering behind Joseph like a frightened quail.

Joseph focused all his attention on the child in his arms, determined to ignore the unsettling chorus.

Guided by the flickering candlelight, they followed the old woman through the cluttered room and descended into the basement.

The basement walls were left bare, not painted or partitioned with wooden planks, but rather resembled the interior of a cave, with uneven lines of earth that appeared almost fresh.

Joseph, his heart pounding, cradled his child and made his way through the tunnel-like passage, quickly reaching its end—a cavernous space the size of a garage.

At the center of this cavern, a pentagram was formed by an array of white candles, all burning brightly. The flickering candlelight revealed complex, indecipherable symbols and images daubed on the walls in red paint—or perhaps blood.

Nestled within the star's center lay a golden dish, heaped with gory chunks of flesh.

Encircling the pentagram stood six figures shrouded in white robes, exuding an eerie yet ceremonial presence.

"Who are they?" Joseph inquired, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"They are the officiants and devotees responsible for conducting the ritual to expel the illness and for the ceremony of your initiation," the old woman explained, casting a brief glance at the robed figures.

"Place your child here," she directed, pointing her cane toward a corner of the pentagram facing them.

"Oh!" Despite the overwhelming oddity of his surroundings, Joseph glanced at his child, who was barely breathing, and without further hesitation, he carefully set the child down at the designated corner of the pentagram.

The white-robed figures formed a silent ring around the pentagram, motionless, their robes seeming to swallow the light. Joseph stole a glance inside the dark hoods and saw only pitch blackness, as if void of anything.

A cacophony of bizarre, chaotic noises, seemingly inhuman, erupted from the robed individuals. As these sounds filled the air, the red inscriptions and patterns on the walls appeared to undulate subtly.

"Cough! Cough!" Out of the blue, the infant, previously at death's door and motionless, began to cough vigorously. His little arms flailed, and his complexion shifted from red to the healthy, pale pink of new life.

"It's a miracle!" Joseph exclaimed, his face alight with emotion, hands reaching forward as if yearning to embrace his child.

"Now, both of you stand in the center and follow my recitation. You must first embrace faith in the great god before he will fully intervene to heal your child," the old woman intoned ominously.

"Sure, sure, no problem."

The couple gazed at their baby, now lively on the floor, and without further hesitation, they positioned themselves at the center of the pentagram, as instructed.

At the heart of the pentagram was a ring of candles. Stepping inside, they carefully avoided the central plate and stood opposite each other.

"Repeat after me," the old woman instructed, then gestured with a wave of her hand.

The white-robed figures around them contorted slightly, murmuring an unintelligible chant once more.

Joseph, following the old woman's lead, earnestly began to recite, "I, Joseph Owen, renounce all prior beliefs. From this moment forward, I embrace the great deity Roandalth, pledging myself as a devotee..."

As he recited what felt like a vow, Joseph sensed the air in the basement quivering. A scent of blood permeated the atmosphere, and the flames of the candles at his feet flickered wildly. He quickly shut his eyes and continued to echo the old woman's incantations.

Believing in spirits and deities, he thought this enigmatic God had made an appearance, casting a presence in this very room.

The old woman suddenly spoke up, "I offer my soul, my flesh, my very life, in exchange for the divine's mercy and protection..."

"I..." Joseph hesitated, sensing something amiss, yet the overwhelming atmosphere compelled him to whisper, "I offer my soul..."

"That's enough!"

Abruptly, a strange voice cut through Joseph's prayer.

"Who's there?" the old woman barked in agitation.

The white-robed individuals all turned, their gaze shifting to the basement entrance.

Joseph and his wife, their ritual interrupted, turned to look in bewilderment.

A figure stood there, clad in a formal military uniform, smiling at the assembly.

"Is this... a soldier from the Rasnium army?"

In recent years, Rasnium's prominence had soared, eclipsing even the renown of the United States. Joseph had caught glimpses of related news broadcasts on television.

He recognized the military attire as Rasnium's.

"To disrupt the master's ceremony, you shall pay," the old woman snarled, her demeanor shifting from devoutly kind to wrathful. With a sweep of her cane, the candles forming the pentagram quivered, their flames leaning and intertwining into a serpent of fire, four to five meters in length.

Before the Rasnium soldier could even register what was happening, the serpent had already sprung open its lifelike jaws and struck, coiling its entire body around its prey.

Flames roared to life, swiftly engulfing the mysterious intruder from Rasnium.

"Continue, the ceremony must not be disrupted," the old woman commanded, casting a menacing glance back at Joseph and his wife.

Joseph couldn't be sure if it was a trick of the light, but he thought he saw a non-human, yellowish-brown glow flickering in the old woman's eyes.

"But... but..." Joseph faltered.

His modern education left him ill-prepared to comprehend the old woman's ruthless use of "divine power" to incinerate the Rasnium soldier. After all, these were soldiers from a nation that even the major powers of Oshela approached with caution.

"Recite the incantation now, or your child is beyond help," the old woman threatened.

"Wah, waaah!"

As if on cue, the infant lying on the ground let out feeble, agonized cries.

The sound of his child's wailing swept away the turmoil in Joseph's mind, leaving behind a singular, resolute thought: "I must save my child."

"I... I will do it..."