Blood splattered the walls, the empty picture frames; the stone pedestal… everything- the world was reds, blacks and whites. Bodies lay contorted and broken beyond repair, their faces unseen for the darkness wreathing them. The sole object that stood out among the garish display of gore was the pedestal situated in the dead center of the circular room and upon it, a single goblet.
The goblet shimmered and shined as bright or brighter than the blood, but it seemed empty. Until, the picture tilted sickeningly and its contents were shown to be-
With a cry of pain and horror, the man jerked awake, nearly falling out of his chair. Dim light fell on a desk cluttered with scribbled notes and drawings, but he saw nothing besides the room of red and that terrible goblet… He only stifled the rising panic in his chest by biting down on his knuckles, already covered with sores and barely healed cuts.
It was just in time as a door creaked open and light spilled in, framed around a black silhouette. But the man didn’t turn around, even when a smooth voice cut through the silence.
“Hey Malin, you didn’t fall asleep working again did you?”
When the man didn’t answer or even twitch, the figure moved to his side and raised a hand to place on his shoulder. Only then did he finally wheel around, wearing the expression of one who has seen hell.
The second man stepped back, stammering, “Goddess Mark… what the hell-“
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”
At Malin’s return to normality, his face rearranged into a semblance of business, the other man had to wonder if what he had seen was just his imagination.
Finally, he shook his head.
“I told you not to work late. If you’d listen to me now and then…” he trailed off as the man stood and walked towards the door.
He followed only to find Malin unmoving.
“Hey, get moving! We have lots to do-“
“What do you need me for?” the man’s eyes held a seriousness that demanded the same from his companion.
And he obliged, both his expression and tone somber, “The preparations have been made.”
Mark Malin nodded as though he’d expected as much.
“So, they are ready for me.”
The second man moved out of the doorway, holding the door open. “Yes, it’s time.”
He stepped outside of the room and the door slammed shut.
A long table dominated the center of the room and around it twelve chairs were arranged, with a strange thirteenth chair squatting in a corner. However, despite the table’s intended purpose no one was seated and the people standing about the room all paused to stare at the newest additions.
Finally, a pale-faced and pale- haired older man dared to approach and greeted the two with a cheerful, if thin, smile.
“Mark, Taylor! I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to arrive!” he shook each of their hands briskly before nodding at the others. “We all were.”
The man who had fetched Mark smiled back grimly, “Malin here was working too hard again.”
“Tsk, tsk,” the older man clucked. “There was nothing else to be done.”
Mark couldn’t muster a smile, but replied lightly enough, “We don’t know that, Sebar. If you gave me a few more days maybe I could have-“
As Mark’s voice began to darken, so did the atmosphere around the three and before Sebar could speak, Taylor intervened.
“Ah! Well, all’s almost said and done! And we made it in time right?”
Smiling a little, Sebar nodded.
Satisfied, Taylor turned and clapped Mark on the back, “Okay! I wish you the best of luck!”
“Wait, where are you going?” Mark called and he stopped, before turning around with a smile.
“I’m just a messenger, Malin. My job is done.” With that, he waved over his shoulder and he disappeared out the open doors.
As they closed once more with an echoing finality, a shiver ran down Mark Malin’s spine and the image of his nightmare flashed before his eyes.
Yet, the departure of Taylor had brought everyone else to life. Sebar went to stand by a chair at the head of the table and the rest each found their own chair to stand behind.
Mark found himself at the right of Sebar and he allowed his gaze to pass over the others around the table. Only seven, including he, were present- the empty chairs evidence of their past failures- and all of them wore somber expressions. This wasn’t a time for jokes, laughter or even smiles, as he’d seen scattered about before now. For any jokes would be half-hearted, any laughter hollow, and any smiles wistful.
This was the atmosphere of those attending a funeral, but one detail was different.
They were attending their own funeral.
The hopelessness was tangible, yet Sebar was wise to remind them that there was still hope for one thing.
“I’m not going to sugar coat it for you all. By deciding to follow through with this we have signed our own death warrants, but… we have also signed a contract for something much more important- enough that any sacrifice will be worth it.” Everyone’s eyes were on the older man, and the gloom in the air appeared to lift just a little.
But it wasn’t enough for Sebar. His hands slammed down on the table, shaking the ancient wood and causing several of them to jump. Mark glanced at the man questioningly.
“It’s important because this contract, this promise, will lead to a future for our children, their children and so forth! This will not be the end thanks to a noble cause that will ensure the continuation of our race!” Sebar’s voice rose to a tumultuous peak, until he finally raised his arms and shouted, “Be proud, be strong and be faithful because this is for the greater good!”
They all took up his cry, pumping their fists into the air and determination replacing the acceptance of death, because what one individual was more important than the whole? Sebar had struck on the one chord that all the men present could agree on.
However, one hung back, more unsure than the rest as everyone surged past the table to gather at the other side of the room. The side where an iron door now stood, even larger and grander than the ones he’d entered. The new resolve the others had gained couldn’t sit well with Mark no matter how hard he tried.
It had been the same ever since he had begun to have trouble sleeping and with that nightmare fresh in his mind… was this venture truly the only option left? His frown now wasn’t noticed, nor had his pleas to postpone the ritual and Sebar withdrew an ornate key, black as the door, and inserted it in the lock.
There was a series of clicks as it disengaged the complex mechanisms inside. Yet, it was hardly that simple. All their kind’s wit and prowess had been put forth into keeping that ominous door shut until this day, and to keep its contents safe.
Finally, all the barriers were lifted and it opened of its own accord. One by one they crossed the threshold and filed into the adjoining room.
Even lingering at the door way could not spare Mark the necessity to step through- right into a room identical to the one in his nightmare- no- his vision. Seeing the circular room sent a surge of certainty through his mind and body that it was no mere trepidation of what they were about to do.
But, as Sebar closed and locked the black door behind them- perhaps so none could back out- it seemed it was far too late for such instinctual warnings.
From then on, all their preparations from earlier came together just as they had practiced. Only, this time, it was for real, and their performance was a matter of life or death. While they positioned themselves, Mark noticed the pedestal in the center, another thing directly from his dream, but the goblet was still missing.
Despite months debating and constructing the upcoming ritual, Mark and everyone else present had never been in or even seen this room. Only Sebar and those above him had done more than hear talk of it, and it was yet another cause for hesitation.
Each person here, all men young, old and in between, were staking their lives on this ancient ritual performed only once in their race’s long history, and in a place wreathed in mystery.
Sending up a prayer for him and the other men, Mark took his place on the inside of the circle and the right side of the pedestal. The positions of each person were crucial in this type of ritual. Four were arranged on the outside as pillars to base the spell’s activation and three were in the inner circle, in a triangle around the stone pillar, black like everything else in the circular room. Mark was to be with Sebar, to take the front of the pillar facing north, and one other man took the left.
Though, they were of all different ages, they had all been chosen for a single reason- each man present was strong in magic.
But, would their magic be strong enough?
Sebar and those in charge appeared to think so. Yet, Mark still watched with narrow eyes as the older man busied himself in the back before finally turning to face them.
And in his hands was the goblet.
Mark’s stomach clenched and he swayed. He may have fallen if the man next to him hadn’t caught his shoulder.
He heard a voice in his ear. “Hey, are you okay?”
Nodding, he righted himself, but others had witnessed his dizzy spell.
“You sure?” another asked.
“He’s looking pretty pale,” someone else remarked.
The observations may have continued if Sebar hadn’t moved to stand before them, now grasping a dagger as well as the accursed goblet.
Mark was forced to mask his disgust as the ritual commenced.
“Aut jamen gahal doth a ta rav.”
Sebar’s chanting filled the room as he repeated the phrase twice over both the dagger and the goblet, which seemed to glint eerily in the light from the candles placed around the circle. When he finished, he rolled up his sleeve, baring the underside of his forearm, and placed the dagger blade against his skin.
The cut he made was clean and deep, cutting into the vein so the blood immediately spurted out and dripped into the goblet he placed underneath. A dark aura seeped from the goblet as it tasted Sebar’s blood and the feeling only increased as Sebar continued around the circle, repeating the blood- letting. At first, Mark believed only he noticed the malice as the cup gradually filled, but as the members of the outer circle finished offering their blood, he began to see the discomfort on their features.
And that discomfort would grow to fear sooner than he would have liked.
At last, Sebar stood with the goblet and dagger ready for Mark’s offering. Though his senses screamed for him to stop, he didn’t hesitate and bore his arm and his blood within to the twisted goblet. He winced from the tug of the blade in his skin, but squeezed his hand into a fist and allowed the crimson to drip into the waiting goblet.
When the last drop brought the blood to the brim it sizzled and a waft of darkness far blacker than before washed over them. Even Sebar’s face contorted for a moment, before it became neutral once more and he resumed his place at the pedestal.
He raised the goblet, and recited a prayer to the Goddess, one so old that its words had been all but forgotten and Mark found himself entranced with the others. Yet, as the words ended so did that calm before the storm, and Sebar set down the goblet quickly.
Everyone rushed to complete the ritual, and those on the outside immediately began muttering the spell. Their power radiated out before connecting them and striking the three around the pedestal. Mark jolted slightly from the rush of magic, made more powerful by the amount of people performing the spell and he began his own part.
He, with Sebar and the other man, were left the task of taking the spell’s power, concentrating it, adding a second layer of magic and then directing it into the goblet. This was the riskiest step and it could backfire if any of their concentrations wavered for a second.
As the ritual progressed, Mark could feel the strain of the spell as it drew strength from him and the others. Both his physical and mental strength grew taxed and he knew why this ritual hadn’t been attempted for over a thousand years.
No one had enough power or endurance to hold out for its entire duration. This… madness, there were supposed to be twelve people and even then, if you didn’t die from the effort than you’d be left too exhausted and weak to stand. A particular jarring shock went through Mark as the connection crackled and he ground his teeth.
There was a cry of pain beside him and he glimpsed blood running down the man’s face, the one who had stopped his earlier fall, and the veins standing out underneath his tight skin. Mark blinked sweat out of his eyes and grimaced, chanting faster and focusing on the goblet so hard his head began to ache.
He felt the slack as the hurt man’s concentration faded and he fought to keep the power connected.
But, it wasn’t over. Screams and groans erupted throughout the room and the stink of blood pervaded all else.
Mark squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep himself from looking.
Damn, this wasn’t happening. He clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms and crimson dripped to the ground.
Though, the deaths of the five who had originally been part of those to perform the ritual had seemed strange to him when he heard the news, he hadn’t paid it a second thought. But now, as Mark heard what was going on around him, he realized that it had been far too convenient. The cause of death had all been food poisoning, but just how could five people get food poisoning one after another? The first time could very well be a fluke, but the others…
Or more importantly… who could have poisoned them?
Mark’s eyes snapped open at the revelation and he beheld a sight that was all too familiar. He could only stare in horror as the connection snapped like a thousand tiny threads and blood poured from countless gashes that had appeared on everyone’s bodies. They fell to the floor with guttural screams and lay there convulsing, crimson spreading out in viscous pools.
Then the chain reaction reached his own body, and he was racked with an agony he had never felt before. Blood rose up his throat and filled his mouth and he collapsed to his knees vomiting red. He didn’t know how it could go so horribly wrong, but there they were, fated to drown in their own blood.
But, he wasn’t ready to die. He had a family and a home. He had a future, and he had thrown it away, for what? A failed experiment?
No, he wouldn’t stand for it! Mark staggered to his feet and looked around desperately for a way to escape. He had managed a leaden step when he felt something pulling at his pant leg. Glancing down, he saw Sebar, eyes crying red and dragging his body forward with his arms. His legs had been crushed beyond repair. A feeling of the utmost disgust and rage towards whatever could’ve done this almost cost Mark his reasoning.
But, a single broken sentence brought him back.
“Mark… the goblet… you must… complete the ritual…” Sebar gasped, blood flecking his lips as he spoke. “… Please.”
He felt Sebar’s grip slacken the same moment he witnessed the life flee from his eyes.
Mark kneeled down and closed the older man’s eyes as a last respect. Then, clutching his chest where his heart threatened to burst from the invisible pressure suddenly all around him, he stumbled up to the pedestal where the goblet still stood as a lone sentinel, ushering in death.
As he reached the pedestal, a bout of coughing almost sent him to the ground again when he grabbed the corner of the pedestal and leaning against it, pulled himself up until he was hunched over. He was looking straight into the goblet and seeing its contents just as he had in his vision.
Because it was happening, just as he had seen the night before- the blood, the bodies and what was in this horrid goblet was worse than all of them combined. In the frothing blood of those who now lay pitiful and broken were images straight out of hell. The shadows inside the goblet stretched out and reached hungrily for Mark and he recoiled impulsively.
Then, he remembered Sebar’s final wish and the only way this horrible incident could be redeemed. The only way his family could possibly forgive him.
With a single-minded determination, he shot out his hand, grabbed the goblet and held it in the air for a single moment where he uttered the final words of the ritual: Oiju cak duam bet.
This is death.
Mark infused the end of the spell with the remainder of his magical power and strength, and let the goblet drop.
It shattered, and, with it, the terrible pictures and grasping shadows.
Breathing heavily, Mark stared at the shards before he collapsed, hacking up blood.
He lay there twitching, waiting for death to take him, knowing it hovered nearby collecting the souls of his companions, yet also knowing that their sacrifices weren’t for nothing.
Yet, as his breathing grew shallow and his vision became blurred, something new entered the blood- splattered scene.
Tak. Tak. Tak. The sound of shoes on stone; footsteps where there was silence before.
Tak. Tak. Tak. Tak. Mark saw black loafers appear in his line of his sight and just as he did, they stopped walking.
Though he wondered about the owner of the shoes, Mark’s thoughts were fading when he heard a voice.
“Well, well… it seems like we have a stubborn one.”
Mark shot back into alertness. He knew that voice! He had hoped to never hear it again, but here it was.
“Hm? Can you hear me?” He heard shuffling and then saw the owner of the voice go down on one knee.
Suddenly, a face appeared- boyish with blonde hair and dark eyes of unfathomable depth- a hated face.
His full lips turned down in a frown. “Hum, for a survivor you look like hell.”
“I… won’t… survive.”
At Mark’s cracked voice, the boy’s eyes widened. Then his lips formed a cruel smile.
“Oh? Well, I hope, at least, you can stick around to see one last act.”
He climbed to his feet and Mark craned his head painfully to look up, his nearly dead curiosity rekindled. The boy glanced down and smiled.
“Will you watch? For me?”
Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned to look for something and when he found it, bent down. In his hands were the broken shards of the goblet.
Still smiling and glancing at Mark, he cupped his hands around the pieces, blew on them and then opened his hands again.
Mark choked on his shock. In the boy’s hands was the goblet, whole once again.
But that wasn’t the end. He held out his arms as if embracing the room itself and tilted his head back. His eyes appeared to flash gold and for a moment Mark was blinded by a white light, so bright it seared his already tortured eyes.
Only when it abated almost completely did he open his eyes… and see that the bodies of everyone had been reduced to piles of gray ash.
He let out a cry of strangled rage. “You…!”
“Yes, me,” the boy agreed nonchalantly and crouched to scoop a pile of ash into the goblet before standing up again.
In an instant Mark put the pieces together and the result was a fury so immense his battered body found the capability to move.
As the boy walked by, Mark lunged forward and grabbed his ankle.
“You… why did you do this?!”
He glanced down at the man with an expression of faint amusement. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Interfere with the ritual… kill everyone…. Just like the last time!”
“The last time?” he raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure I wouldn’t have allowed anyone to survive.”
“No… not me,” Mark coughed, blood staining his lips and his hands. “My father and many others…” His stomach roiled and he glared at the boy with immeasurable loathing. “Why did you do it?” he spat.
With a bored sigh, the boy shook Mark off and began walking towards the door, but before he reached it he paused as if he had another thought.
His face held a peculiar expression and he appraised Mark.
“Why’d I do it, you ask?” The man merely glared, bloody and broken, but far from defeated. The boy exhaled, then smiled. “Because I have something to protect.”
“Something… to protect?” Mark stared at him in growing confusion. What could this monster have to protect but his own self-interests?
He flicked his hand and opened the huge black door. “Yes, and I’m sure you do too… oh wait, you did.”
The boy gifted Mark with a last raise of the goblet and his twisted smile, and then was gone.
But his words lingered.
He and six others had attempted a ritual to stop an ancient darkness from awakening. They had succeeded, but at a great price. And their success was met with a new problem. Mark had seen that boy once before and had direly hoped he would not be able to return. There was the saying that darkness bred more darkness and the boy was the epitome of that phrase.
He was the darkness to all darkness, but he had been wrong on one point.
Mark could continue to protect; his family, his friends, his home- and that was exactly what he intended to do.
This is the prologue of my novel, Ashes with Blood, which is currently being rewritten. As a result, this prologue is entirely new and I figured I might as well post it here and see what kind of input I get. Any feedback would be much appreciated and be sure to tell me if this would interest you enough to read the entire book or even buy it!
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