Trigger Warning: Depictions of blood, violence, gore and death. Enjoy, you've been warned. 3
The depths of the remote and sacred cave were shrouded in shadow. Light had not reached its cavernous breadth in eons. And for good reason. A cloaked figure, draped in black, stalked across the bed of limestone. The guised creature felt the immense power pulsing just underneath the prison of rock. Power that was more than eager to be unleashed from its cage. The hinges were rusted and the magic that infused its bondage had weakened with the passage of time. But the chains persisted in keeping the old god confined to another plane of existence; distancing the ancient deity from its sycophants. But it's power nonetheless still lurked in the forgotten realm that it had been banished to.
The veiled figure stilled for a moment, breathing in the primeval presence that still lingered in the damp, musty cavern. It was, for all intents and purposes, a makeshift crypt that desecrated the entity into an existence of absent mindedness. Following its imprisonment, it's devout followers all but dwindled. They simply didn't know how to bear being kept in the dark from their god. Their gifts and abilities being ceremoniously stripped away. They had moved on to more tangible and more easily accessible divine beings. They inducted themselves into the cult of amnesia; whose allure made its followers forget where their loyalties laid. But the concealed character did not. He was old enough to remember the power bestowed by the old god, the glorious days when rivers ran red with blood and the soil was littered with battered bodies. The delicious scent of death and decay had perfumed the air. The demons and vampires the god enlisted had free reign over this god-forsaken land. They fed and fucked when and how they wanted as surely as the wind blew. Now they were confined to the shadows; only able to lurk in disguise. They were stifled by insignificant humans, no less.
He blamed the wretched witches for that.
The undisclosed creature peered around the cavern, its advanced eyesight cutting through the darkness. Jagged shards of fluorite protruded out of the walls, taunting the creature with their protective properties. Its rough surface was magically engraved with enchantments that were strategically designed to keep the old god contained in its prison. They were also intended to keep demons and vampires from entering its chambers. It's luster and effectiveness had, to the creature's fortune, faded. The witches had deeply miscalculated the effectiveness of a demon's memory and loyalty. They didn't count on the demon waiting ever so patiently, just as his master had for centuries. A grave misjudgment that the creature was grateful for. His unnaturally pallid and languid digits grasped at a fragment of fluorite and harshly pulled. The crystal splintered off, the swirling of colors being obliterated into dust and chalk. The demon's hand hissed in protest, the skin sizzling with small wisps of smoke erupting from the wounds. Brimstone, acrid and foul, permeated the air. He spat on the ground, cursing the witches. The demon repeated his motions to the remaining gems that littered the walls until his palms were consumed in scorching blisters. Blood and puss oozed from the wounds. The veiled creature knew that the temporary pain would be worth it in due time.
With all the protective crystals removed, the demon sat back to admire his handiwork. His maimed hands dripped black blood, the droplets strewn across the floor. The cave sighed, the stone walls expanding and then compressing ever so slightly. The masked creature waited for any other traces of life to stir from their slumber. He mumbled a long-forgotten prayer; a devilish hymn swathed in an ancient tongue. The language had been consumed and banished into oblivion for centuries now. It was erased off the lips of countless demons, vampires, and witches alike.
But this demon remembered.
He was determined to not let the old ways sink away into the quicksands of time. So, he waited with baited breath for his masters return and did what was expected of him. The loyal follower of the old god amassed his own band of creatures and sycophants in his creator's absence. He was consolidating power and influence just as his master was conserving his. A gentle hum radiated from the floor, a long-awaited song being sung from the neglected abyss. The demon kneeled, his breath wavering in an unsteady exhale, another prayer unfurling from his lips. A kiss was placed on the bed of rock, black tears falling from sunken, charcoal eyes.
The murmurs stilled as the vibrations dwindled to silence.
The demon sighed. He figured his master would require a more...substantial tribute. Prayer was only ever a mere primer. The power that lurked below needed something else. Something much more brutal and gruesome was in order. The demon stood up and turned on his heel to exit. His eyes, black as pitch where the sclera's should be, were blown wide with anticipation. Straggled veins snaked their way on the outskirts of the hollowed orbs. The sun blazed against the demon's draped figure, the layers of black cloth intending to protect his ashen skin. The fel iron ring that encased one his fingers burned in suspense. He stopped at the mouth of the cave to stand in front of a woman.
Her mouth had been gagged, her hands and feet bound by thick ropes. The woman's hair was stringy with oil and her body putrid from lack of hygiene. The demon had kept her captive for days as a contingency plan for his master. He needed a sacrifice to finally bridge the divide between the two realms of existence. And she was it. Her eyes were imbued with fear and absolute terror flooded through her. He could hear her heart, weak with fatigue, circulate the blood and adrenaline with fearsome beats. The unbridled dread was positively delectable. He grabbed her by her hair and dragged her into the darkness, the depths swallowing her the deeper the demon pulled. Her muffled screams delighted her captor even more. Sadism was a demon's most-beloved pastime.
"Hush now, darling. Don't be afraid. Your pitifully trivial life has now been given a divine purpose. You should be grateful." His voice hissed, like a sly snake ready to strike. The captive woman's eyes clamped shut as heavy tears slid down her soiled face. "Your tears...your cries of anguish...delight me. They are a wondrous work of art; a truly gorgeous symphony to be heard." The demons face was some mere inches away from hers as his slimy, forked tongue darted out to lap up the salty moisture. He moaned in pleasure. "Delicious." Elongated fingernails, sharp as razors, dragged across the apples of her gaunt cheeks. Bright red blood welled up from the wound before dripping. An expression of finality fell over her features. She knew her life would be over. "Oh, don't worry. I won't make it quick. The master enjoys a lengthy torture session."
After hours had passed and copious amounts of blood had been spilled, the demon finally halted his twisted ministrations. The woman was stark naked, splayed spread eagle across the damp bed of rock. Her essence clung desperately to the realm of the living. Barely. She was a fighter and it made the demon taking her life so much more satisfying. The horrid creature gazed admiringly at his work, sucking the coagulated blood from underneath his claws. He inspected his sacrificial work of art; the canvas being her maimed body. Her blue eyes had been gouged out and her teeth had been yanked from the root. She was beyond mutilated. The expunged body parts were strategically dispersed in positions that were methodically votive in nature. Various ancient symbols of the old god were expertly carved into her skin. They were physical incantations; words of demon magic designed to invoke a primordial evil.
It was time.
The demon kneeled and bowed before his sacrifice. His skeletal digits cupped the woman's throat, searching out her pulse. It was faint, but still present. It was time to extract the battered woman's soul. It was the final act of his offering to commune with his liege.
The demon leaned over his captive, his breath fanning over her mouth. Tendrils of shadow unfurled from his eyelids as his mouth unhinged itself, bearing rows of jagged teeth. He breathed in the woman's irregular exhale. A blue fog emanated from her lips to his. It was a transfer of energy.
It was a transfer of souls.
The woman's fleeting breaths of life were siphoned from her dying lungs. Her skin shriveled and cracked, adhering itself flat against her skeleton.
She was gone.
"Thank you for your sacrifice." The demon didn't care. It was merely a formality; a common courtesy. Her death was collateral damage for a much greater purpose. He cupped his mangled hands over his thin lips and exhaled. A wisp of blue energy furled itself into a sphere. It pulsed with life. If he listened closely, he could almost hear the girl's tormented screams. She would never know true peace. Her soul would be transferred to the old god, her spirit forever under his control. The demon stroked the soul orb with a tentative finger and was tempted to taste it. He decided against it. Speaking to his overlord was a more pressing matter than his appetite for her life essence.
The demon closed his beady black eyes and focused; the demon blood burning with the last of his remaining power. Extracting souls without consuming them directly after took a vast toll on his vile body. His frail form convulsed with prayer, his voice consumed in demonic tongues. He recited a summoning chant at breakneck speed, repeating the incantations repeatedly. The sphere that housed the sacrificed woman's soul faintly drifted away from the demon's palms toward the ceiling of rock. A field of energy radiated from the orb and knocked the demon down to his brittle knees.
He didn't cease the summoning spell. He was determined to, at the very least, converse with his master. It had been centuries of not hearing his voice and sometimes he swore he couldn't recall it at all. It was times such as those in which his faith in the old god was tested. It never truly wavered. Not even for a moment.
The orb emitted a shrill ring that was deafeningly loud. The demon clasped his palms over his ears to stifle the boisterous shriek. It silenced itself before pulsing one last time. The mass of soul suddenly imploded as pieces of life dispersed into shards. The explosion let out a banshee's wail, it's cries bouncing off the walls as if the cave was an echo chamber. The frequency of the sound wave was so violent that a crack splintered in the bed of rock below the demon's feet where the slain women's cadaverous body lay. The ground fractured, a cracking sound emanating from deep within, like a fissure forcing open the depths of a lake frozen over with ice. The bed of rock caved in and swallowed the woman's body in with it. It looked like a sinkhole that led straight into the underworld or into some long ago forgotten path into another realm.
The demon scurried into the depression, searching amongst the rubble for a sign. What he found made his breath hitch. A door made wholly of fluorite stood in front of him. It was the only barrier that stood between him and his master; between this plane and the next. He placed his lips delicately against its magically inhibitory surface, his lips singeing with blisters.
"Oh, my lord. I've finally found you after all these years." The demon attempted to open the door. It didn't budge. The magical bindings that kept his master imprisoned were stronger than the crystals he had easily destroyed above. Their magic had, for the most part, stood the test of time. The demon sighed, his shoulders hunched in deflation.
He didn't expect the gentle rumbling that stirred him from his dejected thoughts. Something was awakening. And that something...was him.
"M-master? Is that you?" The demon's voice was tentative with hope. A booming, omnipresent voice pierced through the rubble.
Yes, my child. You have risen me from my slumber. The demon couldn't contain his excitement as he cried out in joy. Numerous prayers to the old god escaped his lips.
You've done well. Your faith has remained and endured where so many others had abandoned it. You shall be rewarded for such fearsome loyalty, Abraxas.
Abraxas cried, black tears streaming down his face. He hadn't heard his given name in so long. It was overwhelming. He touched his fel iron ring, forged specially for him by his master in demon fire, and kissed it. This moment was just as much as a gift as the piece of jewelry.
Open your palms and accept a gift. A small taste of my power that I've been accumulating all these centuries. You shall be in need of it in the times to come.
Sand escaped from a minuscule hole in the wall adjacent to the door. It trickled out painfully slow. The grains collected themselves into a pile before animating in swirls that wrapped around Abraxas' cloaked body. He opened his mouth, ready to accept whatever gift he was about to be bestowed. It invaded his airways and embedded itself into his lungs where it absorbed into his ancient bloodstream. He started to levitate, his frail body overcome with violent energy.
It was over as quickly as it had started. He felt different; like he has metamorphized into something more untouchably formidable. Demon fire licked at his veins, ready to be released at his command. His master had truly blessed him. "Thank you, master. Your gifts are always bountiful to those who serve."
Your work is not yet complete, my child. You've only broken a minor part of this horrid spell that binds me so.
"What else do I need to do? Ask of me what you will, and I will do it in your name."
I require a witch. A direct descendant from one of the harpies that banished me to this realm. Your ilk has been following him. Secure the boy. Only he can break it.
Abraxas was befuddled, his hairless brows furrowing together. "But how will I get the witch to break the spell on his own accord?" His ring warmed in response.
Your ring, my child. Persuade him to wear it and his powers will diminish. Abduct him and manipulate his affections for the wolf. He cannot evade the trap of love. They seldom do.
"Yes, master. As you command."
Go. Carry out your master's will and return to me with the boy witch in tow.
Abraxas clamored his way out of the debris, a smug smile playing at his lips. This encounter had gone much more fruitful than he had ever anticipated.
Nal'Gazoth, the Harbinger of Death and Destroyer of Worlds, would soon be liberated from the chains that bound him.
And Abraxas would be the one to do it.
AN: I decided to dedicate a whole chapter the other side. It just felt weird to suddenly go back to Klaine after all that. Sorry for the sadism! I wanted to establish how twisted the bad guys are. Now that the antagonists are introduced, I can focus more on the budding relationships between our lovely Klaine. As always, I love and welcome reviews and constructive critiques. 3