The torch flames flickered as the wind paced around, whispering through the cracks of the old stone walls.
On the altar, the body writhed—blood spilling, trickling, circling the stone like a living river.
Men in black robes gathered around, chanting incantations in otherworldly tongues. Their voices trembled, their bodies vibrated, tears spilling as if they mourned and worshipped at once.
I stood among them.
Trying to recall my memories.
Trying to understand where I was—why I was here.
Then it struck me.
"David Becknner. Age 32.
Detective.
Working non-stop—twenty-four seven.
Investigating a case after a series of strange reports: kidnappings, satanic sightings, occult behavior.
For months, nothing. No lead, no clue.
Just shadows."
I was about to give up. Then—suddenly—a lead appeared. A small, fragile thread that led me to this place. To this town.
A town so silent it felt alive.
The lead brought me deeper. Undercover. Until I stood here—among them.
Among the cult I had been chasing.
"Their aim was to—"
Before I could finish the thought, it appeared.
Not Satan. Not quite. A demon—or something close enough to make no difference.
It reached out, gripping my head in both hands.
And then—
Nothing.
Darkness.
When I opened my eyes again, I couldn't see the faces around me. Couldn't move.
The wind had gone still.
The chanting had not.
I looked down—
and realized I was bound to the altar.