Page 177 of Degradation

“Blood of the womb, river of years, feed the earth with love and tears.” The Senate chant.

As the final woman, the crone, raises her dagger, you can see her hesitate for the tiniest of moments before she draws in a deep breath, and she plunges the dagger in between her thighs.

“Blood of the last, black as night, seal the oath in shadow’s sight.” The Senate say.

Around the entire crowd is silent, as if they’re collectively holding their breath.

Magnus takes a step closer to the know heavily bleeding women.

“A woman sacrificed herself to bring our saviour into this world.” Magnus says. “These women here have sacrificed themselves as an offering to me as your new Chapter Lord.”

The women bow their heads, and the movement is so quick you almost miss it. A flash of gold, a flash of candlelight on those bright red, saturated blades.

In one quick motion they force the blades into their chests, burying them right up to the hilt.

Magnus drops to his knees, cradling each as they topple over, as they fall into a heap of pretty silk and rapidly flowing blood.

Any normal man would be squeamish at the sight, but we’re not normal, we never have been.

Magnus stays where he is, kneeling in their blood, as they draw their last ragged, pained breaths.

When he gets to his feet, he spreads his hands wide, as the crowd join in with the chanting. The sound of it makes my hair stand on end, sends goosebumps up my arms. It’s moments like this when I realise the might of the Brethren, the power that our leaders have, all of it.

Titus starts to struggle more and as Magnus is given one last dagger, we all know why.

My brother kisses the blade, murmuring words that none of us are meant to hear. Words precious to this sacred ritual.

He straddles Titus’s body, with his legs either side of the man’s waist. Titus tries to buck him off and I wonder then why they didn’t drug him too. He’d be far more compliant, far easier to handle.

But that’s it, isn’t it? Magnus doesn’t want it easy. He’s like me, he relishes the fight. He enjoy proving his superiority, and what better way to do it, than right here, in the Cathedral, with all of us watching on.

Magnus plunges the blade into Titus’s chest. Titus cries out, his feet kicking against the golden chains.

Bit by bit, Magnus starts to carve through the flesh, carve through the bone. Bits of it flicker off, bits of body mass, slices of peeled skin and muscle. Magnus seems to have some sort ofsuperhuman strength as he tosses the blade and claws at the gaping wound he’s made with his bare hands.

He pulls out Titus’s still beating heart. It’s so red, it’s dripping with blood. Unfortunately for the man, he’s still alive. He stares at it, gasping his last few breaths.

Magnus gives him a sickening grin before he lowers his face and tears a huge chunk out of it with his teeth.

“Fuck,” I growl, even though I knew it was coming. Most Chapter Lords take a chaste bite out of their rivals, but not Magnus. No, he’s all about the theatrics. About making a statement.

I’ve seen enough horror in Oblivion, I’ve seen almost every fucked-up thing imaginable and yet, this moment here, it feels like it’s seared into my eyeballs, seared into my brain.

The Senate lift their arms, raising them to the high heavens, as they declare Magnus is now our Chapter Lord.

But the minute they do, the minute those church bells start ringing out, it feels like all hell erupts.

Bullets start ricocheting off the stone walls, people scream as they duck for cover, the crowd beneath up becomes a mass of jumbling bodies, trying to get out.

I toss my mask and grab Paitlyn, throwing her over my shoulder. I know I should fight, I know I should help my brothers and yet, my main concern is her. I need to get her to safety, need to ensure she’s protected before I can do anything else.

I rush down the stairwell. Damned medieval thing is so old my feet stumble on the stupidly narrow triangle stone steps.

I barely get halfway when I collide with something.

I blink, seeing the barrel, seeing who is stood there, holding it, pointing it right at me.

“Give me, my daughter.” She hisses. “Give me. Paitlyn.”