Page 101 of Degradation (The Brethren Lords #3)

Devin

A s I hear him walking down the staircase, it feels like there is a million questions whirling around in my head.

We got our pardon.

We’re leaving England.

And though we’re not done with the Brethren, I’m at least done with this particular Chapter of it. And more importantly, done with my brothers too.

I can feel Paitlyn beside me, I can feel her excitement. She’s clearly happy to be finally leaving and though I have some concerns around the details, I don’t voice them right now.

Below, I can see Magnus appearing. He has a crown of thorns on his head and his great purple robe cascades behind him, making him look like he’s some sort of emperor.

He’s wearing nothing underneath, he’s completely starkers, and his toned body looks more muscular than I remember.

Maybe the fucker’s been working out this entire time, building himself up and that’s half the reason he’s so stressed.

I wouldn’t put it past him, he’s certainly vain enough.

The Senate start chanting louder, all of them holding a black candle that flickers in the limited light, reflecting off all of those golden masks.

I squeeze Paitlyn’s hand, murmuring each new detail. She may not be able to watch it with her own eyes, but I know she wants to know what’s going on. Afterall, it’s not every day that we get a new Chapter Lord.

When Conrad appears, he too is wearing a nice thick robe, only his is black, like the ones me and Paitlyn are wearing. In his hand is a heavy, gold chain and he keeps the links taunt, pulling it enough that the naked man on the other end stumbles and falls.

Titus has a thick, heavy collar around his neck, the kind you see in Oblivion. Only, this one is jewel encrusted, and it sparkles, catching the light as he jerks and twists.

He’s laid out on that same crucifix that Paitlyn was fucked on, so many years ago. He fights more as his limbs are tied down and the Senate moves to surround him.

Magnus stands at his feet, staring at his body.

Titus is the final sacrifice in this ritual. But he will not be the first.

A softer, lighter chant carries to where we’re stood. We see the three women, as they walk out, as they dance, as they laugh like this is the greatest moment of their lives.

Each of them is wearing a sheer, silver fabric that gives glimpses of their breasts and bodies as they dance.

One woman is so young she reminds me of Paitlyn when I first saw her, she’s meant to represent the virgin in this performance.

The second is a woman in her forties. Her body still looks in good shape, but you can see she’s had children, that she’s grown soft.

She represents the mother. The third woman has long flowing grey hair, her body is wrinkled, and her back is slightly arched.

She plays the crone, the last part of womanhood before death.

If Magnus were adhering to the rules, then his precious wife would be one of them. Whether willing or not, she’d be stood there, ready to make her sacrifice while all these eager eyes watched on.

I glance around, spotting her right at the back, almost obscured by the shadows. She’s wearing a white dress, a silk, slinky thing, and in her hands are three golden daggers all neatly piled up.

My lips curl as I realise the part she’ll play, the way Magnus has twisted this ritual to ensure no one can condemn her anymore. He’s turned her into a saint. He’s made her beyond reproach.

She steps forward, moving more gracefully than I could imagine. Her features reveal nothing about the thoughts that must be spinning in that head. She looks calm, resolute, as if she was born to play this role, even though everyone here knows she wasn’t.

Magnus turns his head, watching her approach with an obvious approval. She drops to her knees before him, holding up the daggers and he quickly takes them from her hands.

She shifts around, out of the way, but keeps herself in a position of subjugation with her back arched over in a bowing position.

The three dancing women spin around Magnus once, twice, three times before they come to a stop, facing him. One by one they drop to their knees with their hands held up high above their heads.

“Chapter Lord.” They call, and their voices sound breathless.

Magnus places a dagger in each of their hands.

I narrow my eyes, trying to see if they’re trembling at all, if there’s any show of fear in their bodies.

It’s an honour to be where they are, one of the greatest honours a Brethren Lady can ever wish for.

I know their families will be rewarded with more than just gold.

And yet, I’m almost certain these women are drugged up to their eyeballs.

They look too happy to be here, too happy to die.

The first woman, the youngest, lowers her dagger, lining it up with her cunt and she impales herself on it quickly, hissing as the blood immediately spurts out.

“Blood of the first, pure as dawn, open the gate, let the veil be gone.” The Senate chant in unison.

She pulls the dagger out, then waits, clearly struggling now, as the next woman follows.

“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 of superhuman 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.”