A young girl in a black and gray robe grinned as she wiped blood from the cold stone floor of the Room of Sacrifice with a sponge. The blood splashed around as she cleaned, clinging to her clothing. She paid it no mind, it didn’t bother her anymore. After a year spent in these conditions, and with more than a gentle prodding from the Mind Alter, her personality had undergone drastic changes. No more was she the timid and helpless captive of the Dusk Crusade, but instead just another manic and cruel member.

Of course, this change was not naturally induced, but the combination of effects of exposure to the strange and otherworldly gas Mind Alter and the effects that living as a captive had on her mental state. While she had immediately become strangely disturbed, continuous exposure to the gas had caused even greater changes to her personality, bringing her further into the folds of the Crusade.

“Cultist Marissa.” Called a weary voice from the doorway. The young girl rose and turned, her horrific smile still plastered on her face.

“Doctor Caleb! How great it is to see you.” Marissa took no note of the blood and gore that covered her robes and hands, giving a brief curtsy. “Is there something you need, Doctor?”

The old man’s nose wrinkled as he watched the blood and bits of human flesh drop from Marissa’s hands and clothes. He suppressed his disgust and began to speak. “Now that you’ve been accepted as a part of the Crusade, you’ll be attending the ceremony tomorrow. It is time you join us in making offerings.”

Marissa giggled, cupping her face with her bloody palms, much to the dismay of the doctor. “Oh, joy!” She cried in a soft and sweet voice unbefitting of the vile expression of delight on her face. “I can’t wait. How many offerings will we be making?” Her eyelashes fluttered as she thought enviously of those fortunate enough to have the honor of being sacrificed.

“Just one.” The doctor said, forcefully wrenching his eyes away from the bloody handprints on her face. “I don’t believe I need to tell you how important the ceremony is. Do not mess it up. The offering was very… useful to me. Don’t make a mess of his body, I might find some more use of it yet.”

Marissa lowered her hands, pouting. “That’s no fun, Doctor. Everyone else got to be as messy as they wanted on their first ceremony!” She playfully stomped her foot, splashing bloody water everywhere. This only made her giggle more, as well as made Doctor Caleb even more disgusted.

“Just do as you’re told, Cultist. You want to make the Dark Ones happy, don’t you?” When Doctor Caleb spoke again, his voice had become strangely distorted and grainy. Marissa’s eyes flickered with a purple hue for a brief moment, before returning to normal.

“I want nothing more than to please the Dark Ones.” Her voice was devoid of emotion, entirely monotonous and lifeless. As eerie to Doctor Caleb as her insanity was, he couldn’t help but shiver when he heard her speak in such a calm and detached manner.

He waved his hand to dismiss her, and ordered her to return to cleaning before leaving the Room of Sacrifice. After closing the door behind him, he shook himself slightly, and rubbed his temples. “These Altered freaks,” he muttered beneath his breath. “I can’t stand being face to face with them, especially her. As interesting as it is to see the effects of it, being so close to someone as mad as they are is simply terrifying.”

…

Time passed unbearably slow. Callum sat awake the entire night, unable to sleep. He knew the questioning was about to begin. It had been days of their intimidation tactics. They even went as far as to using some sort of strange torture technique, or perhaps it was some sort of gas that would compel him to tell them what they want to know. He couldn’t be certain.

However, he had no intentions of telling them anything, gas or no gas. Their intimidation techniques were no match against his stubborn determination. Eventually, the moment he was waiting for came, as his most hated of enemies returned, already beginning to chat when the two met inside the room serving as Callum’s holding cell.

“I guess Boss isn’t so angry anymore.” One of the two fools in tattered clothing said, breathing out a sigh of relief. “I don’t know what I’d do if he put us back in the Cell.”

“Ya got that right, brother. We got real lucky this time.”

“What I don’t get is why we keep getting put in charge of this guy. I don’t like him, brother.”

They chatted in their raspy and loud whispering tone. The fools were stupidly unaware of their own volume of speech, which aggravated Callum deeply. It wasn’t enough that he was kidnapped by strangers, and tormented without even being questioned once. The only voices he’d heard since the kidnapping have belonged to individuals who were beyond unintelligent. It was a torture of its own unique flavor, far superior to the physical pain of asphyxiation, or the maddening silence of the dark room.

“I know what ya mean, brother. It creeps me out how he can see us. Ya think he’s looking at us right now?” The fool shivered. “Ya think we should gouge his eyes out? Maybe his ears too?”

His companion shook his head. “You idiot, we have to bring him there in one piece. Remember when Christopher carved up one of the sacrifices, and Boss got so mad that he made him into one of the Altered? If you wanna be a slave, don’t drag me along with you.”

“Don’t call me a slave ya bastard. You’re the slave. Ya mother’s a slave. All of ya ancestors, ya entire family, they’re all slaves.”

“I ought to tear you limb from limb you stupid little —”

“I think I heard Boss calling, we better get to moving him, brother.”

Callum watched their circus act unfold. His frustration was steadily building throughout the course of their argument, their empty bickering serving as a source of endless woe. In fact, he was so frustrated that he nearly missed the mention of a sacrifice. Only nearly, though, and so his frustration quickly turned into fear and anxiety.

Finally, their actions made sense. The lack of contact with others, the repeated exposure to a strange gas, and the deprivation of food. It all made sense now, it was in preparation for a ritual. A ritual that he would not be walking away from.

The two fools ended their argument and began to move Callum, who was trembling, this time out of fear, not anger. He was prepared to die if it meant preventing these bastards from getting information out of him, but that wasn’t their goal at all. His death would only serve to help them. And of course, he didn’t want to die at all, if he could help it. All of his stubborn determination deflated and disappeared. It seemed as though it was merely empty bravado in the end.

His fear only intensified the further they walked. The grating sound of the chair on the floor coupled with the pounding of his heart served as an orchestra to his damnation. His head throbbed, and a sense of despair rooted itself deeply within him, ripping open a void that sat firmly in his gut and weighing him down.

He had never felt so powerless before. At least when he was being kicked out of his family home, he had his own options. He had paths that he could choose, a future of his own making. Now, however, it was all being ripped away from him. He would have no future, only the cold solitude of death.

Perhaps he wouldn’t even be so lucky. Perhaps he would suffer torment in Hell, or feel his soul be torn apart. Perhaps he would become a mindless undead being, roaming as an unliving servant of the very bastards who kidnapped him and killed him.

He arrived at the Room of Sacrifice. The entire trip was a blur, he couldn’t recall clearly what had happened or his thoughts as he was dragged. Callum soon found himself on a large stone slab, his shirt ripped open to expose his chest and abdomen. He was pinned and strapped down, bound tightly once more. The figures around him were all hooded and masked, staring at him almost greedily through the small holes for their eyes.

He gasped as they plunged his head into a dark and foul smelling bag, cutting off his vision entirely. He began to yell, but after a punch of two to the stomach, he was left winded and obedient. They tightened the end of the bag around his throat with a cord. Callum was terrified, his senses groggy and muddled.

Something splashed on him, a liquid of some sort. He barely felt it when it landed on his face, but when they began to splash it on his chest and arms he found it to be alarmingly cold. He could not even begin to imagine what it was they were pouring on him. Perhaps it was blood, or even piss. Against his better judgment, he began to struggle and shout once more. This time, they didn’t bother with him, and continued their preparations, dumping egregious amounts of the unknown substance on his body. After a while, they stopped splashing him with the liquid, and then the ritual truly began.