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Refenial ran down the alley as it made several twists and turns before coming out onto a wide deserted street.

He came to a stop, looking left and right. The boy hadn't come this way. Nia must have picked the right direction.

He was just about to stop when he saw the old man who'd been the spring fool. He was standing in front of the door of a house.

Old Father Tun was his name if Refenial remembered correctly.

The man was glancing from side to side nervously before he knocked on the door.

Refenial pulled himself to the alley's wall, curious at the bitter-looking man's paranoid behaviour.

The man knocked again, harder this time.

After a long moment, the door opened with a thudding noise as it briefly stuck.

A man dressed in a long cloak and hood stuck his head out.

Refenial's breath caught in his throat. The colour of the green cloak and the exact symbols were different, but they looked to be the same type of markings as the ones he always saw on the red cloaks in his dreams.

"Your late, brother." The cloaked man said coldly to Old Father Tun.

"I know that, Kirn. I didn't choose to be the fucking fool, and today of all days."

"Remember to call me brothe-" The man's complaints were cut off as Tun entered the house, and the door was shut.

Refenial couldn't walk away. This was the first clue as to what was happening since he'd woke.

He snuck towards the house. It was freestanding with a wood and stone downstairs and a wooden upstairs. The downstairs shutters were closed. The ones for the upstairs window weren't, but it was too high to see anything other than the ceiling.

He reached the house and began to sneak around the outside to see if he could see in.

The gap between the house and its neighbour was small and clearly disused as it was overgrown, not to the point where it was impassible, but it took him a little while to sneak around the back.

Behind the house was a small disused patch of overgrown plants. He'd have considered it a back garden if there was any sign of any gardening ever being done there.

He looked around and spotted a window with open shutters downstairs. He crept to it and looked in.

Inside was a simple room with wooden rafters. It had been stripped of all furniture other than a single large wooden table. The walls had been covered with detailed markings, the markings of scriptic magic, just like in his nightmares.

He squinted in at the writing. It felt wrong, he saw several symbols he remembered from his nightmares, but they looked inaccurate, shaky and poorly made.

He remembered Hildegard's warning back when she'd still gone by the name Old Mother Hecate. She'd warned that even a small mistake in scripitic magic could have disastrous consequences.

The door to the room opened, and Refenial froze, hoping the overgrowth would be enough to hide him. Old Father Tun came through the door, wearing one of the green robes with strange markings, the hood down.

Another man followed behind. Refenial confirmed it was the same man as at the door when he heard him speak a moment later. "The ritual has very specific timing, brother. If we'd missed it, it would have been over a year before we could have tried again."

"I keep telling you, Kirn, you little brat, stop calling me brother."

Kirn sighed, "It's in the book. Certain levels of decorum are expected. It will help with the flow of the ritual."

Tun grunted, "Well, I'm here now, so let's get this done. Where's your wife?"

"She's upstairs with Ilia. I'll go help bring her down."

Kirn left, and there were the sounds of heavy footsteps going up the stairs. Several long moments passed, and Refenial heard the sound of two heavier footsteps coming back down the stairs.

Kirn came in the room walking backwards, carrying something, someone by the legs, Refenial realized.

Another figure dressed in robes, hood up, entered the room holding onto the arms of the person they were carrying.

Kirn and the other robed individual, Ilia Refenial guessed, roughly put the person they were carrying onto the table.

Refenial looked on in growing horror. The figure on the table was a young woman, tightly bound and gagged, both eyes blackened and the parts of her skin visible a colourful patchwork of bruises in various states of healing.

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The figure he assumed was Ilia bent over the woman and spoke in a soft but vicious voice, "He was too good for you, but we had some fun, didn't we? Shame we had to leave the gag on. I'd love to hear you scream." She spat in the bound woman's face.

Kirn chuckled, and Tun sighed.

"I'm not here to watch your girlfriend torment your wife. If I'm gone too long, people will notice." Tun said.

Kirn gently rubbed Ilia's back, "You had plenty of time with her, dear. It's time for the ceremony."

Ilia somehow managed to convey that she was pouting despite her face still being covered, "Okaaaay..."

Now Refenial was closer to the robed figures. He could see the symbols on their robes were, like those on the walls of the room, also of much poorer quality.

"I'll go get the dagger and the book," Ilia said cheerfully, leaving the room.

The woman on the table whimpered and squirmed slightly. Kirn walked over to her, gently putting his hand on her shoulder, "Sorry, dear. It's just you were... boring. Ilia is so fun and unpredictable. I know you want me to be happy. Just think of this as you finally succeeded at that, finally succeeding at something."

Refenial knew he had to act, he considered running to get help, but it would take too long to get to the green where the fair was and find Elagabalus. He didn't know where Nia was either.

If he didn't do something, the woman, obviously a human sacrifice, would die, and maybe a shoddy scriptic spell would be activated. If that happened, for all he knew, the whole town would be in danger. He looked closely at Tun and Kirn. They looked human. If they were human, maybe he could beat them in a fight.

He hated the idea that these disgusting people were human. At least monsters were, well, monsters, to act like this was just what they were. That humans would sink so low was sickening. He'd seen awful people before, the muggers, the bandits, but the obviously pre-meditated callousness of this was evil to a whole new level.

Ilia came back into the room, practically skipping with excitement, a book in one hand and a large dagger in the other.

Kirn took the book and opened it up, "Are we ready, brethren?" He asked the other two.

Ilia nodded excitedly, and Tun sighed.

Kirn put his hand to his face in clear exasperation. "Remember, the decorum. The book is very clear on that. Once the ritual begins, we must follow the teachings, Ilia you must refer to Me and Tun as 'Brother', and we must refer to you as 'Sister'."

"This is stupid. I can't see why some powerful immortal will care what we're calling each other." Tun said.

Kirn shot him a sharp look, "The book was very clear, and we've already had this conversation several times."

There was a long moment of silence where Kirn glared at his fellow cultists.

"Let us begin, brethren," Kirn said pointedly.

"Yes, Brother." Tun and Ilia both said.

Kirn began to read from the book, "Oh, great and terrible Uligortha... Uligutha... Uligrother. We, your humble servants, seek your unworldly attention."

Refenial had no more time. He pulled out his dagger and his whistle.

"We give unto your dark embrace this unworthy sacrifice. We give it as freely as we give our hearts and souls unto you."

He opened his soul's eyes and focused on the whistle.

"We beseech you, oh one of infinite wonder. Please bless us,"

Refenial snuck closer to the window, knowing that he'd have only seconds when the whistle was played.

"Make us your tools through which your purpose might be wrought on this world."

Refenial stood playing his whistle loud and clear. It rang out like the wail of a banshee, the note he played high and sharp.

The cultists all dropped to the floor.

Refenial scrambled through the window, knowing every second would count. Tun was the nearest person. Refenial vaulted to him and raised his dagger high.

Refenial's eyes met with the old man's. It reminded him of that moment in the twisted house where his eyes had met the monsters, that moment when he'd had to put aside all questions of mercy and empathy to kill. It had been hard then. It was harder now. It was a human in front of him, looking up with terrified, pleading eyes.

He heard Kirn groan behind him. He knew he had no time for mercy.

He stabbed once, twice, thrice. Once again, like that day, the air was heavy with the smell of blood, and he could taste something salty on his lips.

There were two more. He knew that this time. He whirled as Ilia, still on the ground, gave a shrill squealing shriek of murderous rage.

Kirn had half sat up.

He considered using the whistle again, but he didn't trust that he'd have the time he needed to do so. Instead, he launched himself towards Kirn, his next nearest target.

Kirn started reaching for the dagger that he'd dropped but failed as Refenial barreled into him dagger first.

The pair tumbled over, and Refenial looked down. His dagger had pierced the man's eye, his other eye staring up vacantly.

There was a terrible wail of misery that made Refenial's already hammering heart beat faster. He looked across, and Ilia had sat up and was staring at Refenial and Kirn. Her hood had fallen back, showing a young woman.

Her face was twisted into an ugly look of grief. "Kirn!" She screamed out with such heart-breaking misery that Refenial instinctively felt a wave of crushing guilt wash over him.

She looked up from the body of her fallen lover slowly until her eyes met Refenial's.

Refenial looked back into the blue eyes of the woman. There was an intensity of anger, grief and madness there.

She screamed at him, a stream of words that were made incomprehensible by her grieving mania.

Refenial pulled his dagger back, ready to face her, and she charged at him.

He stabbed at her, his dagger digging deep into her side, but it didn't even begin to slow her. She slammed into him, still not slowing, and then he slammed into the wall behind.

The force made him drop his whistle and let go of the dagger still embedded into her side.

He coughed and spluttered under the force of the impact. Ila came to a stop, her face inches from his.

Her eyes, wide and insane, took up most of his vision, so close as to be blurry.

He could smell her laboured breathing and hear her rasping breath.

She grabbed at his throat as he tried to grab for the dagger in her side.

He pulled the dagger free, not even the hint of a flinch on her face as he did.

Her hands squeezed around his throat.

He stabbed at her again. Though the angle took most of the power from the blow, he still felt the dagger sink in.

She squeezed harder.

He stabbed again.

The corners of his vision began to dim.

He stabbed again.

He could feel his thoughts becoming hazy.

He stabbed again.

His vision was almost completely given over to darkness.

He stabbed again.

He felt his consciousness fading.

He tried to stab again, but it all felt so distant. He felt the dagger strike something, but he lost his grip on it as he did, unsure if he had succeeded.

He felt himself falling a fraction of a second too late as he hit the floor before he'd had a chance to brace himself.

He lay there on the floor, his head swimming. He could breathe, though. He realized Ilia must have let go of him.

He tried to breathe and clear his vision, but it took him a few hammering heartbeats.

Ilia was on the ground in front of him, cradling her bleeding side as she pulled herself towards the ritual dagger.

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