Another sibling wearing a hoodie unnaturally effective at concealing facial features —if there was a face under there at all, that is— entered stage from a tunnel to the right, carrying a red plastic bowl filled with numbered papers. The numbers were written in red ink: blood was too expensive both to get and clean. And everyone knew what had happened to Brother T after he had accumulated enough debt interest with the bank. The blood bank. They found him at the entrance of a tunnel, completely exsanguinated, flaunting a clean bullet wound on his right butt cheek. The autopsy determined the hole was made postmortem, because if you can shoot your bled-out victim in the ass, why wouldn’t you?

The hooded figure shook the bowl in front of the rightmost man, a good-heartened, two-meters tall fella that would have awoken desires of control in some individuals that ostensibly belong to the Gromera Clan.

“What if I don’t take a number?”

“You go first.”

“Oh,” the man extended a hand of non-evil darkness that I cannot describe as a food item for Reddit-related-reasons —Despite black people themselves being perfectly valid food items if you are into cannibalism and not racist— and picked up a number. “Three?”

“Better than one.” The hooded figure proceeded to offering a number to the second hostage in line, and so it proceeded. Lino didn’t immediately see his number, and instead breathed in deeply before opening the little paper in his hands. He exhaled with a slight relief: Thirteen. He was still in the first half, but there were another twelve sacrifices before him: he had time to gather and digest information about the ritual, plan how to cause an scene to facilitate his escape.

Once everyone had his number, the sweet voice of Brother H echoed through the titanic chamber again: “Which time is it?”

The timekeeping brother pulled out his cellphone. He had added a gameplay of Flying Sword Parkour to the lower end of his screen to avoid a dopamine low while checking the hour. “Eleven fifty-seven.”

“Good! I have three minutes to introduce you all to our little sect, then! Welcome to the abattoir, pigs!”

“Roar!” the actual bear complained. He would not take being mis-specied in silence.

“You shut up, foul beast, heartless mistake of creation!” the jar of honey screeched with a distressing voice. Then he cleared the equivalent of a throat and continued. “As I was saying, you have been chosen as potential mates to our queen…”

One of the lesbians raised her hand. “I lack the necessary equipment to mate with your interdimensional —I assume— queen, big brain.”

“This goes for all women: she eats those she doesn’t like. We strive to keep her diet balanced: if we don’t, she gets a peak of testosterone and her infinite tummies ache.”

“Ah.” The girl lowered her hand. “Okay. Dying it is then.”

“Good. If we had an opening, you’d be becoming one of us. Sadly, Brother C, our latest novice, has shown an above-average capacity for surviving with his mind intact.”

Brother C puked the crushed remains of someone’s skull in front of himself, and then, began lapping up the vomit, as a dog would.

“This boy will lead us to greatness.” Brother H made a pause. “Well, digression over, because it’s almost midnight and we will soon, about a minute or two after the clock strikes the zero hours, because we use digital clocks mind you, we will make you perform one by one, and inspired by heavemly grace, you shall sing for the goddess. And if the song is her mating call, well… you will be the Goddess husband. Or meal if you are female. Or a bear.”

The hirsute men gasped in horror.

“I mean the grizzly with glasses!” the jar of honey pinched the area between the eyes of the drawing in his label. “People, the thing is, we will sacrifice a man after midnight, none of you but another victim, which we will call Brother V, that called our suicide hotline and we said we could help him with his problems and, after a brief interview, we decided that he fits our vision for the role of offering. After we kill him, we will call the Queen and you can begin …trying. One last thing: if you are eaten by her your soul will be forever dissolved into her inner sea of torment —you know the whole deal, cacophony of screams, a collective mind throbbing with pain, yadda yadda, that stuff. Are we on time, Timekeeping Brother?”

The timekeeping brother was too enthralled playing Pome Samurai to answer.

The jar of honey shrugged. “Whatever, bring the sacrifice!”

From a tunnel to the left a couple of shrouded figures brought a third in front of them, a fat individual donning blue. They escorted him to the center of the line pattern, where they all converged into a sort of eye or sun. Then, Brother M produced a sawed off shotgun from his robes. “Are you related to brother C, blessed one?” he asked in a calm, cold voice.

“Gods, no, don’t insult me like that,” Brother V, the sacrifice, said, hands joined behind his back, free of any restraints. The guy was completely willing.

“Then we shall proceed as usual. One last question: why do you want to end your life?”

“Next year we have elections.”

Brother M felt a chill running up his spine and pushed the canon of her weapon against the temples of the sacrificial lamb. “Be spared of electoral propaganda and pointless debates, brave one!” He pulled the trigger, blowing Brother V’s brains out, all over the jeweled pattern on the floor. Brother M stared at the dead body with an obliterated skull for a few seconds. He then checked the pulse. Yup, it was dead.

He hurried to leave the chamber, and Brother H raised his arms, his body describing an y shape, making his loose sleeves fall and revealing a pair of hands made entirely out of coalescing bees. He began rubbing his fingers against his thumbs back and forth. “Break through, Queen of Damned Sin! Pstpstpstpstpstpst!”

Lino decided to do a double take of the scene, and even pinched his arm. It wasn’t a dream. They were really summoning a sort of… Lovecraftian horror, he assumed, like one would a cat. And some cats are lovecraftian horrors, I’d say. You can find them in Chinese stores! You…

No, I think I already ranted about that.

Anyway, the fact of the matter is that Lino couldn’t be lost in his indignation for long, because soon enough the whole chamber started vibrating, and the tourmaline linings began burning with sky-blue light, emanating scorching heat under the feet of the hostages, that quickly gave little jumps to the sides like a housewife that almost steps on a passing cockroach.

Over the eye-sun a portal the color of a clear sky opened. It seemed to suck in the air around it, distorting the image of Brother H. The remains of the sacrifice floated into the wound upon reality, being swiftly sucked into it, to the last drop of blood.

Then, silence, a three-second-long brick of solid silence, followed by chittering. A hairy, purple tentacle with a single retractable claw came out of the portal and grabbed onto the border of the anomaly, several like it came immediately after, and whatever was on the other side started pushing to make the portal’s lumen grow.

Teeth, a crown of teeth pushed through. Teeth human, teeth feline, teeth canine, teeth cetacean. Teeth of fish and teeth of reptiles. Shark scales[1], too. A viscous liquid poured out violently, falling under the roof, for it was about as stupid as Kalon. A bleeding gash opened in the crown of teeth, and from its insides an anime-mom-rack-sized eye with a green iris and a slit pupil budded out, splattering purple gore everywhere. In other words, she looked half as deformed as AI-generated images of hands.

The hostages trembled. Or most of them, at least. Lino’s stare was fixed into the emerging creature, his eyes darting from feature to feature. The lips made of wiggling fingers, the chitinous noses, shaped like those of dogs, sprinkled over its slick skin. IT was wrong. Very wrong.

He crossed his arms, offended. “This is an insulting amount of converging evolution for an alien.”

Brother H, with his task done, turned, labeling away from the monstrosity it had brought forth. Several of the sacrifices seemed jarred by the experience, which made him empathize a bit.

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

“Number one, entertain your Queen!”

“I am antimonarchist!” the man who had the number one said.

“What do we do with antimonarchists, your Highness?” Brother H asked, the bee in his label grinning because it was not particularly prone to changing its facial expression.

The Queen of Damned Sin considered the question and picked a voice to answer. She always used that of the most feared individual in any given dimension she visited. In the past, she had incarnated the collective idea of a plague rat, despotic emperors, capricious gods, and yes, egoistical cultivators. But today, the voice was sourced from the most unsuspected of beings.

“Burr,” The Queen of Damned Sin sentenced.

“You heard him boys! He performs anyway!”

The revolver bearing brothers pushed the canons against the back of the number one, ushering him forward.

“Sing for our Queen or die!”

“If she doesn’t like it I die anyway,” he argued, and the others in the room, including some members of the Brotherhood, murmured, giving him the reason

“She is not picky with musical talent, boy. Sing!”

The number one, a blonde metrosexual, cleared his chiseled throat. “Alice, Alice, why are you a meretrix. Alice, Alice, why do you suck that—”

His skin began burning, steam coming from his shaved arms and legs, and his mouth screaming. Each tooth opened in half, revealing long, dendritic tongues that extended over the first unfortunate one. To see a man’s soul being consumed live and direct was a terrifying spectacle. His eyes boiled out, his brain began pouring out his nose, and his perfect butt blistered, which left half of the public aghast.

His drained husk dropped on the floor and crumbled to dust, the portal lapping the ashes up like my dog pieces of chicken.

Lino tried to remain cold-headed. There were other eleven chances to figure something out before things went really awry for him. A terrifying question crossed his head.

“What happens if someone succeeds at courting her Highness?”

“Never happened before.” Brother H answered calmly. “But, according to the sacred scriptures, everyone else scheduled for sacrifice gets consumed by her and the chosen one taken to her pocket dimension to keep her company briefly, then returned here physically and spiritually safe and sound.”

Lino gulped loudly.

Number two was called to perform, and he suffered the same fate . So did number three, and number four…

After number seven died horribly, Lino broke into laughter. The others began whispering that he had lost it.

That idea, Lino, is the most stupid one I have ever been graced with being exposed to.

Which means it has about a hundred percent chance of success!

I mean, they gave her the poor man right after midnight. And there’s hot tourmaline under us. This hunch should be right.

But if it isn’t, know that you are the cultivator that has lasted the longer under my care.

A few hours? Do you manage to kill others sooner?

More like they kill themselves by getting cocky, because they have a system and all.

And while Lino continued chatted with his system, the number twelve —one of the lesbians— got devoured.

“Thirteen! Perform for your Queen! “Brother H proclaimed.

“Okay, but no guns at my back, I will go there out of my own volition... and win.” A smug smile seated itself in Lino’s lips, and left after realizing it was a blowjob danger zone, being replaced by a sad frown. “Sorry, everyone.”

“Don’t worry, darling. Sing for your life, and make us proud to die listening to your angelic voice,” the bear said, his stare soft, his ears fluffy. “I mean… roar.”

“No fucking way you are a talking grizzly!” Brother H said.

Lino was about to point out the fact that the one complaining was a sentient bunch of bee vomit, but reconsidered at the last moment.

He stepped forward not like the damned man he was, but like he owned the scenario. An atheist during most of his life, Lino had been given all that he ever wished for: an afterlife. Any afterlife. And this one had come with a body where he could run once more, where he saw the world for what it was, drink alcohol, dance, and speak just as he had once done. An eternity of torture? He had already had one, slave of a brain and prisoner of a body damaged by Parkinson’s. At least, this time, he would be aware of why he was suffering. Standing in front of the monstrosity, he turned to brother H. “Can I get a glass of water?”

“We may be murderous fanatics but let it never be said that we aren’t hospitable. But we don’t have water. Is oil okay?”

“No!”

“Burr”, a portal opened by the Queen, and inserting a tentacle into it, she produced a sports drink. Apple flavored, of course. “Burr”.

Lino took the plastic bottle and tasted the drink. It was a foul liquid, tepid and salty, like drinking a Gamer snail’s sweat. Or, in other words, a lukewarm Gatorade.

“Thanks,” Lino said, returning the bottle to the servile tentacle, regretful hydration washing down his throat.

“Burr.”

“She is saying that you need to sing now,” brother H clarified.

Lino watched the monstrous entity in front of him, the bulging eye with the cat-like pupil, nested among the teeth, surrounded by the noses. IT was time to face it, to…

The Queen of Damned Sin started extending his dendritic tentacles over him, and he knew it was now or never.

He stepped back just once, and cleared his throat. Without moving any non-necessary muscle, he began singing.

“Past midnight and the spirits are low…” he let out with his most delicate, feminine voice. The Queen of Damned Sin stopped her advance, pulling her tentacles back. She would let him perform… for now. “Looking out for a world foretold, where they sing the mate music, slipping through cosmic seams, you need to choose a king…”

The Queen of Damned Sin slapped the floor with all of her tentacles, making it tremble.

Brother H rested a buzzing hand on Lino’s shoulder. “Keep signing,” he urged. “If she were displeased with your performance, you would be already dead. Only stop singing if you win, or if you die!”

Lino nodded and continued releasing tension of his arms and beginning to gesture now that he knew his plan was working. He pointed at the other hostages. “Everybody there is THAT gay, some are young and some just wild. But with Earth’s music, everything is mine, if you are in the mood for a curse. ‘cause if I get the chance…”

He threw a malicious grin towards the public, and another brief one to Brother H. Then he caught the closest tentacle of the Queen, making her flush, feeling her soft fur on the palm of his hand and slipping through his fingers. “You are my Damned Sin Queen! About to eat these seventeen.”

Lino began dancing with the tentacle, and the eldritch monstrosity followed his lead, offering another tentacle, even. Her single eye closed in a joyful gesture. “Damned Sin Queen, feel the heat from the tourmaline!”

“Oh yeah!” The straight bear provided chorus aid.

Several members of the brotherhood had started jiving around, dancing with each other.

“You can enhance your mind-hive, harvest the core of their life. Eat that girl, watch that suite feeding the Damned Sin Queen!”

Lino stopped, and the monstrosity looked at him like a teenage girl looks at a K-poper. “Burr.” She purred sensually.

“She asked you to keep singing, please. Consider it your crowning,” Brother H kneeled in front of him, and then raised his Jar to look Lino in the eyes. “My King.”

Gods, you didn’t die. Now I have to stick with you. Shit.

Lino ignored his system and continued singing his gay —in all senses of the word— heart out. “You are deity, you turn ‘em to bone, their bodies burning until they are gone. Hunting out for another, anyone will do: you are in the mood for a curse.” He looked his monstrous partner in her teary eye. “And if I get the chance…”

The line of hostages erupted in a chorus: They would die, but at least, they would be gone in a goddamn legendary party. “She is your Damned Sin Queen, about to eat us seventeen! Damned Sin Queen, feel the heat of the tourmaline!”

“Ohh!” added the grizzly.

They raised and waved their hands in a cheer, pigs to the ABBA tour. “You can enhance your mind-hive, harvest the cores of our lives!” They began dancing with each other, the only remaining lesbian having to settle for the twink. “Eat this girl, watch this suite, vibing with the Damned Sin Queen!”

Once the song settled and Lino paced way from the enthralled goddess to give her her space, silence settled over the chamber like a funeral pall.Thin lines of steam rose from the bodies of everyone present, except for Brother C, Lino and the actual bear.

“We have satisfied the Goddess, and now, we are rewarded by becoming one with her, forever swimming within her inner, slightly to the left, triple-bathroomed lake of blessings!”

Lino’s mouth stayed agape, his stare reflecting his disgust and confusion. What was the problem of these people?

It didin’t last long, for a troupe of tentacles came out of a new portal and grasped him thightly. Dragged him into a portal as he screamed and thrashed. Panic taking him over like it would a disco.

Dea mia, it’s a game she plays. Say bye, Lino: sex could take forever.

Lino got finally taken into the goddess personal dimension, the wound on reality leading to it healing, leaving an orange scar lingering in the air. Another tentacle loomed in the air, and its hairs bloomed into bloodshot eyes, gathering the steam as vitality left the bodies of almost everyone present in the chamber. Brother C scampered like a rat, not because he was scared, but because he had spotted a juicy cockroach skittering away from the scene. Everyone else, save for the bear, but including the bear’s glasses, slowly lost muscle tone and wrinkled as their lives got consumed by the interdimensional deity. A minute later, the bear was alone, everyone else gone with the goddess. Yes, even Brother H and his bees.

Brother B stormed back into the chamber, desirous to see what all the ruckus was about. Giving a good look around with his no-head, he addressed the grizzly.

“So, huh, crowning or magnanimous fuck up?” the Bodiceattva asked.

“Crowning,” the bear answered, covering his eyes with his paw to not reveal his true identity.

“Dammit, I need a new cult to be part of now. Do you know any?”

The bear shyly revealed his face, a glint of familiarity shining in his eyes. “There’s this new cultivation sect that could use a cloth of your talents.”

“Is it worse than this one?”

The bear nodded effusively.

“Good! Come, I will buy you some salmon.”

And so, bodice and bear ambled away from the massacre, hoping for a bright tomorrow for them both.

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[1] The scales of sharks and closely related forms are unlike those of both other extant fishes, reptiles and birds: Fish scales are made of different layers of bone (this varies by group), and scales of birds and reptiles are of dermal origin and made from keratin. Shark scales are essentially made of dentin and enamel, just like teeth. What this means for the barely legal fanarts of your favorite V-tuber, I don’t know. I don’t want to know.