Harden was overflowing with fiery confidence as the sun rose and poured in through the slats of the barn. The last two weeks of meticulous preparation were, at long last, going to be vindicated. The endless summer heat that had been cooking Harden alive and gallons of dripping sweat would all be worth it when he could finally present his newest bounty to Mother.
Harden was perched high up in the hayloft and looked down at the dusty and cracked dirt of the barn floor. His predatory gaze crawled along the ancient barn and the equipment he had painstakingly prepared for the upcoming festivities. He thought back to Mother's words and slowly walked himself through the ritual steps to ensure he had not forgotten any minor detail; there could not be a hair out of place, not a single drop of errant blood, not a single misaligned component.
Three men to see beyond, three souls to cry out into the lands of ash.
Three men offer themselves to the beast.
Flay their skin for lashings, and use their blood to bind.
Their bones, muscles, and sinew shall be the ambrosia.
Blind them so they can see.
Fill their mouths with the name of the beast.
Become one with shadows, and await your quarry.
His eyes traced along the wide circle of blood and innards that soaked into the dried dirt of the barn; the dark crimson muck edged with the same precision one would expect to see on the most costly topiary. The blood laid out precisely as Mother instructed him to so he could take any bounty alive.
A series of twelve points evenly spaced along the circle's edge, depictions of coiling branches arched between the points, creating a border of thick blood roots. Between each point, multitudes of connecting straight and rounded lines weaved in and out of one another, forming an intricate blooming flower.
Nestled with great care in the center of the flower was a bold and all-seeing eye, Mother's eye. The dark eye allowed her to see clearly in both the mortal world and the world of ash. Though Harden had never seen Mother's eyes, if the authentic objects were anything like what he had drawn in the center of hundreds of magic circles, he had no doubt their ethereal beauty would move him more profoundly than any sermon.
Placed evenly amidst the petals were Harden's three sacrifices. Each was face up with their head just outside Mother’s eye’s border. Harden had coated their drying muscles in a foul concoction of oil, Sweetbriar, and Devil’s lantern. The fresh moisture of the tincture caused their muscles to glisten brightly in the shifting sunlight.
Harden’s skin crawled as the scent of the concoction danced with the foul odor of the festering guts from the men. Every slight breeze that crept in through the slats pushed a different note into his nose, each more toe-curlingly repulsive than the last.
The stones Harden had prepared with the bounties name were shoved into the mouths of each of the sacrifices, propped just behind their festering yellow teeth; each stone held the mouth open wide, the freshly carved name of the beast pointed outwards, so the only thing escaping their maw was the proper name their souls would soon shout into the lands of ash.
Harden followed a flicker of movement off to his side. Tucked against one of the piles of rotted hay was his backpack lying inside a flickering sunbeam. A small and curious jay had decided the hard leather pack was a fitting perch to watch Harden's from.
The freshly made human skin rope was coiled neatly next to the bag; its repeating dark and light tones gave the bindings an exciting spiral of colors. If Harden did not know what he was looking at he could have been tricked at a cursory glance that the rope was a waiting rattlesnake.
Harden reached over to pick up the rope, and his little avian companion fluttered away out the open hay door, flying off to parts unknown; likely for the best as the tiny jay would undoubtedly die if he chose to make the bag his perch for the night.
Harden ran his dry fingers along the rope ensuring the winding pattern was correct. Satisfied the cordage was correctly bound, he turned his attention to the small loops he had tied on the ends. Harden stuck his hands through them, gripping the coil like a handle. He snapped the rope taught, which cracked like a whip; dust flew off the surface as the gunshot-like sound echoed.
Harden shook his head and sighed, remembering the times he had to grapple with a beast from the lands of ash. None of those brawls were delightful; each was a near-death experience; even with his now far greater magic, he did not doubt this one would be much the same.
He would rather not be in the same room as the beast. Simply blowing the entire room to hell with dynamite or pumping the beast full of lead with his Winchester 1873 would be far safer and had worked well for him in the past, but Mother was insistent he must take this bounty alive: Bone, blood, soul and all.
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Harden did one last check of his weapons to ensure he had everything that would come in handy while attempting to drag the beast into the binding circle.
His 1873 Winchester rifle was well-oiled and fully loaded with the last of his silver bullets. It hung by a hook in the rafters, ready for him to grab should he have to use it, though, in a close-quarters brawl, he doubted it would be of much use. It was far too cumbersome.
Attached to his hip was his ever-present Lemat pistol, a symbol of the nation he once fought for, a ghost of the southern states. Its main cylinder he had loaded with hollow point ammo, the under-barrel twenty gauge shotgun had a bright shining slug round prepared, only made of lead, but it was still effective. The twinkling brass of each recently purchased bullet shined as they rotated past the loading gate. He snapped the gate's cover closed, and a comforting click snapped as it shut.
Like most true beasts from the Lands of Ash, neither the pistol nor rifle could likely kill the beast, but they could wound it. A few well-placed rounds into its body would weaken the demon enough that he could force it into binds.
If it came to the point Harden was so desperate he had to kill the beast, he had a special knife he had prepared. Harden and his brother Alister had traveled far into northern Appalachia after a bounty, and the old voodoo man was more than happy to carve a twin pair of knives from the bones of the possessed bear that had slaughtered some poor homesteaders. One for Harden and one for Alister; The knife was the only memento of any of Harden's siblings he had, and he treasured it oddly.
The knife was undoubtedly a masterwork of magical craftsmanship; It had runes from deep southern voodoo carved across its stubby blade. The symbols looked rather mundane, but they, indeed, were old-rooted magic. Whenever Harden cut anything with the knife, blood would never stop flowing unless the bleeding was curbed by some magical means.
The last thing Harden checked was the dwindling amount of the tinctures and potions tucked in his bandolier. He was running dangerously low on most of them and needed to stop in town for more supplies to craft more. All that was left was an immolation vial, a pair of ator mixtures, and a few unmixed ingredients. Harden needed other components to use them effectively. He hoped he would not have to use any of them; they were too precious, costly, and could spell death for his bounty.
Harden hopped down from the Hayloft, his knees crying out from the heavy impact. He checked one final time that everything he could clear out of the barn was gone. Harden moved carefully around the binding circle and scanned the items left in the barn; little remained strewn about on the dusty floor, a few piles of wet hay piled up near the door, but otherwise, the barn’s ground was void of any tools or farming equipment.
Over the last two weeks, Harden had taken the time to ensure no nails, glass, or other hidden objects were in the dirt. The last thing he wanted was for the beast to grab hold and toss him into some jagged glass or unseen danger. While he could heal himself, attempting to do so amidst a grapple was a quick route to death.
Harden smiled wickedly, confident tonight's hunt would go well and Mother would reward him handsomely for his efforts afterward. He strolled to the center of the circle, placed his open palm on Mother's eye, and pushed burning magic in through his pneuma; the dried dust kicked up and away from the eye, fluttering up and around him and dancing in the fractured light.
It did not take more than a few seconds to Harden know the bait had been cast into the land of ash. Each of the arching lines of the flower inside the binding circle had begun to smolder; jet-black smoke wafted up off them and filled the room in a brimstone-scented haze that overpowered the tart oil and herb scents in a near instant,
Harden closed his eyes and peered into the ash lands; the desiccated lands were no longer empty. Looming nearby to him were the remnants of the demons and the entities he had previously slaughtered. Many of them were humanoid, yet mixed horrendously with beasts of Appalachia: foxes, ravens, spiders, and man all compiled into their Frankenstein forms. Their decayed souls stared at him with tangible anticipation, each waiting for their unending hunger to be satiated by the upcoming bloodshed.
Roaring out in the usually uncomfortably quiet lands of ash was Hardens three sacrifices. They screamed the name of his bounty at a deafening volume, a guttural combination of vowels, curses, and grunts.
Harden looked about the swirling vortex of ash and shadows and found the sight of his ceremony to be quite beautiful. The circle surrounded him and glowed brightly. A deep unworldly pattern of colors flickered along the ground's surface and fluttered up on a magical breeze. Mother's eye shot skywards in a bright red tower, illuminating the barn's ashen world shadow in its blood-red light.
The crimson beacon flared brightly enough to nearly blind Harden, his soul's light engulfed by its vibrance, offering him concealment so long as he remained near the ritual. He watched as millions of tendrils of bright light crawled out into the ash, seeking the beast he wished to call forth into the mortal realm.
Once the tendrils had located Harden's prey, they shuddered to a stop for a moment, only for them to all coil around one another, becoming a singular path leading toward the located beast. The demon cried out in the distance; its roar shook Harden to the bone. He followed the trail with his vision and gazed into the distance, the souls of his previous bounties parting so he could see.
The moat minuscule blue light flared at the end of the bright light in the ash. He paused and watched as it gradually grew more prominent by the moment.
“Here he comes,” Harden sneered as he released his hold on the land of ash.
Harden walked over to the door and slid a 2x4 in place, the heavy bar sealing him in where his newest quarry would arrive. He lifted himself back into the loft and grabbed hold of the rope. His pneuma began to beat loudly as he lowered himself prone in the rotted hay. The demons in his pneuma roared hopefully and perfectly matched the pace of his booming heart.
He silently prayed to Mother as he waited for the beast to arrive. Knowing it very well, one of them would not be leaving this barn once it did. He waited patiently for the demon; the sun had nearly set when the beast's portal ripped through reality. An ocean of ash poured out of the black wound in the world, accompanied by the ash and darkness of the familiar roar of the demon announcing their arrival.