Chapter 1: The Way Of All Flesh Texas, 1921 We once more stand in the Hall of Epiphany. For He has summoned us again. The temple seems colder today as I stand inside, more foreboding. Less trusted than the day He took me among His ranks of the Chosen. But I'm not a man given to simple twists of an overactive imagination. Despite everything I've become, everything I've experienced, I remain myself and clear of mind. If the temple seems colder, because it simply is colder. And only one being could make it colder. Tchernobog, the One Who Binds, Devorer of Souls. The skeletal minotaur. In all the times I've stood in this temple, I've never felt so lost or so alone as now. Even though Ophelia holds my hand, I feel cut adrift. But like I said, I'm not an imaginative man. So there must be a reason for this feeling. The torchlight flickers across the walls. Soon we're ushered into Tchernobog's presence. We stand in a hard yellow circle of warding in the immense room. Though we appear to stand apart, we're at Tchernobog's mercy. The dark god sits in His chair, larger than life. He radiates power, and His black talons scrape against His stone chair. A fiery pit burns brightly to His left. "Welcome, my servants," Tchernobog says in His deep, thunderous voice, tapping His bone-fingers on the armrest of His chair. "My slaves." A hunchbacked Cultist stumbles forward. Tchernobog's control of this decaying, flesh-and-blood puppet demonstrates His control over His Chosen, as well. The Cultist pulls back his hood, revealing wrought features and a face devoid of eyes, sharp teeth, and an ugly, gnarled face. "Servants, hear me." "What is your bidding, Master?" I ask, and I know I speak for us all. Before us, the Cultist writhes in soundless pain. His eyes suddenly transform into glowing white coals. His mouth peels open, revealing his now broken stumps of teeth. "The time has come for the world to understand the true nature of sacrifice. My bidding is for all to suffer in My name." Tchernobog replies "You have failed me. I disavow you all." "What the?" I ask incredulously. "What?!" Ophelia seems surprised by this pronouncement of doom, though I could have foreseen no other ending for the obscene scheme Tchernobog has engineered. She takes a startled step forward. The Cultist smiles sadistically, right before his flesh quickly decomposes and melts off his skeleton. The skeleton stands for a moment; then it, too, drops to the floor. "My bidding," Tchernobog continues, "is to make you my sacrifice!" The rush of moving arachnids skating on gossamer strands is faintly audible. I glance back, my hand instinctively dropping to my shotgun, though I know it's a wasted motion. I can injure nothing within the temple walls. I don't have the power. Shial, the Mother of Spiders, drops from the darkness shielding the temple ceiling onto Gabriel. He struggles, but she gathers him in easily, wrapping her eight legs around him in a death grip, and rising back along her web. Ishmael is caught flat-footed when Cerberus explodes from flames of the pit. Fiery breath from the two-headed dog wreathes Ishmael, and then tears him to pieces. His bloody remains drop to the stone floor with wet slaps. "What's happening?" Ophelia looks around, too stunned to move. Cheogh flies in from behind and grabs her. I start for Ophelia, to protect her. I don't know why Tchernobog has turned against us, and I know there's no escape from his vengeance. But I must try. I see a white flash of leathery wings behing her, and I recognize Cheogh, the Gargoyle chieftain. Before I can reach Ophelia, he wraps his arms around her, overpowering her easily. Cheogh has always hated us. Hated the special station the Chosen held in Tchernobog's eyes. He will make the dark god's vengeance against us his own. Fear twists inside me as I think of what he could do to Ophelia. I leap after them as Cheogh's wings beat viciously. He rises into the air, my dearest Ophelia screaming in his arms. I miss touching her one last time by inches. Then she's gone. I whirl on the dark god, madness-filled. We've been betrayed. Ophelia is gone. I don't want to live without her. Tchernobog looks unconcerned. "I have given you love. Now I take your life." He waves a hand at me, as if in dismissal. An unseen force grips me, sending me tumbling into a black abyssal void. I'm cold for a long time, unable to move. I can't tell if I even exist in any form. Surely, if I had a soul, Tchernobog would own that as well. "Consider my power... in a hollow grave !" ******** One day, though, the cold doesn't seems as harsh. Perhaps years later, I'm able to move a fingers. And then a hand. My eyes flicker open, and I find I'm in a tomb. In the darkness even my enhanced sight can barely make out the stone surfaces. My anger warms me through the next hours, days, weeks, or months. I can't judge the time that passes. I focus on my anger like a blacksmith shaping a stubborn piece of metal. It becomes my way back. Ophelia and I were true to Tchernobog's teachings. We did everything for him. He had no right to take her away. There will be an accounting. I swear it silently for a time, because I can't speak. Finally, I give voice to my oath. I feel a tall, firm object beside me. By touch, I discover that it's a pitchfork. I clutch it to my side. It's a weapon someone will regret giving me. At last the day comes when I can reach up and shift the heavy lid from the tomb. I take a deep breath, and realize for the first time that I've not breathed before. So - I'm no longer truly alive. But I'm not dead, either. And that's something the demon will regret - in spades. Either way, I cannot help saying "I live... again!" And I peer into the mausoleum before me, struggling towards my revenge. End of Chapter 1