BLOOD
"Bound in blood, we are one."
"Word of dread, all is done."
Sickening words scrawled upon the wall shook the detective, having just arrived at the scene of a grisly massacre. Countless red candles dotted the room with no discerning pattern. Chains and hooks impaled and wrapped around flesh that was draine, each as numerous as they were unfathomable. "You ever seen anything such as this, Jake?" The man wearing the Sheriff's uniform asked, his eyes focused away from the gore. "Tupperware party gone wrong?" The detective replied, removing his credentials for the newbies and onsight crew for verification. His tasteless joke falling as harshly as the crimson spatter around the area. "Detective Jake McKay," He announced for the personnel. "I hope you brought more than bad jokes," The sheriff replied, pulling out a handkerchief and covering his mouth. "Since you seem in a joking mood, I will leave this mess for you to clean up." The annoyed lawman left the premises quickly, his vomiting echoing from outside.
Jake shrugged at the comments and looks, knowing full well how terrible the situation was and had been. He paced around the room for a moment, surveying the scene. This was a three bedroom home, two story, and the only room disturbed so far was the parents bedroom. From what he could tell, the family had been corralled here, each one being murdered in front of the others until there was no one left. Rigor was setting in sooner in the children than the parents, meaning the kids were slain first, parents being left for last. The husband showed the least rigor, a thought that lingered in Jakes mind for a moment. This whole ordeal was too close to home, both within the same city limits and the fact that he had the same size family. He did not shudder at the idea but he did pause, briefly allowing the thought to run rampant in his mind."Detective?" One of the medical garbed persons prompted his sudden return to reality, one he was sure none of these people were witnessing, now or ever. "Yes?" Jake responded, moving carefully toward the scrub wearing young man. "We found something..."
Moon Valley was a desert city, with a population of about six hundred thousand, more in the winter months. Crime was of the normal type yet usually low and manageable within the city itself. The surrounding area was either vast or ranchlike, meaning trouble was either dealt with personally or it was never reported. Disappearances were the biggest issue lately. Barring this recent murder, people were never found, just gone altogether, without a trace of why or where. Jake had a few inklings but no solid leads which made it all the harder, especially when dealing with the family and friends of the missing or lost. The Lost, that was the new term for any who had gone missing. However, discovering this slain family, and the evidence left behind, the detective wondered if there may be some connection. An escalation perhaps? Hitchhiker killer now expanding into invasion and execution? His mind wandered on all the possibilities as he sat in his car, all the while his hands clutched a folder with CONFIDENTIAL on it.
A knock on the car window startled him, his green eyes darting to the disturbance, rolling down the window for the woman standing outside of his vehicle. "How are you, Ashley?" Jake asked the young lady that he recognized. Her brother was one of the Lost. "I know its hopeless..." She began, her blonde hair falling over her face, hiding her early tears. "Any news on Stephen?" Jake looked at her for a moment, his jaw flexing from his gritting teeth, running his hand through his short, black hair before answering her. "You are always welcome to ask me, about anything," Jake said softly, his eyes meeting hers with a sincere gaze, then looking out his windshield at the park nearby. "I come here as often as I can trying to figure out your brothers wherabouts. For now, I am without answers, but that is only right now, and what lies ahead us is uncertain and temporary. So, you asking me is not hope less but hope renewed. I won't give up looking, which means neither should you, Ashley." She wept at the words and she nodded quickly, her reddened blue eyes focusing on the park as well, her world just as lost as her own kin. "I've got half a pizza if you want to join me?" Jake asked, exiting the car with the cardboard box and relocating to a nearby concrete bench. She nodded at the offer and the two sat for a while, enjoying the company of those that understood each others suffering and hardship, one looking for something hopeful, the other watching for anything unusual.
At home, the solemn detective perked up as the sight of his family warmed his heart. Caleb, his son, and Wendy, his daughter, tackled his legs, still too small to overpower the man. His wife, Elaine, blonde and beautiful, kissed him on the neck and hugged him tightly. She loathed his job and knew his expressions well upon returning from a day of difficulty. The four spent quality time for the remainder of the night, Jake pushing his duties away until later that evening. After tucking his children in, Mr. McKay went to his study and began pouring over all of the details, his thoughts ready to burst from the delay and distractions. He loved his family but this job sometimes made him sacrifice time with them to try and end the horrors unfolding around them. He wanted to keep his home safe most of all, never wanting to endanger them with his work or to allow a sinister person get too close. This was all hard to juggle and he managed his best to deter all evils from grasping at him and his.
With the time and ability to focus, Jake opened the confidential folder. The only piece of evidence that was notable was this single sheet of paper found at the scene. Everything else in the house was printed or matched to the residents whom were now deceased. Curious, this single leaflet was to the detective, seeming so minor and obscure all the while being loud and significant in regards to the crime. It was a list with vague instructions, almost like a shopping list or cooking directions, however the items written were not even remotely normal, almost impossible to fathom. Still, this was all Jake had to go on. Rubbing his eyes, he began to read the text, his mind trying to anticipate what the outcome or answer may be.
Goat Bag
Dead Soil
Kris
Wryneck
Bag filled full of death,
Thrust with knife in open depth,
Speak the word of fallen design,
Witness the mighty arisen Trigon
It all seemed ludicrous, a page full of nonsense and chicken scratch, but Jake had to know what this meant. He had to stop whoever was behind the murders or causing so many to be Lost. Tired, he put away his work and turned in for the night, heading for bed. On the way, he took time to look in on his children, caressing their hair and comforting them while they dreamed. In bed, his wife fast asleep, he rested his head against her side, fighting the murderous scene from replaying in his head, allowing her breathing to aid in his slumber.
Awakening with his family, Jake began his day with a normal breakfast before heading off to work. Today would be different though, as the detective would be in search of clues or details as to the particulars of the list he read last. Goat Bag was first on the page and already his skills were failing him. This wording certainly meant something beyond the very thing it said, never recalling anyone ever speaking of such a thing. He decided to seek out a farmer for the answer, knowing there to be a few goat handlers around the area. To his surprise, he found his answer easier than expected, the words not falling short to the worn rancher. The term was uncommon, old even, but it carried relevance still to those familiar with the use of animals and their parts. A goat bag was a type of canteen, lined with a goats stomach. Jake learned that a butcher may be able to provide him with such a portion should he need one.
After visiting a meat shop he frequented and procuring the goats stomach, now in a cooler sitting in his trunk, Jake turned his attention towards the next part of the twisted catalog. As he exited the shop, a stranger caught his eye. This was not peculiar given the drifters that passed through here often. Somehow, this presence, the shadowed figure, seemed to manifest a cause for pause. Standing about two blocks down the way, Jake eyed an outline of someone just on the edge of an alley. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks, an innocent shadow cast by an unseen onject. Staring, Jake became concerned, an uncomfortable chill grasping his body the longer he peered at it, this now growing darkness. Entering his car, he headed in the direction of the looming shade. Drawing nearer, it seemed to fade and dissipate, as if it was merely a mirage. Jake continued on, his eyes fluttering on his side and rear mirrors, shaken by the sight of that blackness that moved as if aware of his gaze.
Dead Soil...Jake had an idea already formed on this piece. That afternoon he drove for some time before he reached an old road that lead away from town, winding back to an old oasis now dried up. Once, this used to be a beautiful spot when the water still pooled, he and his wife would visit when they were younger and fool around. Now, it is dead and desolate, fitting for the reason most would visit this place now. A cemetery crept upon here, once being serene and wondrous even due to loss. It was now a reflection of the business that brought others here, being of emptiness and loss. Jake parked near some headstones at the entrance, exiting and navigating through the stone carved names. Walking for a while before finding what he was searching for, a freshly dug grave. Dead Soil was that of a cemeteries, a place where the deceased lay, where death has already visited and determined ones fate. This seemed to fit the morbid protocol that the page presented, leaving only two more parts to address.
On the way back to his vehicle, the investigators eyes found themselves attracted, compelled by a yearning emptiness. A hungry, black form stood firm across the dead oasis, focused on the detective without any visible soul windows. This was a rural area, remote, both parties seeming to understand the situation. Frightened but agitated, Jake set aside the unclean dirt, drawing his revolver and edging toward the outskirts of the concave landscape. "What do you want?" Jake yelled across the parched gap, awaiting a response nervously, his finger floating near the trigger. No words came, and the private eye wished it had been a sound or a whisper, nothing beyond a gesture could be recognized as an answer. With an extended arm, the dark entity pointed, its intent directed at Jake himself. Then, a sound manifested, with no build up or warning, a howling screech emanated from that stygian and misshapen being. It sundered the air, pressing upon Jake with force and feeling, a mixture of cold malice weakening his bones, staggering his mind and senses. WIth his vision becoming hazy, Jake fired round after round in the direction of that wretched shade. His hands felt the shock of the weapon but his ears heard nothing beyond, racked with the piercing shrill echoing from the creature. Stumbling, he reached his car, tossing in the dirt and fumbling for his keys. In the instant he closed the door, the wailing ceased, all senses returned, the air calm again. Looking out, he saw now sign of the culprit yet he could not shake the thought of its obscured inspection upon his person. Without further delay, he turned the ignition and hurried away, his eyes not daring to look back this time.
Kris...another unfamiliar term to the detective. It took a gruelling trip to the local library to discover the truth behind the item. Tucked away between books titled "WMD: Weapons of Medieval Destruction" and "Dancing With Kali." This tome, "Ritual Tools" referenced that it was a blade with a wave design, almost as if it was distressed or a steel flame extending from a daggerlike hilt. An item of both status and ceremony, possessing the power to curse some to death by simply pointing it at them, this was next piece in the warped puzzle Jake was attempting to solve. Even knowing the next piece was not aiding the sleuth in his case, three clues that were wildly different, with a fourth one that was undiscovered and undeciphered. His next destination would be the pawn shop across town called "Crone's Loans," a peculiar shop owned by an even stranger woman.
Jake had visited here a few times during his missing persons and Lost reports, knowing many to frequent this place when in need of money or odds and ends. Avoiding this business was at the top of his list typically but he knew no other place to inquire about such an oddity than here. Entering the shop, he was overwhelmed by a haze of incense coughing, choking his breathing and stinging his eyes. "I have been waiting for you, detective," a raspy old voice pierced the smoky vale, hindering Jake more than the aromatic cloud. Dimly lit, the maze of bookshelves, racks, and large objects slowed his advance. Maddra, the owner of the shop, was awaiting him further in, standing behind a glass case that housed numerous items. There, atop the glass, already removed from its sheath and facing the detective, lay the serpentine blade. "How?" Jake asked, pausing his movements, eyes firming up on the aged shopkeeper. Her small stature and silver hair gave the illusion that she may be frail or senile yet Jake new her mind was sharp. Still, this was too coincidental, too forthcoming to be a good thing so the private eye waited, wondered about this scenario presented before him.
One hand atop the counter, the other moved up and plucked a long cigarette from her mouth, rings and jewelry adorning her fingers, wrists, and neck. "How did I know it was you, Officer McKay?" She asked with yellow teeth, smoke filtering through them and colliding with the atmosphere of lung hazards. "You are my only visitor that is agitated by the scents. You are so sensitive, detective. If you visited more often then perhaps you would adjust?" Jake heard her words however he also understood that she cleverly dodged his question. "Do you like the blade?" Maddra asked, inhaling the cigarette deeply afterwards licking her lips. "A gambler down on his luck pawned this a few months back. I decided to clean this case today and happened upon it." Jake stepped up to the display, touching the dagger with his eyes alone, his mind racked with possibilities and retorts, questions as to the how and why. "Its a Kris, I believe," Jake responded finally, hand edging along the counter near the hilt. "Is it now..." Maddra said in return, attempting to seem unsure. "There has been an unsettling event, Maddra," Jake spoke, his voice concerned and with a tinge of warning. "That weapon may be key in stopping any further disturbances." Maddra sheathed the wavey blade for the detective, handing it over to him, not without a warning of her own though. "It is merely a tool, Officer McKay," She said, allowing him to grasp the object from him palms. "Mistaking it for a weapon may lead you down the wrong road." Taking the item, Jake turned to leave but stopped, turning around and speaking to Maddra. "Do you know of anything called Wryneck?" He asked, his face squinting with thoughts as to the answer, his mind grasping yet never touching the truth. "Oh honey," The old woman responded with a heavy sigh, her face sour at the word. "Why do you ask for such a thing? Ye who hold the twisted crucifix and ask for a sacrifice? Have you no eyes to see the devil who walks behind you, whispering in your ear and promising false riches?" Jakes eyes were wide, a cold sweat came upon him, the information tearing him in multiple directions. Shaking off the cryptic speak, he asked again. This time, Maddra answered, and with this, he had the truth, once again regretting the knowledge he had gained. He left the establishment and headed for home, night now settling upon the sandscape, stars drawn upon the area, crushing upon the sky and air with flickering light.
Next morning, waking later than usual, Jake went about his normal routine of showering, breakfast, news, and coffee indulgence. He had stayed up late the previous night, having to order the Wryneck, it being the most obscure and out of place object to acquire. He paid for expedited shipping but that would still take a day or two. In the meantime, Detective McKay reviewed the instructions of the list, memorizing them, attempting to decode the overall meaning, understand how this played a role in the murder of that family. Yet, the harder he focused, the more that shadowy image came back to haunt him. He needed to stop by the precinct and file a report for discharging his weapon at the cemetery. He needed to but he wouldn't, knowing that over all the channels and calls no one had complained or informed anyone about the disturbance. It was wrong, he knew that, and he felt compelled to follow up on it, explain himself. No good would come of it without a detailed explanation, and that would only slow his work and investigation. Besides, that was considered out of city limits, so he needn't worry much about reprimand or complaints. However, he was worried about the figure. He felt its presence, its voice, or scream rather. Coupled with the curious questions and responses from Maddra, Jake was at a loss.
Later that afternoon, after stopping by the station and surveying the rumors and information, Jake visited a storage facility. He rented a small unit, the owner owing him a favor for not turning him in on some previous solicitation charges. Necessity caused Jake to find such a place, keeping his home and coworkers away from this nasty business. He always had to make hard decisions for others and himself, the life he lived never being an easy one, for any party involved. Bad men preyed and prayed, while innocents were afflicted with insolence, corruption and subjugation, murder and slaughter. Reclusive, he prepped the inside of the building for the remainder of the day. Trips to the hardware store for plastic and cleaning supplies, overalls and protective gear. His pursuit in answers was getting messy but it was required if he was to solve what all this meant, hoping his inquiries and digging would lure out the culprit.
That night, returning home, Jake pulled into the driveway, sweating and tired from his labors. Opening the door, he moved out from the car, stretching a moment and looking up at the stars. A constellation, known well to the man, seemed to be altered, as if part of it was missing. His eyes fixated on the spot trying to make the stars reveal themselves, straining as to why the assembly was out of order. And then it moved, not the arrangement of the lights, but the blackness of space. Jakes throats suddenly felt dry and inconsolable, the eyes of the curious man no longer wanting to see the reality of the obstruction, his body unable to move. Standing upon his roof, blocking the alignment of stars, obstructing the darkness spread across the sky, was the shadow from before. Closer in distance than the last, as if nearing him each time, its abyssmal pressure weighing on the detective, exceeding the times before. This thing was on Jake's roof, his family already inside awaiting the return of the father and husband. Quickly, Jake drew his weapon and sprinted for the door. He had to secure his home, get to the roof, and kill this night stalker.
Bursting through the entrance portal, slamming the door behind him, Jake was blindsided by his two children, rushing to him and spouting loud nonsense. "Daddy! Daddy! You bought us a bird!" Those words halted Jakes immediate concern with the thing on the roof, realizing that the final item has arrived. His wife looked both pleased and annoyed by this news, her not being in the loop of a new pet. "Give me a moment, kiddos," Jake replied, pushing passed the kids and making his way to the second floor balcony. Outside again, he climbed to the top of the roof, pistol sweeping every corner, his feet barely keeping firm on the shingles. Nothing. Not like the nothingness that formed seemed to be made of, just the regular nothing, all in state of normality.
Much explaining and heartache came when Jake told about the bird and its purpose. He lied to them, told them it was a gift for a person whose house had caught fire and killed their precious pet. He told them that he had meant for it to be sent to them but forget to change the address on the online order. His wife was relieved but the kids were bummed, meaning Jake had to treat them to ice cream and fun to make up for the mistake. An inadvertant night out with the family was actually just what he needed, always hating himself for not being around enough or pushing them away to get his job done. All night, he balanced father and detective carefully, his attention on his kin while his eyes sought the appearance of that black sin. The remainder of the evening was pleasant, undisturbed, exhausting the officer but providing him with another memory of his wonderful family.
The next day, with all idols and items accounted for, Jake gathered his effects and made his way to the storage building. He unloaded the bird, blade, bag, and unclean base, placing each one in opposite corners of the room. Lastly, two duffel bags were lugged in and placed against the wall, Jake turning back and pulling down the door so that no one could witness what he was about to do. He was not a believer in the occult but understood the significance, he needed to be in the same mindset as the killer if he wanted to solve this case. Reenacting the ritual, sans human murder, may help him figure out an angle or importance to this ordeal.
A thick layer of clear plastic was already taped up the day before, meaning Jake could begin making a mess. He changed his clothers and put on heavy black gloves and an apron, looking like a butcher about to cull a herd. His clothes were placed in the bag that the deflective apparel was stored in, now moving him over to the seconday bag. He removed candle after candle, placing them about in the same pattern as the crime scene photos, a strange spacing he still did not grasp. He lit each, then turned off the main interior light he had setup. In darkness, with flickering flames, he began to recall the steps on the list. He took up the bird first, the creature from Eurasia known as a Wryneck, both its name and its moniker in the world of magick. More commonly referred to as a Jinx, used in spells to curse and damn others. He drew a deep breath and placed the bird inside the goat bag, then filled it with dead soil, the avian alchemical element thrashing about in the drowing dark. Finally, he picked up the kris, firmly, tip pointing towards the floor. Raising it up, he recited the words written on the wall before him, the riddle dancing with a crimson hue.
"Bound in blood, we are one."
"Word of dread, all is done."
Thrusting downward, he pierced the bag, severed the soil, and stabbed through the bird, the force and shock quickly halting the frightened creature. Jake stood there, blood and dirt mixing at his feet, creeping along the plastic and crashing against the candles, waiting for an answer. He waited, and waited, repeating the words again and again, reading the list over and over, yet still no sign. The only thing he noticed different was the smell in the room, saturating his clothes and stinking up the room, a concoction of waxy death and sooted soil. Night time was drawing near and there was no change, no difference in the world, no questions answered. Sickened by the smell and the deed, Jake began to clean the room, unable to open the door until it was presentable to outsiders. It took him over an hour to collect the mess, changing into his extra clothes in the back of his car. He still had a drive to make, one to the outskirts of town, to bury the evidence of his extreme detective work.
Between the forsaken ceremony, the disposal of wicked paraphernalia, and the drive home, Jake was tired and disgusted by the lengths he had gone in the pursuit of knowledge. He even expected the shade to reemerge and shudder his bones, yet perhaps he had scared it off, caused it to be uninterested in his poor acolyte duties. He only wanted to go home now and sleep it off, forget about this bit and do normal detective work, follow up with some leads maybe. He pulled his car into the drive way, his eyes ready for a sighting on the exterior of his home, but it was all for naught. He had wasted his time and energy chasing a ridiculous part of the overall case. He dragged himself from the car and entered his home, seeking solace and security.
Shutting the door behind him, Jake paused for a moment. Something seemed off, the house was too quiet, and it was too late for his family to be out or visiting others. Within his first step, the detective felt extreme pain, a biting in his calves that seared his legs. Tripping on the pain, he landed face down on the entryway floor, reeling in agony and fumbling to see what was causing this attack. It was dimly lit, the first clue that something was wrong, but the what Jake saw baffled him, terror overwhelming him next. Barbed wire was strwen in front of his door, an intentional trap, placed in a specific spot to maim and disable. As he reached to unwind his leg, a gloved hand grasped his wrist, Jakes focus darting up at the person. A mask of horns and horror peered down upon him, three eyeholes cut out and all of them looking back. "We heard your call, brother," A dark voice echoed through the mask, leaning closer to speak more. "You are almost ready." Before Jake could respond or react, the robed figure clubbed him hard, knocking him almost unconsicous, still keeping hold of a faded vision, blood seeping over one eye and obscuring it.
Cut loosed from the trap, Jake was dragged by the dark person, a strong individual for their size, albeit not larger than any average man. Across the floor, up the stairs, roughly pulled by his assailant, Jakes mind wanting him to get up but his body racked with debilitating wounds. Passing his sons room, a figure with another mask could be seen staring back from within, words of madness painted on the wall. This mask had two mouths, two eyes, and two horns. Passing his daughters room, a female figure wearing tighter garments and gazing back with a mask with no eyes and four horns, dancing around the room with dagger in hand. There was no sign of his family up to this point, he hoped they were indeed visiting neighbours or family, tears beginning to well in his eyes as he was pulled into his own bedroom. Thrown upon the bed, whirled around to see the room well, Jake saw his family bound in barbed wire, gagged with a cloth material not from his home. Fighting his battered body, he attempted to move. Displeased, the three eyed devil stabbed Jake in the stomach, leaving the knife in place, looking him in the eye now and breathing heavy. "Your journey is almost over, brother," He said with a charcoal breath, looking back towards the detectives family. "You must bear witness to their sacrifice if you wish to see Lord Trigon."
Entering the room now, the two other masked marauders took positions behind Jakes children. The triple visioned demon moved behind Jakes wife, waiting for the other two in preperation. Swiftly, brutally, Jake saw his children murdered before his very eyes, the room filling with screams and splatter. Adrenaline and rage began to overpower the knife in his stomach, shifting towards the edge of the bed, his eyes locked with his wifes. In the instant before any action was taken, a voice whispered to Jake, resonating from the mirror above his dresser. To his amazement, that shadowy figure was captured in the reflection of the mirror, staring back at Jake, unseen by anyone else in the room. "I tried to warn you, but you didn't listen," The voice spoke, the shade crawling out of the reflection and stepping into the room. Time was standing still somehow, the lights caught in a half flicker, the intruders paused in places, his wifes tears halted in their tracks. Sitting on the bed next to him, the black figure wavered and shifted, as if not entirely there. "You fell into the spiders web, detective. You did not see the trap laid before you, and now history repeats itself. You will end up like the last family, a sacrifice to their god, just another soul to crush and devour. I cannot save you or your family...but I can offer you retribution. I cannot enter your world without a vessel, and that vessel must give itself to me. You will die regardless whether you reject my offer or accept it, the only difference being that I can avenge you and yours. What say you, Jake McKay? Will you be my wryneck? The bird that carries my power, enabling a spell to gain power and promise?" The dark figure stared down at Jake and awaited his response. Jake need not ponder on this offer, he was dead either way. If this was a trick by some evil force then he deserved this fate. If he could play a part in killing the bastards that were murdering his family, then he could not refuse. He nodded at the figure, the shadow reaching out and removing the knife from Jakes gut, the dying mans screams returning time to normal.
There was a stillness in those next moments, a dead calm that gave only pleasure to the masked cohorts. Elaine lay slain on the floor with her two children next to her, while Jake lay dead on the bed, his eyes no longer flickering with light. Instead, there pooled a darkness, blotting out his eyes altogether. With those black windows filled, movement began to take place, both in the eyes and the room. That black voice now projecting within Jakes mouth, his body becoming pale, a wave of dark matter sliding over his body. New from took over the old, the true vision of the warning shade now on the exterior of this man. Face shadowed and covered by wrapping ghost cloth, a gray material that gave shape to a cloak and robes different from those in the room. This all happened within a moment, from the release of Jakes and Elaines lives, to the very next breath those foul creatures drew. With a mighty pulse, the voice from within the vessel smashed against all in the room, shattering the mirror, sundering the roof, and shaking the trio of infernals.
Within a blink, the ghostly figure stood before them, each angry and seething at the outburst. "You dare oppose, Lord Tri-" The three eyed mask was crushed in one blow, collapsing the skull of the man, his hood falling in on the place his head once rested. The secondary male tackled the foglike being, both crashing through the wall and landing in the backyard. "FOR THE GLORY OF OUR BLOOD BROTHERS!" The female beast yelled, holding a knife high and preparing to leap down from the gaping wound in the house. Raising his hand, only the two middle fingers extended, a blast of white energy traveled from the possessors hand, felling the wicked woman and exploding the top half of the house, white fire clinging to anything it touched. Too late though, he heard the words of the last soldier of darkness, his haunting gaze falling on the fanatic. "ARISE!" The double mouthed mask howled, a fiery sigil exploding from beneath him, his form changing shape, growing taller and more terrible. The summoned spirit attempted to fire blast at now looming demon but was caught by a large backhand, hurling him through the wall, kitchen, garage, and car parked out front. The attack was powerful, Jakes frail body barely surviving the assault, the spectral inhabitant knowing it needed to avoid another hit like that.
The flutter of large, leathery wings concerned the gray phantom, pushing up from the car and gaining some distance. The twisted minion climbed into the air, higher and higher, its mouths now activated by the transformation, licking both of its lips excitedly. Extending only his first two fingers, the wraithlike form drew upon the ground, letters, symbols, and signs not before seen by any alive, writing a line across the street he stood upon. Divebombing now, the demon hurtled toward the apparition, both mouths grinning and hungry. Finished marking the ground, the ghostly visage whispered a word, the demon crashing against his position, the area exploding with light and debris. A seal placed upon the ground, erecting a wall of energy, the mutated worshipper colliding with, destroying the road and surroundings but leaving the specter untouched.
Laying upon the wrecked road, the malformed monster clawed and spit, broken and twisted by the collision. Walking up his body, the phantom avenger readied his two middle fingers, pointing them towards the misshapen face. "What are you?" Asked the damaged foe, blood pooling around it. "I am sacrifice made manifest, vengeance given host, a walking retribution against evil and the like. Without me, the power of corruption would run rampant, ceaseless and unquenchable. When a life is sacrificed, just as the wrynecks, I empower the spell. From here on out, I will return upon you ten fold for each life you take in the name of Trigon...And one day, after much sacrifice, I will fall upon your Lord with fury and zeal." The demon began to laugh, choking on blood and teeth but continuing with his amusement. "You, Wryneck, are a fool...Trigon will-" A blast of white fire erased the smirk from the wretched creatures face, incinerating the road and body, the form called Wryneck moving away and back into the home of Detective McKay.
Laying down next to the murdered family, the ghostly features faded from Jake, leaving him as he was before the transition. His life began to pour out upon the floor, his vision blurring and fading, his life slipping. He could hear the voices of his wife and children calling him, yet another voice caught his attention more. There, between life and death, on the precipice of the unknown, the shadowed voice spoke. It told Jake of the war to come, both in this world and the next. He must protect his family in the after better than before, while Wryneck would gather more souls, releasing them from false shackles and deceitful deaths. The spirit would seek out those in need, any who were afflicted by strange or unnatural forces, and free them. The conversation faded, Wryneck already moving on to a new place awaiting his help. Drawn by something evil that was stirring in the heart of a city called Caldera...
"Bound in blood, we are one."
"Word of dread, all is done."
Sickening words scrawled upon the wall shook the detective, having just arrived at the scene of a grisly massacre. Countless red candles dotted the room with no discerning pattern. Chains and hooks impaled and wrapped around flesh that was draine, each as numerous as they were unfathomable. "You ever seen anything such as this, Jake?" The man wearing the Sheriff's uniform asked, his eyes focused away from the gore. "Tupperware party gone wrong?" The detective replied, removing his credentials for the newbies and onsight crew for verification. His tasteless joke falling as harshly as the crimson spatter around the area. "Detective Jake McKay," He announced for the personnel. "I hope you brought more than bad jokes," The sheriff replied, pulling out a handkerchief and covering his mouth. "Since you seem in a joking mood, I will leave this mess for you to clean up." The annoyed lawman left the premises quickly, his vomiting echoing from outside.
Jake shrugged at the comments and looks, knowing full well how terrible the situation was and had been. He paced around the room for a moment, surveying the scene. This was a three bedroom home, two story, and the only room disturbed so far was the parents bedroom. From what he could tell, the family had been corralled here, each one being murdered in front of the others until there was no one left. Rigor was setting in sooner in the children than the parents, meaning the kids were slain first, parents being left for last. The husband showed the least rigor, a thought that lingered in Jakes mind for a moment. This whole ordeal was too close to home, both within the same city limits and the fact that he had the same size family. He did not shudder at the idea but he did pause, briefly allowing the thought to run rampant in his mind."Detective?" One of the medical garbed persons prompted his sudden return to reality, one he was sure none of these people were witnessing, now or ever. "Yes?" Jake responded, moving carefully toward the scrub wearing young man. "We found something..."
Moon Valley was a desert city, with a population of about six hundred thousand, more in the winter months. Crime was of the normal type yet usually low and manageable within the city itself. The surrounding area was either vast or ranchlike, meaning trouble was either dealt with personally or it was never reported. Disappearances were the biggest issue lately. Barring this recent murder, people were never found, just gone altogether, without a trace of why or where. Jake had a few inklings but no solid leads which made it all the harder, especially when dealing with the family and friends of the missing or lost. The Lost, that was the new term for any who had gone missing. However, discovering this slain family, and the evidence left behind, the detective wondered if there may be some connection. An escalation perhaps? Hitchhiker killer now expanding into invasion and execution? His mind wandered on all the possibilities as he sat in his car, all the while his hands clutched a folder with CONFIDENTIAL on it.
A knock on the car window startled him, his green eyes darting to the disturbance, rolling down the window for the woman standing outside of his vehicle. "How are you, Ashley?" Jake asked the young lady that he recognized. Her brother was one of the Lost. "I know its hopeless..." She began, her blonde hair falling over her face, hiding her early tears. "Any news on Stephen?" Jake looked at her for a moment, his jaw flexing from his gritting teeth, running his hand through his short, black hair before answering her. "You are always welcome to ask me, about anything," Jake said softly, his eyes meeting hers with a sincere gaze, then looking out his windshield at the park nearby. "I come here as often as I can trying to figure out your brothers wherabouts. For now, I am without answers, but that is only right now, and what lies ahead us is uncertain and temporary. So, you asking me is not hope less but hope renewed. I won't give up looking, which means neither should you, Ashley." She wept at the words and she nodded quickly, her reddened blue eyes focusing on the park as well, her world just as lost as her own kin. "I've got half a pizza if you want to join me?" Jake asked, exiting the car with the cardboard box and relocating to a nearby concrete bench. She nodded at the offer and the two sat for a while, enjoying the company of those that understood each others suffering and hardship, one looking for something hopeful, the other watching for anything unusual.
At home, the solemn detective perked up as the sight of his family warmed his heart. Caleb, his son, and Wendy, his daughter, tackled his legs, still too small to overpower the man. His wife, Elaine, blonde and beautiful, kissed him on the neck and hugged him tightly. She loathed his job and knew his expressions well upon returning from a day of difficulty. The four spent quality time for the remainder of the night, Jake pushing his duties away until later that evening. After tucking his children in, Mr. McKay went to his study and began pouring over all of the details, his thoughts ready to burst from the delay and distractions. He loved his family but this job sometimes made him sacrifice time with them to try and end the horrors unfolding around them. He wanted to keep his home safe most of all, never wanting to endanger them with his work or to allow a sinister person get too close. This was all hard to juggle and he managed his best to deter all evils from grasping at him and his.
With the time and ability to focus, Jake opened the confidential folder. The only piece of evidence that was notable was this single sheet of paper found at the scene. Everything else in the house was printed or matched to the residents whom were now deceased. Curious, this single leaflet was to the detective, seeming so minor and obscure all the while being loud and significant in regards to the crime. It was a list with vague instructions, almost like a shopping list or cooking directions, however the items written were not even remotely normal, almost impossible to fathom. Still, this was all Jake had to go on. Rubbing his eyes, he began to read the text, his mind trying to anticipate what the outcome or answer may be.
Goat Bag
Dead Soil
Kris
Wryneck
Bag filled full of death,
Thrust with knife in open depth,
Speak the word of fallen design,
Witness the mighty arisen Trigon
It all seemed ludicrous, a page full of nonsense and chicken scratch, but Jake had to know what this meant. He had to stop whoever was behind the murders or causing so many to be Lost. Tired, he put away his work and turned in for the night, heading for bed. On the way, he took time to look in on his children, caressing their hair and comforting them while they dreamed. In bed, his wife fast asleep, he rested his head against her side, fighting the murderous scene from replaying in his head, allowing her breathing to aid in his slumber.
Awakening with his family, Jake began his day with a normal breakfast before heading off to work. Today would be different though, as the detective would be in search of clues or details as to the particulars of the list he read last. Goat Bag was first on the page and already his skills were failing him. This wording certainly meant something beyond the very thing it said, never recalling anyone ever speaking of such a thing. He decided to seek out a farmer for the answer, knowing there to be a few goat handlers around the area. To his surprise, he found his answer easier than expected, the words not falling short to the worn rancher. The term was uncommon, old even, but it carried relevance still to those familiar with the use of animals and their parts. A goat bag was a type of canteen, lined with a goats stomach. Jake learned that a butcher may be able to provide him with such a portion should he need one.
After visiting a meat shop he frequented and procuring the goats stomach, now in a cooler sitting in his trunk, Jake turned his attention towards the next part of the twisted catalog. As he exited the shop, a stranger caught his eye. This was not peculiar given the drifters that passed through here often. Somehow, this presence, the shadowed figure, seemed to manifest a cause for pause. Standing about two blocks down the way, Jake eyed an outline of someone just on the edge of an alley. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks, an innocent shadow cast by an unseen onject. Staring, Jake became concerned, an uncomfortable chill grasping his body the longer he peered at it, this now growing darkness. Entering his car, he headed in the direction of the looming shade. Drawing nearer, it seemed to fade and dissipate, as if it was merely a mirage. Jake continued on, his eyes fluttering on his side and rear mirrors, shaken by the sight of that blackness that moved as if aware of his gaze.
Dead Soil...Jake had an idea already formed on this piece. That afternoon he drove for some time before he reached an old road that lead away from town, winding back to an old oasis now dried up. Once, this used to be a beautiful spot when the water still pooled, he and his wife would visit when they were younger and fool around. Now, it is dead and desolate, fitting for the reason most would visit this place now. A cemetery crept upon here, once being serene and wondrous even due to loss. It was now a reflection of the business that brought others here, being of emptiness and loss. Jake parked near some headstones at the entrance, exiting and navigating through the stone carved names. Walking for a while before finding what he was searching for, a freshly dug grave. Dead Soil was that of a cemeteries, a place where the deceased lay, where death has already visited and determined ones fate. This seemed to fit the morbid protocol that the page presented, leaving only two more parts to address.
On the way back to his vehicle, the investigators eyes found themselves attracted, compelled by a yearning emptiness. A hungry, black form stood firm across the dead oasis, focused on the detective without any visible soul windows. This was a rural area, remote, both parties seeming to understand the situation. Frightened but agitated, Jake set aside the unclean dirt, drawing his revolver and edging toward the outskirts of the concave landscape. "What do you want?" Jake yelled across the parched gap, awaiting a response nervously, his finger floating near the trigger. No words came, and the private eye wished it had been a sound or a whisper, nothing beyond a gesture could be recognized as an answer. With an extended arm, the dark entity pointed, its intent directed at Jake himself. Then, a sound manifested, with no build up or warning, a howling screech emanated from that stygian and misshapen being. It sundered the air, pressing upon Jake with force and feeling, a mixture of cold malice weakening his bones, staggering his mind and senses. WIth his vision becoming hazy, Jake fired round after round in the direction of that wretched shade. His hands felt the shock of the weapon but his ears heard nothing beyond, racked with the piercing shrill echoing from the creature. Stumbling, he reached his car, tossing in the dirt and fumbling for his keys. In the instant he closed the door, the wailing ceased, all senses returned, the air calm again. Looking out, he saw now sign of the culprit yet he could not shake the thought of its obscured inspection upon his person. Without further delay, he turned the ignition and hurried away, his eyes not daring to look back this time.
Kris...another unfamiliar term to the detective. It took a gruelling trip to the local library to discover the truth behind the item. Tucked away between books titled "WMD: Weapons of Medieval Destruction" and "Dancing With Kali." This tome, "Ritual Tools" referenced that it was a blade with a wave design, almost as if it was distressed or a steel flame extending from a daggerlike hilt. An item of both status and ceremony, possessing the power to curse some to death by simply pointing it at them, this was next piece in the warped puzzle Jake was attempting to solve. Even knowing the next piece was not aiding the sleuth in his case, three clues that were wildly different, with a fourth one that was undiscovered and undeciphered. His next destination would be the pawn shop across town called "Crone's Loans," a peculiar shop owned by an even stranger woman.
Jake had visited here a few times during his missing persons and Lost reports, knowing many to frequent this place when in need of money or odds and ends. Avoiding this business was at the top of his list typically but he knew no other place to inquire about such an oddity than here. Entering the shop, he was overwhelmed by a haze of incense coughing, choking his breathing and stinging his eyes. "I have been waiting for you, detective," a raspy old voice pierced the smoky vale, hindering Jake more than the aromatic cloud. Dimly lit, the maze of bookshelves, racks, and large objects slowed his advance. Maddra, the owner of the shop, was awaiting him further in, standing behind a glass case that housed numerous items. There, atop the glass, already removed from its sheath and facing the detective, lay the serpentine blade. "How?" Jake asked, pausing his movements, eyes firming up on the aged shopkeeper. Her small stature and silver hair gave the illusion that she may be frail or senile yet Jake new her mind was sharp. Still, this was too coincidental, too forthcoming to be a good thing so the private eye waited, wondered about this scenario presented before him.
One hand atop the counter, the other moved up and plucked a long cigarette from her mouth, rings and jewelry adorning her fingers, wrists, and neck. "How did I know it was you, Officer McKay?" She asked with yellow teeth, smoke filtering through them and colliding with the atmosphere of lung hazards. "You are my only visitor that is agitated by the scents. You are so sensitive, detective. If you visited more often then perhaps you would adjust?" Jake heard her words however he also understood that she cleverly dodged his question. "Do you like the blade?" Maddra asked, inhaling the cigarette deeply afterwards licking her lips. "A gambler down on his luck pawned this a few months back. I decided to clean this case today and happened upon it." Jake stepped up to the display, touching the dagger with his eyes alone, his mind racked with possibilities and retorts, questions as to the how and why. "Its a Kris, I believe," Jake responded finally, hand edging along the counter near the hilt. "Is it now..." Maddra said in return, attempting to seem unsure. "There has been an unsettling event, Maddra," Jake spoke, his voice concerned and with a tinge of warning. "That weapon may be key in stopping any further disturbances." Maddra sheathed the wavey blade for the detective, handing it over to him, not without a warning of her own though. "It is merely a tool, Officer McKay," She said, allowing him to grasp the object from him palms. "Mistaking it for a weapon may lead you down the wrong road." Taking the item, Jake turned to leave but stopped, turning around and speaking to Maddra. "Do you know of anything called Wryneck?" He asked, his face squinting with thoughts as to the answer, his mind grasping yet never touching the truth. "Oh honey," The old woman responded with a heavy sigh, her face sour at the word. "Why do you ask for such a thing? Ye who hold the twisted crucifix and ask for a sacrifice? Have you no eyes to see the devil who walks behind you, whispering in your ear and promising false riches?" Jakes eyes were wide, a cold sweat came upon him, the information tearing him in multiple directions. Shaking off the cryptic speak, he asked again. This time, Maddra answered, and with this, he had the truth, once again regretting the knowledge he had gained. He left the establishment and headed for home, night now settling upon the sandscape, stars drawn upon the area, crushing upon the sky and air with flickering light.
Next morning, waking later than usual, Jake went about his normal routine of showering, breakfast, news, and coffee indulgence. He had stayed up late the previous night, having to order the Wryneck, it being the most obscure and out of place object to acquire. He paid for expedited shipping but that would still take a day or two. In the meantime, Detective McKay reviewed the instructions of the list, memorizing them, attempting to decode the overall meaning, understand how this played a role in the murder of that family. Yet, the harder he focused, the more that shadowy image came back to haunt him. He needed to stop by the precinct and file a report for discharging his weapon at the cemetery. He needed to but he wouldn't, knowing that over all the channels and calls no one had complained or informed anyone about the disturbance. It was wrong, he knew that, and he felt compelled to follow up on it, explain himself. No good would come of it without a detailed explanation, and that would only slow his work and investigation. Besides, that was considered out of city limits, so he needn't worry much about reprimand or complaints. However, he was worried about the figure. He felt its presence, its voice, or scream rather. Coupled with the curious questions and responses from Maddra, Jake was at a loss.
Later that afternoon, after stopping by the station and surveying the rumors and information, Jake visited a storage facility. He rented a small unit, the owner owing him a favor for not turning him in on some previous solicitation charges. Necessity caused Jake to find such a place, keeping his home and coworkers away from this nasty business. He always had to make hard decisions for others and himself, the life he lived never being an easy one, for any party involved. Bad men preyed and prayed, while innocents were afflicted with insolence, corruption and subjugation, murder and slaughter. Reclusive, he prepped the inside of the building for the remainder of the day. Trips to the hardware store for plastic and cleaning supplies, overalls and protective gear. His pursuit in answers was getting messy but it was required if he was to solve what all this meant, hoping his inquiries and digging would lure out the culprit.
That night, returning home, Jake pulled into the driveway, sweating and tired from his labors. Opening the door, he moved out from the car, stretching a moment and looking up at the stars. A constellation, known well to the man, seemed to be altered, as if part of it was missing. His eyes fixated on the spot trying to make the stars reveal themselves, straining as to why the assembly was out of order. And then it moved, not the arrangement of the lights, but the blackness of space. Jakes throats suddenly felt dry and inconsolable, the eyes of the curious man no longer wanting to see the reality of the obstruction, his body unable to move. Standing upon his roof, blocking the alignment of stars, obstructing the darkness spread across the sky, was the shadow from before. Closer in distance than the last, as if nearing him each time, its abyssmal pressure weighing on the detective, exceeding the times before. This thing was on Jake's roof, his family already inside awaiting the return of the father and husband. Quickly, Jake drew his weapon and sprinted for the door. He had to secure his home, get to the roof, and kill this night stalker.
Bursting through the entrance portal, slamming the door behind him, Jake was blindsided by his two children, rushing to him and spouting loud nonsense. "Daddy! Daddy! You bought us a bird!" Those words halted Jakes immediate concern with the thing on the roof, realizing that the final item has arrived. His wife looked both pleased and annoyed by this news, her not being in the loop of a new pet. "Give me a moment, kiddos," Jake replied, pushing passed the kids and making his way to the second floor balcony. Outside again, he climbed to the top of the roof, pistol sweeping every corner, his feet barely keeping firm on the shingles. Nothing. Not like the nothingness that formed seemed to be made of, just the regular nothing, all in state of normality.
Much explaining and heartache came when Jake told about the bird and its purpose. He lied to them, told them it was a gift for a person whose house had caught fire and killed their precious pet. He told them that he had meant for it to be sent to them but forget to change the address on the online order. His wife was relieved but the kids were bummed, meaning Jake had to treat them to ice cream and fun to make up for the mistake. An inadvertant night out with the family was actually just what he needed, always hating himself for not being around enough or pushing them away to get his job done. All night, he balanced father and detective carefully, his attention on his kin while his eyes sought the appearance of that black sin. The remainder of the evening was pleasant, undisturbed, exhausting the officer but providing him with another memory of his wonderful family.
The next day, with all idols and items accounted for, Jake gathered his effects and made his way to the storage building. He unloaded the bird, blade, bag, and unclean base, placing each one in opposite corners of the room. Lastly, two duffel bags were lugged in and placed against the wall, Jake turning back and pulling down the door so that no one could witness what he was about to do. He was not a believer in the occult but understood the significance, he needed to be in the same mindset as the killer if he wanted to solve this case. Reenacting the ritual, sans human murder, may help him figure out an angle or importance to this ordeal.
A thick layer of clear plastic was already taped up the day before, meaning Jake could begin making a mess. He changed his clothers and put on heavy black gloves and an apron, looking like a butcher about to cull a herd. His clothes were placed in the bag that the deflective apparel was stored in, now moving him over to the seconday bag. He removed candle after candle, placing them about in the same pattern as the crime scene photos, a strange spacing he still did not grasp. He lit each, then turned off the main interior light he had setup. In darkness, with flickering flames, he began to recall the steps on the list. He took up the bird first, the creature from Eurasia known as a Wryneck, both its name and its moniker in the world of magick. More commonly referred to as a Jinx, used in spells to curse and damn others. He drew a deep breath and placed the bird inside the goat bag, then filled it with dead soil, the avian alchemical element thrashing about in the drowing dark. Finally, he picked up the kris, firmly, tip pointing towards the floor. Raising it up, he recited the words written on the wall before him, the riddle dancing with a crimson hue.
"Bound in blood, we are one."
"Word of dread, all is done."
Thrusting downward, he pierced the bag, severed the soil, and stabbed through the bird, the force and shock quickly halting the frightened creature. Jake stood there, blood and dirt mixing at his feet, creeping along the plastic and crashing against the candles, waiting for an answer. He waited, and waited, repeating the words again and again, reading the list over and over, yet still no sign. The only thing he noticed different was the smell in the room, saturating his clothes and stinking up the room, a concoction of waxy death and sooted soil. Night time was drawing near and there was no change, no difference in the world, no questions answered. Sickened by the smell and the deed, Jake began to clean the room, unable to open the door until it was presentable to outsiders. It took him over an hour to collect the mess, changing into his extra clothes in the back of his car. He still had a drive to make, one to the outskirts of town, to bury the evidence of his extreme detective work.
Between the forsaken ceremony, the disposal of wicked paraphernalia, and the drive home, Jake was tired and disgusted by the lengths he had gone in the pursuit of knowledge. He even expected the shade to reemerge and shudder his bones, yet perhaps he had scared it off, caused it to be uninterested in his poor acolyte duties. He only wanted to go home now and sleep it off, forget about this bit and do normal detective work, follow up with some leads maybe. He pulled his car into the drive way, his eyes ready for a sighting on the exterior of his home, but it was all for naught. He had wasted his time and energy chasing a ridiculous part of the overall case. He dragged himself from the car and entered his home, seeking solace and security.
Shutting the door behind him, Jake paused for a moment. Something seemed off, the house was too quiet, and it was too late for his family to be out or visiting others. Within his first step, the detective felt extreme pain, a biting in his calves that seared his legs. Tripping on the pain, he landed face down on the entryway floor, reeling in agony and fumbling to see what was causing this attack. It was dimly lit, the first clue that something was wrong, but the what Jake saw baffled him, terror overwhelming him next. Barbed wire was strwen in front of his door, an intentional trap, placed in a specific spot to maim and disable. As he reached to unwind his leg, a gloved hand grasped his wrist, Jakes focus darting up at the person. A mask of horns and horror peered down upon him, three eyeholes cut out and all of them looking back. "We heard your call, brother," A dark voice echoed through the mask, leaning closer to speak more. "You are almost ready." Before Jake could respond or react, the robed figure clubbed him hard, knocking him almost unconsicous, still keeping hold of a faded vision, blood seeping over one eye and obscuring it.
Cut loosed from the trap, Jake was dragged by the dark person, a strong individual for their size, albeit not larger than any average man. Across the floor, up the stairs, roughly pulled by his assailant, Jakes mind wanting him to get up but his body racked with debilitating wounds. Passing his sons room, a figure with another mask could be seen staring back from within, words of madness painted on the wall. This mask had two mouths, two eyes, and two horns. Passing his daughters room, a female figure wearing tighter garments and gazing back with a mask with no eyes and four horns, dancing around the room with dagger in hand. There was no sign of his family up to this point, he hoped they were indeed visiting neighbours or family, tears beginning to well in his eyes as he was pulled into his own bedroom. Thrown upon the bed, whirled around to see the room well, Jake saw his family bound in barbed wire, gagged with a cloth material not from his home. Fighting his battered body, he attempted to move. Displeased, the three eyed devil stabbed Jake in the stomach, leaving the knife in place, looking him in the eye now and breathing heavy. "Your journey is almost over, brother," He said with a charcoal breath, looking back towards the detectives family. "You must bear witness to their sacrifice if you wish to see Lord Trigon."
Entering the room now, the two other masked marauders took positions behind Jakes children. The triple visioned demon moved behind Jakes wife, waiting for the other two in preperation. Swiftly, brutally, Jake saw his children murdered before his very eyes, the room filling with screams and splatter. Adrenaline and rage began to overpower the knife in his stomach, shifting towards the edge of the bed, his eyes locked with his wifes. In the instant before any action was taken, a voice whispered to Jake, resonating from the mirror above his dresser. To his amazement, that shadowy figure was captured in the reflection of the mirror, staring back at Jake, unseen by anyone else in the room. "I tried to warn you, but you didn't listen," The voice spoke, the shade crawling out of the reflection and stepping into the room. Time was standing still somehow, the lights caught in a half flicker, the intruders paused in places, his wifes tears halted in their tracks. Sitting on the bed next to him, the black figure wavered and shifted, as if not entirely there. "You fell into the spiders web, detective. You did not see the trap laid before you, and now history repeats itself. You will end up like the last family, a sacrifice to their god, just another soul to crush and devour. I cannot save you or your family...but I can offer you retribution. I cannot enter your world without a vessel, and that vessel must give itself to me. You will die regardless whether you reject my offer or accept it, the only difference being that I can avenge you and yours. What say you, Jake McKay? Will you be my wryneck? The bird that carries my power, enabling a spell to gain power and promise?" The dark figure stared down at Jake and awaited his response. Jake need not ponder on this offer, he was dead either way. If this was a trick by some evil force then he deserved this fate. If he could play a part in killing the bastards that were murdering his family, then he could not refuse. He nodded at the figure, the shadow reaching out and removing the knife from Jakes gut, the dying mans screams returning time to normal.
There was a stillness in those next moments, a dead calm that gave only pleasure to the masked cohorts. Elaine lay slain on the floor with her two children next to her, while Jake lay dead on the bed, his eyes no longer flickering with light. Instead, there pooled a darkness, blotting out his eyes altogether. With those black windows filled, movement began to take place, both in the eyes and the room. That black voice now projecting within Jakes mouth, his body becoming pale, a wave of dark matter sliding over his body. New from took over the old, the true vision of the warning shade now on the exterior of this man. Face shadowed and covered by wrapping ghost cloth, a gray material that gave shape to a cloak and robes different from those in the room. This all happened within a moment, from the release of Jakes and Elaines lives, to the very next breath those foul creatures drew. With a mighty pulse, the voice from within the vessel smashed against all in the room, shattering the mirror, sundering the roof, and shaking the trio of infernals.
Within a blink, the ghostly figure stood before them, each angry and seething at the outburst. "You dare oppose, Lord Tri-" The three eyed mask was crushed in one blow, collapsing the skull of the man, his hood falling in on the place his head once rested. The secondary male tackled the foglike being, both crashing through the wall and landing in the backyard. "FOR THE GLORY OF OUR BLOOD BROTHERS!" The female beast yelled, holding a knife high and preparing to leap down from the gaping wound in the house. Raising his hand, only the two middle fingers extended, a blast of white energy traveled from the possessors hand, felling the wicked woman and exploding the top half of the house, white fire clinging to anything it touched. Too late though, he heard the words of the last soldier of darkness, his haunting gaze falling on the fanatic. "ARISE!" The double mouthed mask howled, a fiery sigil exploding from beneath him, his form changing shape, growing taller and more terrible. The summoned spirit attempted to fire blast at now looming demon but was caught by a large backhand, hurling him through the wall, kitchen, garage, and car parked out front. The attack was powerful, Jakes frail body barely surviving the assault, the spectral inhabitant knowing it needed to avoid another hit like that.
The flutter of large, leathery wings concerned the gray phantom, pushing up from the car and gaining some distance. The twisted minion climbed into the air, higher and higher, its mouths now activated by the transformation, licking both of its lips excitedly. Extending only his first two fingers, the wraithlike form drew upon the ground, letters, symbols, and signs not before seen by any alive, writing a line across the street he stood upon. Divebombing now, the demon hurtled toward the apparition, both mouths grinning and hungry. Finished marking the ground, the ghostly visage whispered a word, the demon crashing against his position, the area exploding with light and debris. A seal placed upon the ground, erecting a wall of energy, the mutated worshipper colliding with, destroying the road and surroundings but leaving the specter untouched.
Laying upon the wrecked road, the malformed monster clawed and spit, broken and twisted by the collision. Walking up his body, the phantom avenger readied his two middle fingers, pointing them towards the misshapen face. "What are you?" Asked the damaged foe, blood pooling around it. "I am sacrifice made manifest, vengeance given host, a walking retribution against evil and the like. Without me, the power of corruption would run rampant, ceaseless and unquenchable. When a life is sacrificed, just as the wrynecks, I empower the spell. From here on out, I will return upon you ten fold for each life you take in the name of Trigon...And one day, after much sacrifice, I will fall upon your Lord with fury and zeal." The demon began to laugh, choking on blood and teeth but continuing with his amusement. "You, Wryneck, are a fool...Trigon will-" A blast of white fire erased the smirk from the wretched creatures face, incinerating the road and body, the form called Wryneck moving away and back into the home of Detective McKay.
Laying down next to the murdered family, the ghostly features faded from Jake, leaving him as he was before the transition. His life began to pour out upon the floor, his vision blurring and fading, his life slipping. He could hear the voices of his wife and children calling him, yet another voice caught his attention more. There, between life and death, on the precipice of the unknown, the shadowed voice spoke. It told Jake of the war to come, both in this world and the next. He must protect his family in the after better than before, while Wryneck would gather more souls, releasing them from false shackles and deceitful deaths. The spirit would seek out those in need, any who were afflicted by strange or unnatural forces, and free them. The conversation faded, Wryneck already moving on to a new place awaiting his help. Drawn by something evil that was stirring in the heart of a city called Caldera...