Immortals and Empires

Chapter 5: Past and Present

The ritual required sacrifice, and the ritual was completed.

Stories of the past, spun into the reality of the present (tragedy of the future).

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A/N: tw; brainwashing(?), death, implied gore(?)

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Time was a curious thing. Abundance could easily fade into scarcity, ticking and ticking away till it folded in on itself. Too little yearned for more, and too much yearned for less. The age old debate of mortality against immortality.

Time wasn't all that mortals yearned for; quite often, there was a multitude of desires they sought. Time, as elusive as it was, became the medium for those desires, and to mortals those desires were as elusive as time.

So what if someone who could grant those desires?

Blind loyalty was difficult to claim, but upon imposing a trade mentality, the party could easily retrieve what they sought in exchange. There's where the being with no form struck. Waiting for the right person, and waiting for the right moment.

To Horror, he offered truth.

To Dust, he offered revenge.

To Cross, he offered reunion.

But with Killer, it was different. He offered something more, his claws lodged deeper and deeper till Killer was completely devoted to him, trusting every word blindly.

And in this circle of four, the ideals of service stacked upon each other till all four were truly caught in the spider's web, as if flies.

All four were orphans, as it were. Easier to manipulate, to control, to guide. Gradually, they became enthralled within his illusions and willing to carry out what the being with no form could not; the ritual to give him a form of his own.

Almost in a cult-like fashion of service, they'd readied for this moment as if a couple of friends preparing for a casual hangout.

"It's time," Killer said simply.

The black rose lay stationery.

For the phoenix to be reborn, it must rise from its ashes.

"As we all know, we need four sacrifices, one from each other. Horror and I will be carrying out physical sacrifices. Cross and Dust's are emotional sacrifices. "

Without saying a word, it was obvious the thought running through their head.

"You choose what to sacrifice. Just leave your soul alone."

The knife was poised, perfectly in reach.

Killer exhaled.

Dust's eyelights disappeared.

Horror kept his eyes on the blade.

The heart locket burned into Cross's chest.

Someone grabbed the knife.

"I'll be the first."

The silence was acknowledgement enough.

(a silent agreement, the privacy of sacrifice)

Dust's scarf was the first to join the rose.

And then it was Cross's turn.

A sacrifice.

Oh, Cross and his bleeding heart.

A locket dropped into the pile.

Dust didn't look at the others as he left the room. Neither did Cross.