None is Righteous

one

Travis has woken up a handful of times in the dungeon but never when anyone was there so when he awoke to a dozen people in matching hooded cloaks chanting in tongues as he laid in the middle of a pentacle which also happend to be on fire, its safe to say he was pretty disoriented.

The smoke from the fire stung his eyes as he squinted around the room. His lungs burned from inhaling the smoke. He wasn't sure what was happening. Twelve hooded figures were surrounding him outside of the ring of fire. All exept one. His father. Travis could recognize that dog mask anywhere.

His father was standing on a podium holding a book. He was louder than the rest, as he usually was but this time it was different. He wasn't preaching about God, not even close. This was way further than he ever thought his father would go and frankly Travis thought this was blasphemous. He wasn't all to knowledgeable on cults, curtesy of his father, but this seemed pretty cultish.

His hands were burning. The fire was closing in. If he didn't move now he'd surely catch on fire. He tugged his arms towards himself, or alteast tried too. His wrists were chained to the floor.

"Shit," he mumbled still perplexed on why his father was currently sacrificing him to some blasphemous deity. He was surprisingly okay with this whole thing. If he died during whatever their doing to him, atleast he wont have to deal with his fathers bullshit anymore.

The fire got hotter, the flames rose. Travis screamed in agony, as the fire turned green. A blaring green light shot out from the ceiling, illuminating the dungeon. Villainous laughter echoed throughout the chamber reverberating like a live band in a concert hall.

The heat burned his hands, his arms, his legs. He felt like he was on fire. The sounds of the chanting faded in and out. His vision blurred until everything went black.