SUBMISSIVES CULT

Chapter 18: Shadows of Obsession

Dominic

The moment Isla's pulse quickened beneath my grip, something dark and primal surged inside me, feeding the hunger that simmered just beneath the surface. Her fear, the way her breath hitched, the way her eyes widened—it twisted in my gut like a knife made of ice and fire. She wasn't ready to see what she saw, to know the depths of my devotion, my obsession. But she needed to learn that some doors were not meant to be opened.

"Go to your bedroom," I ordered, my voice low and edged with menace. Her eyes, wide with confusion and fear, searched mine for something, perhaps reassurance. But there was none. The line had been crossed, and she had to understand the consequences. My grip on her arm tightened, dragging her out of the dark room and into the cold, empty hallway. She stumbled, nearly falling as I released her, but managed to catch herself, trembling.

"Now!" I barked, my voice echoing off the stone walls, leaving no room for defiance. Isla flinched, her body recoiling as if my words were a physical blow. She looked at me one last time, eyes filled with something that might have been hurt, then turned and fled down the hallway, disappearing into the shadows.

I waited until her footsteps faded, until the silence in the mansion was absolute, before I turned back to the room. My sanctuary. My shrine to her. My descent into madness.

The door closed behind me with a dull thud, sealing me in with the darkness I had created. My breath came in short, harsh gasps as I moved to the altar, my hands trembling with a mix of anger and need. The ritual was incomplete, the spell unfinished. And now the darkness inside me was clawing at the edges of my sanity, hungry for more.

I reached for the items on the altar—a lock of her hair, a drop of my blood, and the knife. The blade was ancient, its edge still sharp enough to cut through flesh like butter. Symbols of power were etched into the steel, runes that whispered of old magic, of control, of domination.

As I lit the candles, their flickering flames casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance in time with my ragged breath, I began to chant the incantation. The words were ancient, harsh on the tongue, each syllable a knife that sliced through the air, cutting away the last vestiges of my humanity.

The room darkened, the shadows lengthening, deepening as the power I called upon began to take form. I could feel it, a thick, cloying presence that filled the air, pressing in on me from all sides. The voices began to whisper again, low and guttural, like a chorus of demons hissing in my ears.

"She is yours, Dominic. She has always been yours. Take her. Bind her to you with blood and pain."

The darkness wrapped around me like a lover, its tendrils cold and unyielding as they slid across my skin. The voices grew louder, more insistent, their words digging into my mind like jagged claws.

"Make her yours in every way that matters. Cut her, mark her, claim her. She belongs to you and only you."

The blood on the parchment mixed with the lock of her hair, and I pressed the blade to my palm, slicing it open with a hiss of pain. The blood flowed freely, warm and thick, and I let it drip onto the symbols, binding the spell with my will.

But as the final words left my mouth, the power I had summoned turned on me, a beast that could no longer be controlled. It surged through me, nearly knocking me off my feet, as the room darkened to an impossible pitch. The shadows seemed to come alive, writhing and twisting like a mass of serpents, hungry and insatiable.

The voices were no longer whispers. They were screams, harsh and violent, like nails being dragged across the inside of my skull.

"Take her, Dominic! Use her! She is your vessel, your sacrifice! Her blood will make you strong!"