What Crawls Below

7 § False Idols

For several days, Cyrus fell into a downright mundane routine with Tuesday. When she wasn't in school, they roamed the city, avoiding both of their own homes. She didn't explain why hers was off-limits, and he didn't mind. It took his mind off all the responsibilities and chaos he normally had to shoulder.

He kind of liked feeling normal.

Of course, that didn't mean much. Cyrus still had the inclination to take the girl apart like a toy and see how the gears turned inside...but something always held him back.

They'd been talking about something inconsequential - well, she had been talking, and he had not really listened. Cyrus didn't remember what the one-sided conversation entailed, but it still set him up for a culture shock when he was confronted by Moloch upon getting home.

Thanks to his human background, Moloch resembled a normal man well enough. His trademark grin always set Cyrus on edge, though, and the appearance of the reaper in his kitchen didn't help.

He was debating whether he could slip past undetected when Moloch turned to face him, the jagged smile already slashing a slit across his face. "Well? How was it?"

Cyrus just looked at him.

"I hear you've had your second time," Moloch elaborated, arching his eyebrows suggestively. "I still remember mine. Lord, did she scream and scream." He threw his head back, laughing.

"Mine didn't," Cyrus said just above a whisper, pretty much above that day's quota for social interaction. Really, he just didn't have the same taste for theatrics as Moloch did.

"Pity. And another thing--" Moloch paused, craning his head to peer down the hall. He said the next part in a hushed tone. "That old bat should pull the stick out of his ass. In my day, we could take anyone we wanted."

Cyrus just nodded at this, edging into the hall. He had begun his retreat when Acheron appeared in his path.

Acheron regarded him for a brief moment before saying, "There is a group discussion tonight. Do not miss it," before gliding into the kitchen. Cyrus heard the sound of Acheron's voice continue, smoother and darker than Moloch's but couldn't tell what they were saying. He retreated into his room until outside his bedroom window, the darkness rose and swallowed the last remnants of daytime.

Cyrus trekked to the compound alone, seeing as the house was empty again when he came out. As was more often than not those days, blood was on his mind. The branches breaking underfoot resembled snapping bones; faint bird calls in the distance were a cacophony of screams. He found he had much more control over himself now that his need had been so recently sated, but how long would it last?

Was he only a slave to his urges?

The room he'd killed the priest in was cleared of all evidence, left bare but populated by all of Second Advent's members. They sat cross-legged, packed in tight and shoulder to shoulder. He took a seat next to Delilah, who shivered but offered him a small smile.

The only one not sitting was Acheron, who stood in the center of the gathering, watching as a few last-minute stragglers came in the door. Then he clasped his hands together and said, "Tonight we have an important discussion on our hands. Many of you have heard it before, but we have some newer members that have not had the privilege." At this, he inclined his head in Delilah's direction.

Acheron took a moment to meet each member's eyes. It took several minutes, and the room stayed dead silent until he spoke again.

"The God you once worshipped," he began, pausing for the briefest of seconds, "was created to keep you in line. Step out of line and burn for eternity."