!Q7t.srvWZ6 03/06/12(Tue)17:35 No.18230993|
File: 1331073323.jpg-(118 KB, 640x363, 896fd708a15b1d2d618fd1ad719ade(...).jpg)
You can see it, as it comes spilling out of the coffin it was sealed in since it died, from days long past. Your chant awakening it from its eternal slumber. Or rather, you can't. It is a void, an unerring darkness in reality, to which all light and life is drawn. It turns to look at Eliza, who closes her eyes for a second, and prays, of all things. But the thing which is no longer is distracted by your invocation. Your invitation.
It reaches its hands to draw the very breath from your lungs, but you can continue chanting, you flick to the marked page in the book, and change rites. The first circle, the one done in the Jotun blood, fades to just a purple glow akin to embers, as the second array, you etched into the foundations of the house and filled with running quicksilver lights up. The dead god cannot escape. But it doesn't want to. The first right was still completed, and the shadow moves to engulf you. Blackness fills your senses, but you command your unfeeling lips to finish the chant. It mocks you, deep in the shadows of your mind. You, the feeble mortal, to think to make a sacrifice of a god. You grin back at it, and all you respond is, "Not for much longer." The shadow clears, suddenly, as you feel a sharp sting in your chest, right over your heart. Eliza has done her part, and sinks the sacrificial dagger up to the hilt into your torso. Black blood pours from the wound, and from your lips, spattering her porcelain face. Tears run down her cheeks. You don't know why you're so fixated on it, it is your greatest moment. You knew what was coming next, but the sensation is still surprising. Knowing is not the same as experiencing. And what you experience is the feeling of your body and soul, down to the smallest particle, collapsing into dust and falling into the coffin.