Reforged!

Cormanworth - The Hidden Occult

That night Oliver brewed his sleeping tonic extra strong, he planned on staying in the dream, he would control the narrative. He had to. Soon the warm liquid soothed his body and he was fast asleep.

He was sitting standing in the pews of the Cathedral of Bhuul. He was in West Bale, the two cities by the sea. The room was largely made of carved stone elegantly designed to reflect the ways of the church. A large altar of black stone with gold engraves of the golden Circled Axe, the symbol of Bhuul. Several people wearing the black priestly hooded robes of the ceremony were standing around the Altar. The cathedral was packed with worshipers, a couple of hundreds all wearing brown robes and chanting in low hums.

Oliver was helpless, he could not control his actions in this dream as the last night’s nightmare. He was a spectator, she was in control of this dream. These were her memories. He watched as the black-robed priest brought blue ceremonial-dressed men and women out to the black altar. One at a time, they would shackle them, legs, and wrists with silver ceremonial chains on top of the black altar. Each priest would praise Bhuul before slitting the wrists and then say a chant more prayers to Bhuul as the sacrifice was bleeding dry, the victims would often cry and beg for forgiveness and in the last moments before death, the priest would plunge the golden ceremonial dagger into the heart of the sacrifice. The blood did not simply run off the altar, it was absorbed into it. The altar would then make an audible rumble each time the last drop of life was consumed. Then assistant priests would unshackle the corpse and drag the remains off to be disposed of properly.

His heart raced as he witnessed the silver-haired woman he knew as Andrea was brought out next. Her head was down, he could see she was crying, tears rolled down her face. She was shivering uncontrollably. He tried to get up, do something but he was helpless. All he could do was watch. She was dressed in the light blue ceremonial sacrificial dress that all the victims were wearing. The black-robed priest laid her on the altar and restrained her as per the ceremony called for.

The priest said his prayers to Bhuul and slid the golden dagger across her right wrist and left ankle. Blood began pouring from the wound. She screamed at the pain. He tried to move. That’s when he felt something, something different. He heard a crack of thunder outside. Rain began to fall hard on the rooftops of the Cathedral. The priest kept going and chanting, the humming of the followers got louder, the voices raised and lowered with the prayer.

The priest cut her other wrist, her heart was pumping her lifeblood out. He could hear her scream again, “I don’t want to die. Not like this! Please let more go! Father! Mother! Somebody!”. Oliver felt something, something dark, it felt like a weight was pushing on him. He noticed that some of the bystanders in the pews with him also looked around, they felt the presence as well. The storm outside was now raging, the wind had started to blow. A bolt of lightning struck the top of the building and some of the stonework fell from the roof. He wanted to do something, he was paralyzed and still could not move. He wanted to rush over and free her, every fiber in his body was screaming to move, but he was still held in place. His heart was racing, he wanted to scream himself.

The priest continued to chant. Andrea was becoming silent, her body had already become a pale white with the loss of blood. He noticed something a shadowy form over her body, it was displaced hard to see, but he could see the eyes. Crimson red above her head. The priest slammed the golden dagger hilt deep into her heart. Her body strained against the final wound. Her bloody hands balled into fists, her bare blood-soaked feet curled and knotted. Blood came flowing from her mouth. He could see her relaxing as her life left her. He wanted to scream and do something he was still powerless to do. He saw the shadowy form move into her body. Her eyes light up with the same solid red crimson.

Then the room exploded with a red light, followed by a shockwave of fiery death. The center of the explosion was Andrea, he could see her body shredding. He could hear her scream one last time. It was echoey, almost hollow, and not human. Wounds appeared all over her body, red rays of light projected through the tears of flesh, her body was consumed by the red light. The explosion rolled outwards, he could see the robbed priest’s bodies being melted before his eyes. Their robes burned off and the skin melted like a bloody wax and was sprayed backward, coating the walls with the waxing flesh. The followers in the pews bodies burned as well, the fire was hot enough to turn these victims to ash almost instantly. The Cathedral of Bhuul collapsed around him, some parts on fire. The whole building was consumed in a fiery inferno.

Then all went black, it was like the Inbetween Andrea had shown him earlier. He could not see anything. He heard her voice. She was not crying. “Oliver. Do you remember the first time we met?”

Following the Dream

Oliver awoke, breathing hard and sweating. He wondered what the hell had just happened. What was he meant to see? What happened to Andrea.

When he later that night went to sleep, his dream was hard to recall, like most dreams were, places he visited in the past. His nightmare of Heather, which he found a way to avoid and redirect. His dream of Andrea was not the same, it was controlled, by his shaping and not shared as before. He thought she might be dead. He was now depressed again.

In the morning Oliver had decided he had enough of being cooped up, it was time to regain his life. He would see if he could find out what happened to Andrea. He knew she was real, but he did not know what was real in the dreams he had or not. He would need funding, his shop had been closed for months. He was going to have to go back to work, struggle with his own demons. He had found something worth living for, he would find Andrea. He retrieved his metal iron skulled staff from the workshop and other equipment and headed out. He was Master Martin, the head of the Dark Arts Division of the Grindhouse Guild. It was time to go back to work.