Blood tasted like nothing else: a thick, pervading, coppery scent that filled his beak and his nostrils with every breath.
He stared at the thing that had once been a pony sprawled across the altar. Her eyes, the color of ripe tangerines, stared up at the distant ceiling, her face marred by tears. Her mouth was locked wide in a final scream, a plea for someone to aid her; her scraggly mane, the yellow faded from years on the streets, was damp with sweat. Raw red marks were etched into her limbs where the chains secured her to the unyielding stone.
Blood ran in rivulets from her chest, both from the markings carved into her flesh and from the hole that had been hacked into her chest.
Above her, the priestess in her regal robes of white splattered with her victim’s blood hoisted the heart into the air, grinning as the hideously adorned muscle continued to beat with a horrifically hypnotizing rhythm. Upon the balcony above them, the cloaked thestral at the pipe organ continued stroking the massive keys, music blaring from the pipes down into the great sanctuary. The priestess’ voice rose in the familiar chant and he forced himself to lift his voice in praise along with the other acolytes, that awful taste blending into every syllable:
“From the weakness of the spirit, Daybreaker, harden us!
“From the lies of hope, Nightmare Moon, preserve us!
“From the chains of morality, Discord, free us!
“From the lure of peace, Tirek, save us!
“From the empty world of the false gods, True Masters, bring us salvation!
“Ehi! Ehi! Ehi! Nyaglath, ger’uh angfah!”
The music from the pipe organ came to a slow stillness. The priestess lowered her prize, holding it out for her hooded followers to admire. “Sweet are the uses of adversity which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears yet a jewel on its head!” she crowed. “At last, we've done it! By the will of our masters, we have what we need!”
A cheer erupted amongst the cultists. The stallion forced himself to join in the celebration, mustering as much false cheer into his face as he could.
“Dispose of the corpse,” the priestess declared, nodding to the two nearest acolytes. “Leave it out somewhere to be found, like the others. The scent of fear is in the air and we shall harness it!”
“Yes, Priestess,” the two burly stallions both bowed and moved forward, unlatching the chains securing the body to the table. They lifted the body up with about as much care as though she were a sack of potato peelings. Just another thing to be disposed of.
"All causes shall give way: we are in blood stepped so far that, should we wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o'er," the priestess crooned. She carried the beating heart over to another table, holding the disgusting thing like it was a baby. With a slow reverence, she placed the heart in a box etched with bizarre runes and twisting emblems of the four Old Gods intertwined. She locked the box, finally silencing the nauseating thud-thump of its beat.
The stallion watched as more acolytes brought in cleaning materials and began to scrub down the altar and the bladed tools on the other table, his empty stomach churning. He could already see the headlines tomorrow, declaring that the fourth body had been found. Panic in the streets. The police and the RBI issuing token statements to try to calm everyone. Ponies throughout Manehattan locking their doors and praying to things that they didn’t truly believe in.
All according to their plan.
A hoof came down on his shoulder and he nearly leaped out of his skin, whirling to see another acolyte behind him, their hood drawn up to hide their eyes.
He still knew who it was beneath the hood. It was why he hadn’t gone to the police.
“You all right, mate?” the cultist said through a friendly smile that the hippogriff knew was only skin deep.
The stallion swallowed and tried not to notice how much he was sweating. “I’m fine,” he replied through a forced smile. “Just…a bit hot in here.”
The hooded figure stared for a bit, the smile never wavering for a moment, then nodded. “Maybe you should head home for the night,” they said, the false kindness in their voice like sugar hiding poison. “We’ll take care of the cleanup.”
He swallowed and nodded, relief and concern rolling his stomach over and over in his guts, aided by the thick miasma of blood and viscera. He proceeded down the hall, past the pews of the sanctuary; the music from the pipe organ, which had resumed now that the service was complete, seemed to loom over him like a physical presence, following his every step. Shadows from the flickering candles set in the chandeliers overhead crept up the stone walls to the stained glass windows, making a sanctuary that could seat more than a hundred seem close and claustrophobic.
He looked up at the stained glass images, calming blues and yellows and greens and whites depicting ponies nodding over flowers and harvests, all under the watchful golden eye of the alicorns.
He let out a brief scoff. Faust and all the others clearly hadn’t been watching when that poor mare was bled out on the stone. Nor for all the others.
Or maybe She had been watching? He looked down at his hooves as the malign odor filled his mouth once more. It had to have been a trick of the darkness and light, but it appeared to him that his forelimbs were suddenly drenched in blood, as thick as gloves, stretching up past his elbows. He hissed and scrubbed at his limbs for a moment before the hallucination faded away, leaving him trembling and gasping for breath.
He thumped into a wall that shouldn’t have been there and tumbled onto his tail with a gasp. “S-sorry, I--”
He looked up and his heart suddenly froze, tumbling into his stomach.
The red eyes stared down at him through the balaclava, the gaze burrowing into him like a drill. The pegasus in black armor studied him for a long moment of silence; the red-breasted raven on his shoulder leaned over to stare down at him with those beady black eyes, head cocked to one side.
“Sir,” the reluctant acolyte stammered, his horseshoes scrabbling against the hardwood floor as he tried to climb back up. “Sorry, sorry, sir.” He quickly hurried past the silent pegasus, trying not to look at the beaked mask hanging from the sentry’s belt.
He tore his hooded robe from his body and stuffed it into his saddlebag as he exited the sanctuary and hurried down the creaking wooden steps. The guards at the front doors gave him curious stares as he passed them, prompting him to force a smile and wave them good night, mumbling something about a stomach bug as he exited the doors.
The cold air from the wintry sea struck him in the face as he exited and he took several deep breaths as he proceeded down the slush-covered path past the parking lot, hoping that the biting cold might wash away the horrid, coppery aftertaste. He tuned out the muffled chiming and groaning behind him and listened to the sound of the waves breaking against the rocky shore so many yards beneath him to his left. He looked over the railing at the foam beneath him and considered leaping into their embrace.
A light brushed against his eyes. He looked up and stared at the slowly spinning beam of light far out over the horizon. He could just barely see the dark angular shape against the horizon, miles away from Manehattan.
Clovenworth. Their target.
He glanced back down at the foam and shuddered. Even if he could escape it this way, what would be waiting for him on the other side?
His own cowardice sent a fresh wave of nausea through his body and he leaned over the railing, heaving into the water deep beneath. When he was finished, he wiped his face with a fetlock, then grabbed his bicycle from where he'd left it leaning against the railing. He saddled up for the long ride back to Manehattan, back into the waiting lights of the big city, where his apartment and his liquor were waiting.
If he’d looked back at the church perched atop the hill, eerie groans and bellows still emanating from behind its stone walls and decorated windows, he would have seen one lit window near the far end of the church.
And he might have seen the silhouette of the pony inside watching him backlit against the flickering light.