Neo//Nero

Pride, Greed, Gluttony—offerings to the new gods.

This is a submission for Bradley Ramsey’s Flash Fiction February. And it was written in one sitting and one hour. Picture and edits to come.

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Trigger warnings: mutilation, gruesome images

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Vitalii khodzinskyi on Unsplash

“Acolyte, art thou ready?”

I bowed solemnly, though my heart pounded. Adrenaline surged at the thought—honor among the Gods, metered by my Lord, Gelfast—he who bridged the gap between us, the Fallen, and them, the Risen.

A great concussive blast sounded through the hall and rumbled within my chest. The summons of the Risen. The opening of their realm into ours.

I stepped from rusted corrugated steel onto gleaming platinum and the wormhole vaporized. Viscous clouds of incense consumed me. The famed ether of the Risen. True, the scent was sickening, sweet like carrion, but I breathed deeply and let it cleanse the slight of my prior station.

The dank Derelict—the Stellarclass Sect Vessel of my first commission—was not space sufficient to bring me the glory I deserved, but this… this was. And it was my Lords wish that I gain this honor.

I smiled. Not humbly, but not boastful either. I would be the picture of contentedness until I had gained what was rightfully mine. But how my heart thrummed in my chest.

“This way, Rector,” said a crone who’d appeared from the mist.

Yes, I thought, Rector. Acolyte no more.

I nodded and followed, my carriage higher, my shoulders straighter.

Our Lord had delivered, being part Risen, part Fallen, he’d brokered a deal, one that ensured our place amongst them. But only for the few, the worthy. Me.

A great bronze door swung wide and I stepped into darkness. It was sweeter here. It was no more than I could handle, though my stomach churned as my chest ached to contain all I felt.

“We haven’t much further,” said the Crone when I hesitated.

Something seemed awry though I’d barely recognized it before the jaws clamped on my ankles only after a few more steps.

Great lamps roared to life showing the source of the sweet perfume—two bodies, two brothers once whole, two offerings to the Risen.

The Crone walked to the center and a light burst to life revealing a grossly swollen form before her—bloated, mottled, and pouring forth his insides to the floor.

“Bathelor!” she said, laughing joyfully. “Oh how he was Holy and pure, to be first to volunteer, to offer himself to the Risen, to honor and serve those who deserve all, forever. His pain was brief for his hunger was great. He swallowed that which destroyed him, which burst his belly and spilled his gorge to the ground.”

She turned to me. Our eyes locked and she raised her hands up high. “See now, my Lords!”

A bright light shone and a wall fell to reveal an array of celestial beings at leisure. All roared in approval of the sight before them.

“Greed!” boomed the Crone. “Feast on who has feasted, my Lords.”

Her arms fell and she circled to the other side of the room—an oval, revealed with the falling of the wall. Three sides to it. One revealed. Two yet to be seen.

Another light fell revealing a moaning form. Festering sores marked the flesh of his torso. His joints dislocated to stretch to the corners of a large wooden frame.

“Geront!” she moaned. Thick, white lather spilled from her mouth. Her tongue whipped out catch it. “A passionate one, is he, born of fire and hunger, but not of substance, of flesh. His birth was a consummate union. He spoke of only asceticism but inside he yearned for pain, for pleasure. See how his body quakes even now, even as the life flows from him.”

“Lust!” roared the Crone. “Slake yourself on he who craved the flesh over all, my Lords.”

A second wall lowered to show a glowing red mass of Celestial beings. Their arms stretched out to touch the riven flesh. Their voices combined in a furor.

A final light fell on me and a stage rose beneath my feet lifting me high above the others. A thick rod burrowed through my spine and barbs burst from both shoulders. I felt my ribs crack open but only felt relief for my heart was no longer restrained.

“Letros!” crowed the Crone. “Fury ruled him at the choice of the others before him. How his heart swelled when he was finally chosen, how it pushed at its cage, aching to be free. How engorged his marrow became at the selection how his veins bulged as a crimson wave flowed from his bones.”

A third wall fell revealing a final set of Celestial beings. Gelfast, the Demi-God, half Fallen, half Risen, our Bridge to the Divine, sat at the center. He held his glass out to me, a wicked smile on his face. He toasted my pain.

“Pride!” roared the Crone. “Pride be his name. The final offering to the Risen. Let his life-blood ooze out of his bulging heart to cover you in the wet glory he’d collected so fiercely.

“Now,” said the Crone, as my vision beat along with my engorged, externalized heart. “Now it is finished. Be sated my Lord and let their life come to an end.”

Then all went black.