Chapter 8: The Altar’s Edge

👉 Previous decision: You chose to confront Mara with the video evidence.

Mara’s smile was chillingly serene. “Confronting a high priestess in her own sanctuary, Mr. Kaczmarek,” she said, her voice echoing unnaturally in the confined space, “legally fulfills the self-sacrifice terms of the lease agreement.”

My breath caught in my throat. Self-sacrifice terms. I hadn’t read those words in my rush to sign the cheap lease.

Ethan Gable stepped forward then, his face unreadable. He moved with a practiced ease, pulling heavy leather straps from his pocket.

“Ethan, no!” I pleaded, struggling as he grabbed my wrists. “You can’t do this!”

He didn’t respond, his hands strong as he bound my wrists together. His eyes met mine for a fleeting second, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before he averted his gaze.

The two enforcers gripped my arms, forcing me down a narrow, dimly lit staircase. The air grew colder, heavier with the smell of old stone and something metallic.

We descended into a sub-basement ritual vault. The room was circular, lined with shelves holding strange artifacts and dusty tomes. In the center, a raised stone altar stood ready.

Julian Cross was waiting, a stack of crisp bank transfer documents fanned out on a small table beside the altar. He looked up, a triumphant smirk on his face.

“Welcome, Mr. Kaczmarek,” Julian said, patting the documents. “These legally transfer all your remaining family inheritance rights to the Congregation of the Seventh Dawn.”

He picked up a heavy, old-fashioned fountain pen. “Sign here,” he ordered, pushing a blank document toward me. “And here. You’ll be working in the document-forgery room from now on. You’re quite good with signatures, I hear.”

I was forced to spend the rest of my days in the cult’s underground forgery room, my hands aching as I replicated signatures, my mind numb to the rhythmic chanting that seeped through the thick stone walls.