Thoughts of the Sacrament
Abbreviated breaths in stumbled stages pour from my mouth as the airy, acrid stench of his breath surrounds me. Bat-like and powerful are his wings which float o'er my head, and they blot out the sputtering torches and split the smoky air into tendrils of ashen white. With the same terrible claws that sundered the ground and dragged him to me, he caresses and gently smooths my trembling skin. In his eyes I hear a terrible voice that resonates with the imprint of eternity.
Child, he says to me in words I can not hear, but which press nonetheless inside my mind, absolve yourself to me. Cry for me. Release your mortal sins into my bosom and allow me the providence of your suffering.
He picks me up and holds me, and I shudder into sobbing before releasing to him my maledictions. His chest becomes slimy with these dolorous excretions, and they slide down his toadsome belly unto the floor. His patience calms me, and after a time I am once again serene and rigid against the stone.
Reverential chanting rises in my ears as he pulls himself to his full and profound height, and licks his broad lips with a slithering tongue. Sharp words of iron split the dark refrain, in recognition of this profane oblation. I can see them scraping the ground with their bleeding fingers. I can see the smudgy markings that they leave. He is gratified by their indecencies, warmed by their boldly blowing blasphemies. Aglow, he returns his eyes to mine.
Child, he says again inside me, be not afraid of my embrace. Form yourself to fate and rejoice, for I am the reckoning of all man. I am the one who waits. You will be joined with they that bled, and dance forever in the garden of my splendor. In this you are no different to any who came before or any to come after. In this you will be whole. Forget your previous squandering and let me show you the meaning of peace.
Grateful, I rise my head to meet his sweet psionics, and thrust my chest before him. Solemnly, he places a single sharp talon against my breast. As the tip pierces me, I can feel the ecstasy of his attentions splitting me and slopping me out onto the stone. Searingly I cry into his flattened face and hairy cheeks and he meets my watering eyes with nocturne orbs of unknowable depths. His sharp-toothed smile is welcoming.
As he slurps me up into his maw I find myself toward managing one final extrication. One last cry to join the worship that whorls in the sepulcher air of the chamber. On my last breath I breathe his name in gratitude. One last time I call: