Y - Statutory Rites

The oak door collapsed, its wrought iron hinges groaning in protest,
as it finally submitted to the repeated blows from Lucas' mighty
broadsword. Light from the full moon reflected off of his ornate white
armour, lending the knight a ghostly quality as he stepped into the
cottage.

* * *

"K'Tsar shall be appeased with fire!" Cowled acolytes hurled powder
into the flame flickering in the centre of the dark stone cellar and it
flared aggressively, illuminating the crude lead statuette beneath
it.

"This unholy chamber shall be thy door, this idol thy bond." The
gnarled old man gripped his equally gnarled wooden staff with greedy
anticipation. "The gate is open - K'Tsar, I call thee forth!"

An almighty crash shook the room. The door that had been firmly bolted
seconds before lay in splinters across the granite flagging. As the two
hooded figures reached for their daggers the intruder dispatched them
with a few well-placed strokes of his sword, their clumsy efforts no
match for his unerring precision in combat. In the commotion the
statuette was knocked to the floor, vibrating angrily but
unnoticed.

Fighting to restrain his inner fury, Lucas turned to face the nefarious
sorcerer himself. He was clutching the figure close to his chest, and
whispering frantically to it.

"Destroy this place!" the zealous madman screamed in a sudden outburst,
"I sacrifice my body, as testimony of my devotion to K'Tsar!"

A jet of flame erupted from his frail body, igniting the contents of
the room in an instant. Lucas dropped to his knees as the arcane blaze
ravaged his soul. His cries for release from the agony were answered as
the ceiling caved in, snuffing his life out like a candle.

* * *

A pair of slanted, malevolent eyes quietly regarded its surroundings,
never blinking, with callous contempt.

"Where did you get that ugly thing?" chortled Albert, placing his glass
(containing barely the residue of Glenfiddich) on the side table and
gesturing towards the lead statuette on the mantelpiece.

Paul smiled and walked across the room to where it stood.

"He is rather on the ugly side, isn't he? Sort of a cross between the
hunchback of Notre Dame and a goat, I've always thought."

Albert let out a long-suffering sigh and looked at Paul over his
spectacles.

"I'm sure you have, but where did you get it?"

Paul raised a bushy eyebrow and gave his friend an ironic smirk.

"Came with the house as it happens," Paul explained, tossing it from
hand to hand thoughtfully, "the previous owner claimed it was the only
thing that survived from a fire that razed the building centuries ago.
Apparently this house was built on the old foundations, copying the
architecture and leaving the old stone cellar as it was."

"Cellar?" Albert interrupted.

"Oh yes," Paul affirmed with obvious pride, "although I haven't had
time to stock it up yet. It's full of bits and pieces from the flat at
the moment, and I need to get a wine-rack."

"So what other nonsense did this man try to sell you?"

"Nonsense?"

"About the figure. It's made of lead, isn't it? It would have melted
into a big lump if this place had burnt down."

"Well, yes, I know," said Paul unconvincingly, "but I had to humour him
really. I mean he was a nice chap and all, and he was offering the
place at such a reasonable price I just couldn't say no. When I asked
about this he just told me it was part of the house and&;#8230; that
was that I suppose."

Albert scratched his nose critically.

"Look Albert, it's obviously not the sort of property you would
consider buying, but from the moment I saw it I felt inexplicably drawn
to the place&;#8230; which is more than I can say for this piece of
rubbish!"

"Still," Paul continued, "it's destined to join the rest of the useless
items down in the cellar. I've been meaning to move it actually, it's a
good job you reminded me."

"I'll drink to that!" Albert grinned, and reached for the bottle.

* * *

Later that day, a dull thump affirmed the arrival of the figure to the
cellar as it landed amongst stacks of cardboard boxes that had been
hastily crammed with yellowing paperbacks and scratched records.

It watched intently as the shaft of light grew smaller and smaller
until&;#8230; there was a click as the door locked shut.

* * *

That evening Paul sat alone, enjoying the novel he had found in an
obscure little bookshop just the day before. He fitted the scene
perfectly, a greying man in a stately green armchair, reading as the
logs in the hearth crackled pleasantly.

Although he had been here such a short time, already he loved the
cottage. It had all the traditional qualities of a house in the
country, with apparently none of the disadvantages. He had become
endeared to the place, and was contented knowing it was his.

As he turned the page, Paul felt warm and secure. His eyelids slowly
lowered with each tick of the grandfather clock that faced him.

TICK

His eyes flicked open at the sudden noise.

TICK

Paul stared at the clock, the pendulum swinging tantalisingly back and
forth.

TICK

As light arced off of the disc in golden crescents, he realised the
sound was coming from inside his head.

TICK

As his gaze became immovably fixed on the rhythmical swings of the
effervescent circle, Paul could make out something shallowly etched
onto its surface.

TICK

He had never noticed it before,

TICK

but now he could clearly see some kind of crest.

TICK

Its clarity gradually increased as he strained to bring it into focus.
It showed a griffin clutching a crucifix in one of its talons, looking
like

TICK

it might have adorned the armour of some valiant knight in ages
past.

TICK - descending peril&;#8230; -

A voice. As if in response to his last thought, it had called out to
him.

TICK - dormant forces have been awakened&;#8230; -

As Paul's brain reverberated with confusion, a hazy beam of light
pulsed from the pendulum's centre, striking his forehead with a
throbbing hum.

&;#8230;&;#8230;&;#8230;

Nothing. The clock had stopped. So, a cursory examination would have
revealed, had Paul's heart. Swirling bands of energy surrounded his
body as it slumped back in the armchair, lifeless.

* * *

A plume of acrid smoke rose steadily from the idol, gradually twisting
into a spiral. Demonic forces built up in the centre as it rapidly
intensified into a tornado. As the maelstrom reached its peak, the
vortex of darkness at its crux unleashed a heinous laugh of
soul-obliterating evil that scarred the walls black with its
blasphemy.

The Dark Prince had awoken.

* * *

- Paul. The evil that awakens must be stopped. Your sacrifice will not
go unnoticed. -

A figure clad in masterfully-crafted white armour got up from his
seated position, and strode across to the grandfather clock that faced
him. Opening the glass door he reached inside.

The once circular head of the pendulum was now encrusted with rubies
and emeralds, and formed the hilt of an awe-inspiring broadsword. As he
retrieved the sword, handling the weapon with obvious familiarity, the
room darkened unnaturally. The paint on the walls had begun to bubble
angrily, and some of the more delicate fabrics were bursting into
flame. Ominous black spots started to form on the ceiling as he readied
himself, cracking open and beginning to weep molten lava like
pus.

The figure assumed a fighting stance. Lucas had returned.

* * *

The cellar was alight with demonic fires, its contents burning to ashes
as K'Tsar's physical manifestation finally solidified. His two
gargantuan hands, roaring with the unimaginably fierce heat of Hades,
glowed impossibly brightly.

In contrast, the demon's foul maw contained slime-fringed fangs, each
one cracked and decaying. A flow of viscous fluid suppurated from his
deformed mouth onto his chest, drenching his torso, already obscene
with oozing sores and legions, in rancid putrefaction. His bloated gut
sagged open, revealing diseased organs in sickening stagnation. Loose
flaps of pallid, dead skin hung from around his eye-sockets, exposing
the bleached bone underneath. K'Tsar cackled, bringing a torrent of
filth gushing up from his horribly ruined throat.

Suddenly the door was split from top to bottom by an almighty
sword-stroke, and Lucas stepped into the inferno.

"We meet again, Lucas!" K'Tsar rasped, globules of muddy phlegm
dripping from his top lip, "Ridding myself of you shall affirm my
presence in this world&;#8230; "

The plague-ridden monstrosity belched forth a cloud of nauseating
pestilence. As the loathsome mist ate into his armour, Lucas charged
forward.

"This is not your world, K'Tsar!" Lucas hissed in a voice that might
have terrified a mortal, "We have both fought to get here, and I swear
that on this day we both shall leave!"

Lucas dealt a huge, cleaving blow to K'Tsar, slicing through his chest
in a welter of vile juices and shattered ribs.

Growing tired of the slow-witted and futile antics of his foolish
adversary, K'Tsar raised his infinitely destructive fists and prepared
to destroy his foe utterly. Entrails rife with contagion and sickness
sloughed out of the gash in his chest as Lucas pulled his blade free.
The demon's bloodshot and malformed eyes focused on the knight through
a thin film of greasy sludge.

Lucas knew what he had to do. In one continuous movement he ducked out
of K'Tsar's grasp and brought his weapon down on the head of the head
of the statuette. The tip of the broadsword lodged deep in the head of
the figure, sending a bolt of dark energy surging up the shaft and into
Lucas himself.

Lucas felt Paul's body burst with the pressure, becoming merely soup
within the suit as he and the idol groaned under the strain of the
unthinkable energies they were momentarily containing.

Simultaneously, he and the figure exploded, the suit of armour
shattering like porcelain. In a culmination of forces never before
existent in the physical world, the room, the building, and all of the
surrounding fields were totally wiped out as reality caved in on itself
in a catastrophic implosion.

* * *

An observer of the spectacle would have seen the ethereal form of a
griffin hovering above the aftermath, an armoured figure mounted on its
back.

And they might have felt he had the presence of many men. In that
respect, they would have been right.