Ephilate

He walked down the hall, his freshly-polished dress shoes tapping rhythmically on the glossy tile. Straightening his vest, he ran a gloved hand through his dark, slicked back hair. He paused, preparing himself for the speech he had to give. He thought of his audience, sitting in their seats, casually talking. Their invitations had simply given instructions for the dinner party: details on attire, the address, and various other relatively minute details. He smirked, lightly tugging on his gloves. Clueless bastards.

“Sir, they are awaiting your arrival.”

“Thank you, Cohen.”

“My pleasure, sir.” The servant turned, stepping away as the man stepped past the curtains, meeting a room of applause. He bowed slightly, smiling as he scanned the faces of his guests.

“Welcome, welcome all! I’m so thankful for your presence here tonight, and I certainly hope that you enjoy your meal. After dinner, you shall be treated to a few films in the theatre to your left. Now please, enjoy the food!” He stepped down, retreating to the small room behind the curtain.

Shortly after the meal, the guests were led into the theatre, each sitting in an assigned row and seat, a general chatter hovering over the group. As the screen began to play, a hush fell over the group, and all attention was brought to the film.

Ego est

A subtle murmur. Few had noticed the discrete message flashed for a few mere milliseconds.

Ephilate

A few confused exchanges.

Ten minutes passed before the first began: a young woman of small build and high status. It started small, a twitching finger, a few beads of sweat, a small ache.

Ego est

The message had been seen, and the crowd had grown worried. The air hung with tension, nearly a quarter now shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

Ephilate

The man sat comfortably, a mask over his face. He peered over the edge, grinning at the occasional groan of pain or wipe of brow.

“All of their sins are being eradicated, can’t you see Cohen?” His gloved hands gripped the banister tightly, his gaze now fixed on the crowd. Dozens were on the floor, and an occasional shout could be heard. He checked his watch: 34 minutes since the meal. Things are going just as planned.

The pain was unbearable. The guests could feel their body convulsing, their tissue slowly being dissolved away. The crashes of the film only made things worse, sending shocks of pain down their spines, their muscles contracting. Their eyes rolled back, However, around the room most were wearing grins, forced onto them by the painful contractions. Many fall unconscious, their bodies still writhing with seizures. Within two hours, all are unconscious, twitching helplessly on the ground.

The man grinned, a glint of passion in his eye. “Cohen, initiate phase two.”

“Yes, master.” The servant quickly left the room.

𒑜

The young woman was the first to awake. She was strapped to a wooden chair, stripped to her bare skin, with markings all over her body. Her hands were restrained behind her, forcing her to lean forward. Every muscle ached, and she groaned, letting her head loll in front of her. She could barely see, the dim lighting directly above her offering very little illumination. Etched into the aged wooden planks read a single word.

LIBIDINE

What the fuck? Uncertainty clouded her thoughts. Where am I? What’s happening? Her mind spun. Why can’t I focus? Her thoughts scattered, and she heard a creak behind her.

“Si coepero incisum?”

“Etiam.”

An icy chill ran down her back as she felt cool metal press against the back of her neck. The blade tickled down her exposed back, slowly traveling down her arm and resting on her palm. The tip caressed her skin, and she felt it pierce through the sensitive tissue. She shrieked as the blade slowly continued, eventually resurfacing on the top of her left hand. The blade slowly pulled out, sinew and crimson blood dangling in strand from the tip. There was a pause, until she could feel alcohol being poured into the newly formed orifice. Tears pricked her eyes, the stinging pain pulsing through her arm. She began shaking, her body responding to the pain. A harsh pain met the back of her neck; she arched her back, tugging against the restraints as electric shocks ran through her body. He tazed me. She fell limp, exhaustion filling her muscles.

“Non movere canis.”

She could feel the tip of the blade against her right hand, and she braced herself. Slowly, the blade traveled through her hand, again emerging on the opposite side, nearly entering the wood of the specially-designed chair. She felt the blade pull out, and the surging sting of the alcohol returned. Her vision blurred before black spots generated, and she fell unconscious.

She awoke, her eyes shooting open as a sudden rush of adrenaline hit her. She looked around; a short distance from her chair was another chair, with a light dangling above it. In the chair sat a young man, though she could hardly tell. His skin was a tinted shade of purple and green, his body bloated and swelling. His eyes were wide open, though the eyes were corroded, insects crawling in the sockets. Portions of his scalp were missing, revealing the withered flesh and parts of his skull. Maggots crawled over the surface of his bare legs, and it was clear that more were just beneath the surface. His abdomen had been cut open, flabs of skin held apart like doors, pinned to his sides, dried blood leaking from the thick needles. His ribcage and spine were obvious, and larvae scoured every surface of rotten, black tissue. Spiders had spun webs across his bones, feeding on the maggots.

She was drenched in a sweet-scented liquid, and she could feel her skin stick to itself. Slowly, she could feel a crawling sensation along her back, like multiple tiny legs.

𒑜

“Cohen, collect the bodies.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shortly after, a bin of corpses was rolled in, the stench of decay filling the air.

“Prepare the next batch’s meal.”

“Yes, sir.”

The servants began collecting the bodies, carefully placing their bodies along a conveyor. The slowly traveled down the line, their lifeless frames entering a machine near the middle of the room. The breaking of bones, squelching of flesh, and squeezing of fluids could be heard before a small pile of “meat” appeared on the other side, entering a second machine. The pile exited the machine, appearing to be a medium-rare steak. A servant placed the steak onto a plate, adding a dash of salt before sprinkling a measured amount of strychnine onto the meal. A glass of mine was placed next to the plate on a tray, and then set onto another conveyor. Servants picked up the plates, heading into the dining hall and placing them on the tables. The man removed his mask, slightly adjusting his vest before walking out past the curtains and onto the stage.

“Welcome!”