The manacle broke.
James turned. Horace stood over Trevor, glass dagger raised. James launched himself forward, barreling his shoulder into Horace’s chest, propelling them both to the ground. The sharp glass clinked as it skidded away from Horace’s outstretched hand. Horace hurled James aside like a rag doll, and James landed on something the size of a small rock—he grimaced as it pressed between his ribs, then rolled away from the object. The statue Horace had dropped. He took it.
Horace crawled to the glass knife, reaching out to grab it, but Trevor’s foot interrupted him, stomping down and smashing Horace’s pinky finger. Horace shouted a string of incoherent syllables and held the damaged hand to his chest.
“It’s over,” Trevor said and picked up the shard of glass.
“Like hell it is,” Horace said.
Trevor replied with a swift kick to Horace’s cheek. It connected with a sickening thud. Horace was still.
“James! The statue!” Trevor said holding out his hand.
James tossed him the figure. Though Trevor clearly wasn’t who he’d said he was, James pocketed his suspicions for the moment. A blinding cyclone of sparks and swirling light permeated the room. The floor shook, banking left and right, forming lava-like, tectonic cracks between slabs of splintered cobblestone. Arikura’s frantic apparition melded into the frightening storm. Static electricity tugged at James’ hair and a deafening hum thrummed in his ears.
Trevor straddled Horace’s limp body and tore the remaining figures from his hands. He stood and walked toward the blood-drenched torii—the calm eye of the storm centered around him and the statues. He set the three small figures, a mother, father and son, on the painted symbol then placed the tip of the glass shard to his forearm. His body tensed as he forced the blade into his skin. Blood spilled on his jeans, pouring from the sanguine hole in his arm. He positioned it over the statues and let it flow.
Horace knocked Trevor down with a hammer-fisted punch to the temple before a drop of blood made contact with the torii or the figures.
Trevor lay unconscious. Horace cocked his head curiously as he placed his foot between Trevor’s Adam’s apple and jaw.
“It’s a shame, I would have loved to play with you while you were alive,” Horace said.
Horace ceased to move. He looked down. The glass shard protruded from his stomach. James removed his hand from the blade—Horace staggered backward, turned and fell on the torii, his blood pooled, coating the statues and covering the symbol. An immediate calm settled the spectral storm—the stale air grew dank and cold, Olivia’s hair, which had gone spiky in the storm, fell flat. Colette’s sobs and the heavy breathing from James and Trevor replaced the storm’s discord.
“What was that, Trevor?” James said. “What did you do? And how did you know to do it?”
“Listen…we need to talk—” Trevor said.
“She’s back!” Colette said.
Arikura Fukushima materialized atop the torii, her visage composed, free of malice—she appeared a normal, young girl. Where her skin had been degraded and tattered, it now was soft and healthy—warm and tender. Her eyes held kindness, her lips curled into a gentle smile.
“Watashi wa saishūtekini kochira no jiyūdesu. Arigatōgozaimasu,” she said in an airy whisper. Then she vanished in a ball of light.
James sighed, sank to the floor and put his head between his knees.
“I have no idea what she just said, but it sounded like a good thing,” he said.
Trevor spoke up. “She said, ‘Thank you. I am now free of this place.’”
James drew in a long breath and let it out in an exhalation that wavered between a sigh and a whine. The room fell silent.
7
“Well, now what?” James said.
Keto coughed. His chest gurgled and his body began convulsing.
“Oh no—I think we’re losing him,” Olivia said. “He’s lost too much blood—there’s nothing I can do. James, help me hold him down.”
James rushed to her side, followed by Trevor. They pressed on Keto’s shoulders as he spasmed. By the time Keto relaxed, sweat drenched James’ shirt. Olivia knelt over Keto and rested his head in her lap. “Keto. Look at me,” she said. “Can you look into my eyes?” He did. “Good, that’s it,” she continued. “I want you to breathe slowly—we’re here for you. Just calm your breath.” She placed her hand on his chest and helped him find a relaxed rhythm. “There you go,” she murmured. “Just stay calm, everything will be better shortly—I promise.”
Keto’s eyes left Olivia’s, focusing high above the room. His pupils dilated as his last breath left his body. Olivia closed his eyes with two fingers.
“He’s gone,” she said.
Colette wrapped her arms around herself and gasped for air.
“I…I should have saved him from that monster—but…” She trembled, face pale. “But there was nothing I could do! Dear God, why is this happening to us?”
Trevor sat down and put his arm around her.
“There, there. None of this is your fault,” he said. “It’s okay. I can try and explain…”
“Yes, why don’t you?” James said.
Who is this guy?
“Goddammit! If it isn’t drenched demon girls or maniacal killers, it’s lying—” James took a breath. “Trevor, you’d better have a good explanation or I’m going to go ape-shit. Correction—I’ve gone ape-shit—hell, I just killed a man—I’m going to go full fucking King Kong on your ass.” Who was he kidding—Trevor would wipe the floor with him. But at least he knew James was serious.
A rare bleakness entered Trevor’s eyes.
“There’s no good way of explaining this to you,” he said. “So I’m just going to come out and say it—again, actually. Everything you see—this entire school, the forest—it’s all designed to facilitate rituals.”
“Rituals? Wait…what?” Olivia said. “How do you know this?”
“Yes, rituals,” Trevor said. “This might be hard to believe—”
“Trevor, I’m not sure where you’re going with this,” James said, glancing at the two dead bodies and gesturing around him at the desolate chamber. “But under the circumstances, believability shouldn’t be an issue.”
“It might be better if I preface this,” Trevor said. “Do you believe in magic? Sorcery? The paranormal?”
“Magic?” James said. “No, I believe in science, though how it applies to miss wet girl is beyond me.”
“Not as such,” Olivia said. “Though I’ve seen some things in India that could be called magical.”
Colette remained silent, staring straight ahead through red, swollen eyes.
Trevor paused and took a breath, then went on.
“Well, you’re right,” he said. “And you’re also wrong. The world today is without magic—okay, that’s not entirely true—it has quarantined magic. I’ve spent the better half of ten years researching such phenomena.” His head fell to his chest. “There are things I’ve seen that would make mice of generals. Anyway, you want to know what this place is.”
James nodded and saw Olivia do the same.
“This isn’t a school,” Trevor continued. “It’s not on any maps. It’s all artificial.”
Oh, shit—that makes sense.
“We’re now in Facility 7—many rituals rotate through here when a school setting is demanded—you just so happened to win the lottery with Arikura Fukushima. She died in a place similar to this very room. It is the only place her spirit can be freed—”
“Okay, stop right there,” James said. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Yeah,” Olivia said. “Is Trevor even your real name?”
Trevor drew in a slow breath and folded his hands.
“My name is Trevor Banks and I’m a military trained scientist who works for an organization called Magnus,” Trevor said. “That is the truth—I gave you my real name because your memories will be wiped after we’re retrieved. This will be the last time we spe
ak.”
“I’m sorry—what?” James said. “This is a joke, right?”
“I wish it were a joke,” Trevor said. “Surviving members of a ritual are placed back into society. Magnus doesn’t need people whistle-blowing about their ritual experience—not that it would matter much anyway, as no one would believe you. It’s simply a cautious measure,” Trevor said.
“We need to get out of here, then!” James said, getting to his feet.
“Sit down!” Trevor said. “There’s nowhere to run—this facility is enclosed by a dense, thermal mesh. You can’t break out, and if you did, you wouldn’t like what you’d find.”
Exhaustion washed over James. He felt his tensed shoulders slump in defeat.
“You said ‘Magnus’?” Olivia said.
“Yes,” Trevor said. “I cannot even begin to describe the reach of their power. But, I’m getting ahead of myself—I know this must be confusing.”
“Oh—do go on…” James said.
“Back to magic, yes?” Trevor said. “Well, this might be hard to chew, but humanity has been around a lot longer than recorded history would lead us to believe. Our origin dates much further back than the fossil record or any recorded carbon analysis. There was a time where magic flourished on earth, where what we think of as mythology was reality. It was as wonderful as it was terrible.
“While magic was prevalent, so too was the reign of Gods: beings endowed with enormous power—ten of them to be exact—ruled the world as they saw fit. As you can imagine, power leads to abuse, and humanity got the shit end of the stick. The Gods demanded rituals, which kept them at bay for the most part, but every time humanity refused to submit to a ritual’s demands (which were often terrible, such as the sacrifice of a first-born or rape of a young virgin), they would introduce some new atrocity for us to deal with, be it a kraken, werewolf, dragon, ghost, wet Japanese girl—you get the idea.” Trevor said.
“Hold on, you are saying that kraken and werewolves actually existed?” James said.
“Yes, nearly every fictional horror in movies and literature was once real—again, getting ahead of myself. Fortunately for humanity, Darwinism works even in the face of magic, thus a select few rose to fight the Gods. They were known as Heroes, or Primo Difensori. With me so far?” Trevor said.
“Why an Italian name for something so ancient?” Olivia said.
Trevor said, “Magnus invented Catholicism as a means to control a good portion of the world. A thousand years ago, that venture backfired, growing so powerful that a pope got all hot and bothered over the Old Language’s vernacular, finding it overtly sexual or something or other. He demanded it be replaced with Italian.
“Trust me, when I first heard of this, I was ready to quit—anyway, long-story-short, there existed a great hero named Anzabar Damascus, or Una Primo, who was renowned for fighting these atrocities and openly defying the Gods. He grew so strong that he defeated three Gods, which, as you can imagine, got some serious attention.
“With nearly a third of the pantheon wiped out, Oman, the godhead who sort of ruled the bunch, asked to negotiate with Anzabar, to find a mutually acceptable agreement. Anzabar did so and knew the only way for humanity to survive would be to give the Gods what they wanted with the least amount of suffering.”
“Why didn’t he just try to take out Oman?” James said.
“Oman far outclasses even Anzabar, and Anzabar knew this,” Trevor said.
James’ thighs ached and he repositioned from squatting to sitting—focusing on Trevor’s explanation helped him push the pain elsewhere. Olivia had laid Keto’s head on the ground and now watched Trevor from the floor over folded arms on bent knees. Colette shivered in the corner beside Trevor who sat with crossed legs, hands in his lap.
“Anzabar proposed resetting humanity—starting all over and allowing it to evolve free of magic—save for a chosen few who would perform rituals specific to each God’s demands. Magnus was born. But there was a problem: who would perform the rituals while humanity returned to slow-witted cavemen? Anzabar answered by offering to split his soul into seven pieces for the Gods to consume until humanity was ready to fulfill the responsibilities of the contract, and also select arbiters to monitor humanity’s evolution.”
“This is crazy,” Olivia said.
“Bat. Shit. Though Anzabar must have been one hell of a guy,” James said.
“The Old Times ended with this dissolution. Humanity reset, returning to something like neanderthals and were allowed to evolve naturally without the existence of magic. What once had been horrifying and very real creatures eventually wove their way into our myths. The chosen few carefully watched us evolve from monkeys to people all over again, and when the time was right, they officiated the rituals. Today, however, we perform rituals using modern technology—a fact that has basically ensured success. I might add that if a ritual fails, humanity returns to the Old Times,” Trevor said.
“Back up—we return to the Old Times?” James said. “What does that even mean?”
“It means all those scary monsters return, along with the sacrifices. The Gods get their power back and we start over from square one. This ritual came the closest to failing as any has in a long time, which is why I’m here,” Trevor said.
“Why did it almost fail?” James said. “Seemed perfectly terrible to me.”
“A foreign entity was helping you,” Trevor said.
“You mean the messages? They aren’t part of all this?” James said.
“No,” Trevor said. “At least not all of them.”
“But we’re all still alive—why didn’t it fail?” Olivia said.
“A certain percentage of participants need to perish. We met that quota within the allotted time,” Trevor said.
“Why tell us these things?” James said.
“Like I said, you won’t remember any of this. And I’ve sat idle and watched innocent people die, ritual after ritual after ritual. Maybe I just need someone to talk to,” Trevor said.
“So why don’t you quit?” Olivia said.
“You don’t quit Magnus,” Trevor said, sighing. “I’m in it for life.”
“So you expect us to believe that you are some kind of scientist working for a secret organization and that you were here to make sure we died? Why the hell should we trust you?” James said. “Why shouldn’t we kill you?”
“James, I admire your tenacity, but where would that get us?” Olivia said.
“I know, I’m just pissed. Why the hell were we chosen?”
“The odds of being selected are minuscule—more people get struck by lightning—you were just at the wrong place at the wrong time,” Trevor said.
“But we were in life-threatening situations—how did we even get here?” James said.
“You can thank the fine folks at Magnus for that. We have means of extracting participants from anywhere in the world, as long as they fulfill the requirements. A God’s demand yields a profile for each individual required by the ritual—age, sex, gender, language, etcetera. There is one mandatory stipulation, however: the participant must either be in the act of saving or taking a life,” Trevor said.
“Sounds like a lot of doctors would be selected,” Olivia said.
“We have means of filtering them out,” Trevor said.
“Jesus,” James said. “A few times there I thought you were going to tell me this was all a simulation taking place in our brains, or something. This is real. This is my body? I didn’t die in that train station?” James said.
“No, you didn’t,” Trevor said. “The irony is that Magnus saved your life—”
“To be sacrificed…” Olivia said.
“Yes,” Trevor said. “That is exactly the situation you found yourselves in.”
“But wait, there was a crowd of people watching me,” James said. “They definitely would have seen me be taken.”
“Ah…yes, while the specifics of an extraction are complicated, let’s just say we have the abil
ity to pacify an ‘audience’ and also reconfigure their memories,” Trevor said. “It’s a harmless procedure.”
James twiddled his thumbs, his brain no longer capable of thought.
“I know this is a lot to take in,” Trevor said. “Honestly, you have no reason to believe me, and it’s fine if you don’t. Sometimes rituals have a way of revealing the true evil of society. Take Horace, for instance. The man was a serial killer. I got chills when I read his profile—he had done terrible things, and they were exemplified here. Who would have thought he was the real threat instead of Arikura?” Trevor said.
“What…what kind of things?” Colette said. She’d been silent so long, James had almost forgotten her presence.
“You sure you want to know?” Trevor said.
“Yes.”
Trevor nodded. “He was a famous plastic surgeon,” he said. “Quite talented, really. Had a nice mansion in Beverly Hills…anyway, he also had a penchant for dismembering his boyfriends and just so happened to date illegal immigrants—you know, the kind who might not be missed? He had no boundaries—his victims ranged from small boys to adults—and he used his wealth and powerful friends to keep it all a secret.”
Bile rose in James’ throat. Tears welled in Colette’s eyes—she buried her face in her arms.
“Rituals…Rituals…Rituals…Finicky things. Would you like to know more about this one?” Trevor said.
No one objected.
“Well, for starters, it required a sacrificial minimum of two participants. The more, the better—but at least two. This was Amida’s demand. Amida is a lesser God within the pantheon—he ranks pretty much at the bottom. Arikura became, for lack of a better word, Amida’s play-thing—she lived during Edo-period Japan and had a psychic ability to gauge the remaining life force of humans.”
“You mean she could tell you when you were going to die?” Olivia said.
“Exactly. This fascinated Amida—who was, after all, the God of Death—and he pursued her, attempting to coerce her into nefarious acts. When she refused to do his bidding, Amida transformed her family into wooden figurines, promising to return them after she fulfilled his wishes. She complied, but she went mad, which unsheathed an unknown, telepathic ability within her. The result wasn’t pretty… She went on a rampage, killing several students—and then herself—in this very room. Or one just like it.”
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