Alaric went back to the very front of the village.
He watched the bodies of the guards they had taken out, and the middle-aged woman a bit deeper in the village.
His plan was to disguise himself.
Maybe a guard, but he rejected that thought.
The guards were placed here not to move until the ritual was over.
One coming back would raise suspicion.
He had no other choice but to dress as the middle-aged woman.
Luckily, she was plump and had very long hair.
These two were enough to cover his face and physique, though superficially.
.
.
.
"Hey, what took you so long?" one of the guards said to Alaric, disguised as the woman.
The long black hair was disheveled to cover his face, his military attire under the plus-size gown he wore.
From afar, he looked like a woman.
The guard called to her through the window, gesturing for his comrade to open the door.
Alaric stepped in, back hunched, trying his best to move like a middle-aged woman, and for some reason it fooled them, if only for a moment.
The guard by the window noticed the anomaly.
The wide shoulders and clumsy way of walking seemed off to him.
"Hey, let me see your..." Before he could finish those words, Alaric flashed, his combat knife slicing through his throat.
The guard held his throat, eyes bloodshot.He didn't know what hit him.
He didn't even see Alaric move. How could such a plump woman move so fast?
He tried to scream, tried to warn the cult underground, or maybe his comrade, but he too wasn't faring no better, already on his knees, holding his bleeding neck, unable to speak, choking on his own blood.
They were both in the same predicament.
Any other time, Alaric would have relished in their torment, but he needed them completely quiet to proceed with the next mission.
He skillfully disposed of the two, their life's completely snuffed.
"..."
He let out the breath he had been holding in, brows relaxing, then without a second thought moved on to the next stage of the plan.
He moved into the opened cellar door, walking down a flight of stairs, his footsteps barely audible.
The journey was short, as within minutes he could already see flickering lights at the end of the staircase, quiet hums echoing from within, most definitely the cult in action.
The stench of blood and burning flesh assaulted his nostrils.
"These f*ckers," he gritted his teeth, an image of the cruelty they were committing flashing through his mind.
He slowed his breath to calm his bubbling rage, his steps lighter than before, hands clenched under his gown.
He braced himself for what he was about to behold.
He stepped into the opening, the orange luminance of a flickering giant bonfire illuminating his features.
Several people knelt, backs hunched, arms sprawled on the rough stony ground as they worshiped.
Before anyone could notice him, he quickly took that posture, following their rhythm.
They would raise their bodies and sway left and right for a couple of times, then bow again to worship.
Alaric quietly joined in the humming, joined in the ritual, eyes forward like any of them, their perverted gazes fixed on the altar.
On a slightly elevated platform sat an ancient altar, carved with ancient and intricate runes.
An altar Alaric had missed when he first entered, too busy trying to fit in.
On it was a relatively giant statue of a humanoid being with the figure of a woman and the head of a bull, a large black ring behind its head like a demonic halo.
It radiated a malevolent energy as if it were alive, like the raw dread a predator inspires in its prey.
Alaric was momentarily shaken, but as a soldier, his will was not one to be broken by something so abstract.
He turned his gaze away from the statue to the several unmoving bodies piled at the side, and before he could even mourn them in his heart, the bodies were tossed into the flames.
The flames crackled, licking the bodies as fuel, smoke puffing out with untamed grace, slowly dispersing into the large cave.
The stench of burnt flesh and blood clung to the throat of everyone present.
The rhythm of worship broke as everyone rose to their feet and began to laugh hysterically, deliberately pulling in the smoke of the burning flesh into their lungs, their perverted gazes intensifying, bodies trembling as if they were climaxing.
Alaric's stomach churned.
He felt the urge to vomit, not at the sight of burning flesh, but at the sight of these things that wore human skin.
His body quaked violently as he controlled his urge to kill them all right here and now.
To kill for the sake of killing, that was a line he believed no soldier or human should ever cross.
But to these demons, it was a regular Tuesday.
"Yeah, that's the spirit, Fanja. Take in the blessing of Hathor," one of the cultists said to him, noticing him tremble in rage, probably mistaking him for the woman he was disguised as.
His hand clenched around his knife, images of slicing her neck flashing through his mind, but he held on.
This wasn't the time to act. There were still some alive.
At the corner of his eyes, he noticed about three people tied up, two children, the other an adult who seemed elated to be up there.
The children bodies trembling in fear.
Luckily, from the adult's position, he was next in line.
They continued to dance for roughly half an hour, only stopping when the flames calmed.
Like clockwork, they all stopped and went back to their strange ritualistic worship.
"What the f*ck was all that?" Alaric cursed internally, teeth gritted as he held on to his disgust and rage.
The whole ritual was mocking the dead.
The hours-long ritual was simply their dance to the horrific state of another being.
"I must act now," Alaric made up his mind.
He slowly moved to the one closest to him, quietly dragging his knees across the stony ground.
Close enough, he waited until they all bowed.
He grabbed her mouth and stabbed three times, a slash to the throat, a stab to the heart, and one to the brain.
The woman who had spoken to her earlier.
She didn't move, couldn't even, her life extinguished in less than a second.
Alaric stuck close to her, raising his head as they did, close enough to prevent others from noticing she wasn't moving.
They usually bowed eight times, ten seconds down before they raised their heads for five seconds, then again.
After the eighth, they would sway, then resume.
Alaric took advantage of this and the fact that they were scattered around.
Whenever they bowed, he would attack.
One, two, three... six.
His knees numb as he had been dragging them on the Stony floor all this while, but he paid it no heed.
Most of the people in the back had been taken care of, and by his estimation there were about twenty or so more, the cave a very spacious one, unlike any he had ever seen before.
He knew it was impossible to continue like this. Though they were seemingly drugged, someone would surely notice.
"Fanja, what are you doing..."
And someone did.
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A/N
1/2