It all felt so surreal, like a bloody version of a dream about unicorns, dressed in rubber spikes and leather with latex trim. The beat pounded through the room, bodies jerking as if freshly dead. I watched Rigor Mortis set in, amongst the candy-coloured lights, and the sweet fog of the graveyard rolled over them all. She spun in their midst, playfully dancing, twirling in the thick of the carnage, oblivious to the zombified onlookers. Plastic dolls cackled their crow's squawk, chittering more to themselves than to each other. Liquid fire in their hands, though watered down to cancellation they pretended interest in the gyrating corpses, and she said to me, "Come with me, and I'll show you a macabre wonderland."
I took her hand, following her through a darkened hallway, between couples and triads of assorted pairings, in various states of sexual bliss. We came to a door, made of diamond plate steel, and airbrushed with gruesome patterns. She knocked on it, making a hollow echoing thump throughout the small vestibule we stood in, and a small panel in the door slid open to reveal a pair of blood-red eyes. She looked back at me and narrowed her own oculi. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it, for she then turned back to the window and nodded. The panel slid shut with a clap, and the door opened. Stepping through the portal, I found myself on the precipice of hell.
I looked down over the edge, a nightmarish army gathered below. Lined up, focused on the pulpit where an unholy mass was playing out. Communion began, uniform-clad disciples passing amongst the massed ranks, offering the sacriments, what they consisted of, I couldn't say. I turned to my companion, who was overseeing the preparation of my new vestments. I began to understand what my presence signified, and took the garb of my new office from the dark cleric.
My trench was taken from me, and I was shorn, a mockery of an abbot's cut. My clothing was torn from my body, mortal trinkets collected and carried away. I dressed slowly, solemnly, pulling on breeches the color of a child's terror, heavy-soled boots adorning my feet. My flesh was pierced, over and over, steel shoved through the open wounds. Holding my arms out, I was enrobed in crisp fabric, the buttons done up by hands that belonged to still more unseen servants. Leather crisscrossed me then, connected at various places, and the final symbol of my rank was draped over my head, to rest upon my chest.
The transformation that I underwent then was awe-inspiring. I felt as if dead, yet truly alive for the first time. I was led up an incline, seemingly cut into living rock, and through a tunnel of sorts to an overlook. Taking my place there, I watched the assembled group turn as one to look up at me. Words were whispered into my ear from shadows, and I repeated them, over and over until I felt the power they held well up inside my living carcass. The flame began to burn inside me, the change taking over my twisting form as they looked on from below, I was becoming... something unholy, inhuman. A drum began to sound from elsewhere, the sound corrupted by the acoustics, made almost mechanic. A scratching chimed in, like metal on metal.
The troops began to stomp their feet in unisonic rhythm. A cry arose, sweet demonic music to my pained ears, a response to my unrealized call. My fist moved of it's own accord into the air, my chest bowing to meet my knees. I jerked, and briefly recalled the motions I'd witnessed earlier, the parody of dying men. I wondered if I was dying. I realized I didn't care. I howled, a cry to my compatriots, my brothers. The howl came back to me, a deafening roar.
What I had been was a distant memory to my foggy brain, and a chalice of sacred liquid was brought to me. I drank deeply, the scarlet liquid running down my chin. Blood, I thought, but sweet. My brain weakly registered the wine, and I drank again, this time spraying it over my charges. They eagerly accepted the libation, turning their faces up to me to recieve the droplets. Still the screams continued, a warcry.
