“Acolyte, it is time,” the thick, masculine voice resonated through the cave.

  Zarius rolled off his ledge. A hard, stone slab with a thin blanket lain over the top, and another on top. He shuddered as the biting, cold mountain air assailed him. Kneeling in front of the Prophet of Shadow, he bowed his head. “Shall I perform the cleansing?” he asked, his voice trembling in a mix of fear and joy at the day finally having arrived.

  “Yes,” the Prophet replied. “Soon, you will join your forebears in serving our mighty god in the afterlife. Shadows bless and caress, child.”

  “Shadows bless, Prophet,” Zarius intoned. Once he heard the footsteps leave, he got up and ran down a series of corridors. The cave network was dimly lit by sparsely placed Gloomlight Petals. He heard shuffling, and the kyahw of a Mawile approaching. He slammed his back against the wall and bowed his head.

  The dimly yellow glowing Pokémon shuffled past with a “Hmph” as she moved down the hall.

  Zarius winced as he heard the huge mouth on the back snapping at the air, having sensed his presence. “Blessed is the shadow who knows his place,” he muttered. Once the Mawile had passed, he hustled down, ducking under the cluster of slumbering Zubats with their one, loud, obnoxious Golbat leader who stared at him. Zarius ducked even lower as he heard the “Gol,” from the creature – a warning he knew far too well.

  The sound of running water brought some sense of safety as Zarius came to the lightly illuminated chamber where ablutions were performed. No other cultists were present, which suited him as he preferred to bathe alone. The lukewarm water jolted him awake, and he began preparing his body for the ritual.

  “Do you require assistance?” a female voice asked from the entry.

  Zarius glanced over and shook his head, “I will prepare myself, as the old ways decree.”

  The thin, drawn-lipped and dark-haired woman entered and set down clean, white robes. “For when you are ready, we await in the chamber.” She bowed and whispered, “Shadows bless and caress.”

  “Shadows bless,” Zarius replied as she left. He picked up the pumice and scrubbed his skin clean of all detritus, ensuring that his body was perfect. For years he had been exercising in between his duties, taking care of the various duties required of him.

  “A sacrifice must be perfect,” he recalled his mother telling him when he was younger. “Our gods want perfect servants in their afterlife. We must meet those expectations to find our eternal reward.”

  He got up and dried off using a rough towel before gingerly stepping into the robes and fastening them around his body. Going to the slab of polished obsidian, he tapped the small jar holding a Glowing, and the creature buzzed before illuminating the space. Picking up the shears, he began cutting his hair to the appropriate length – lengths of black hair dropped down around him as he cut it to a middling length.

  Years of living in the cave structure had given him an uncanny ability to see in dimly lit places, and Zarius knew that he would meet the gods’ expectations…he had to. Hardly any fat on his body as he flexed his muscles. I have to be good enough he thought. Making sure the hair was scooped to the side of the chamber he began to enter the tunnel.

  “Golbat!” the creature flew down and bit him on the head.

  A very ill omen.

  “Ouch!” Zarius shouted as he waved a hand behind and above him. He hurried away from the nesting creatures and when he had turned the corner pulled his hand across where he had been bit. He felt the warm, sticky heat of blood and his body ran cold. I’m…a marred sacrifice. The past two weeks he had been kept in the deepest parts of the cave, so that he would be unmarked, uninjured, as whole as could be.

  There was no more time to wait, the appointed time was nigh, and Zarius felt tears drip down his face. He was a marred sacrifice, which mean only one thing.

  No afterlife.

  He would still be sacrificed, and would go willingly…but he knew that no eternal reward awaited him.

  I’m sorry, mom, he thought as he reached the main ritual chamber. The room was filled with the other cult members – people of all shapes and sizes from the surrounding villages who venerated the gods who brought the calm quiet of the dark. All were dressed in black robes, save for the Prophet who was wearing a deep crimson one.

  The center of the chamber was illuminated by a crescent moon that poured light in from a hole far above. Under the moonbeam was a black stone altar, carved into the shape of an X. Zarius approached and tried to put on a strong face.

  But he was terrified.

  That must have shown, and the red on the white robes he wore were a dead giveaway that he had been marred. The cultists all began speaking in whispered, hushed tones before the Prophet silenced them with a bark. “Enough! The ritual must proceed.”

  The man lowered his voice when Zarius got closer, and the Prophet’s face was unreadable given the solid, black face mask he wore – only the slight glimmer of his eyes were visible. “Child of Darius and Zilphemena…you are marred, but that does not mean your sacrifice will be in vain.” He gestured to the altar, “Take your place, and through your willing gift, you will empower the gods.”

  Zarius was trembling and he walked to the altar with shaky steps. His body was screaming, holding him back; trying to survive. He tried to move forward but could not. Hands grabbed him, forcing him to lay down on the altar and strapping him to the cross with thick, leather cords. His heart was racing, and he could feel thunder in his ears.

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  I’m going to die, he thought as he stared up at the crescent moon. His lips went dry, his throat was parched, and he gasped for air, feeling like he was drowning whilst still on land. His eyes were transfixed on that singular point where the edges of the crescent nearly met. I’m going to do what I was raised to do. What I was born to do.

  Living his whole life in the cave above the villages. Raised in the cult, with its creeds and codes. Taught with the possibility of becoming the next Prophet, until he was instead chosen by lottery to be the next sacrifice. Years of training to become the perfect servant of the gods. No friends, no love, just duty.

  He heard the footsteps approaching and saw the glint of the knife out of the corner of his eyes. He heard the loud growling noise of the resident Pokémon that made the cave home, and the fucking Golbat that bit him flittered above him, as if adding insult to injury before it hung from a nearby stalagmite.

  Zarius felt it. The cold resting against his chest as the robe was ripped aside. The slight pain as the razor-sharp edge tore across his skin and made the first cut. His body was shaking against his will, despite his attempts to still his thrashing.

  “A perfect servant wants this. You need to want this, Zarius,” his father had said before giving him the option to leave.

  I want this, Zarius thought as he tried to will his body to stop moving against him. The slight searing pain became a dull one…and then sharp, piercing hot as he felt warmth spread through his body before that warmth blossomed into all encompassing agony. He tried to scream, but only a gasp escaped his lips.

  His vision began to swim, and he saw the mocking Golbat making its cries from the stone roof. He heard the distant howling of the Houndours who were kept as pets and trusted companions. He could smell the crisp scent of the mountain air as flecks of snow were pushed into the hole above him, forming a gentle cascade. His mouth filled with the taste of copper, and he began to choke on his own blood.

  Another stab, another cut, another slice. He knew the symbols were being carved into his body along with organs stabbed in a very specific order, leaving the heart for last. A means of inflicting the most agony possible to purge the body, mind, and soul of any desire to cling to the world.

  Eventually, his mind stopped accepting those signals and he knew he reached that state of being that instilled in him a sense of calm. Beyond pain, beyond fear, his body no longer shaking and trembling. He reached the quietude and solace of the brink of death.

  The moon had never looked more beautiful, and as his vision began to go white, he saw a shadowy figure appear in front of the crescent. Deep black with glowing red eyes, wings that were edged with crimson claws…and he knew he was looking at one of the gods.

  His vision went white.

  Zarius gasped and inhaled deeply, his eyes snapping open. The crescent moon had moved on, and the gorgeous display of the night sky was above him. Did the ritual fail? He thought. If it did, I wouldn’t be here. He sucked in breaths, knowing very much that he was alive.

  “Bark,” a slightly high-pitched yipping noise got his attention, and Zarius tried to turn his head but could not. He heard the slight, rapid inhalations of whatever made the noise, and he felt the hot breath near his head as the leather binding around his temples was bit through with a gnawing, tearing noise.

  Rolling his head to the side, he saw his savior. An Umbreon, with deep, yellow, glowing rings along its furry form. The red eyes regarded him with curiosity as the yellow rings shifted to a deep, calm blue. “Umby,” he barked, as he moved on to the ties for his right hand.

  “Thanks,” Zarius grumbled as he felt his hand freed from its restraint. Reaching one across his chest, he undid that leather strap before sitting up and sucking in a deep breath of shock. Everyone in the chamber turned to stone. All stuck in place – the Prophet next to him, holding the dagger of obsidian with even the dripping blood having been turned to rock. What caused this? He thought.

  Undoing the strap on his other arm, he moved to his legs and saw that the Umbreon had already beaten him to one of them. “Thanks, little guy,” he muttered as he reached a hand over and scratched it between the ears.

  Now freed, he sat up and slid off the altar. He touched his chest, trying to feel for any sign of injury. But he felt nothing. No wounds, no scars, no symbols of the divine…nothing. “What happened?” he muttered. The chamber was quiet, and he could not hear…anything. It was quiet save for the wind that blew across the opening above, letting out a slight whistling noise.

  He felt good. Better than ever. He stretched and felt taut muscle under the skin. His vision seemed to be better as well, as he could clearly make out the edges of the statues though no specific features. Still, it was an improvement over his prior “used to the dark cave” vision. The Umbreon looked up at him expectantly, then nuzzled up next to his leg and began rubbing itself affectionately on him, its rings turning a deep, bloody crimson.

  That’s not a normal color, Zarius thought. Yellow for baseline, blue for shiny. The heck is going on here? He reached down and gently lifted up the Umbreon by just under the forelegs, holding it up to his sight. “Sorry, but I just want to get a better look.”

  “Umby?” the Umbreon asked as its tail wagged back and forth, the red ring leaving afterimages as it swished back and forth. It licked his nose, and Zarius unintentionally giggled at the sign of affection.

  “Okay, so you like me. Good to know.” He set the Umbreon down on the altar, and its red eyes kept locked on him as it cocked its head. “Where’d you come from?” Zarius asked.

  Umbreon padded in a circle a few times before sitting on its haunches, looking up at the hole in the mountain top, and howling. A high-pitched, almost humorous howl that echoed through the chamber.

  Zarius looked up, “From the mountain top? What brought you down here?”

  It stood up, walked to the edge of the altar, and then nudged Zarius’ shoulder with his head. “Umbry.”

  I’ve been chosen by a servant of the Dark? Zarius thought. Such a thing was not unheard of, having a Pokémon choose a person as a companion. But…for him, a sacrifice to suddenly wake up…alive…with all of the other worshippers dead…and being rescued from his bindings by such a creature?

  It was divine providence.

  Zarius chuckled, then laughed. A laugh bordering on the edge of madness as he felt a swirl of emotions. First, confusion, because he should have died. And as a marred sacrifice, he should have been killed outright and his soul used as fuel to power the gods. But even if he was accepted, he should have woken up in the Godhome and met his parents again, serving the gods above.

  Surviving the ritual was unheard of, and he laughed at the sudden blessing. Some god had rescued him, that had to be it. A god had saved him, chosen him. This Umbreon was proof of that.

  Chosen by the Dark, he thought as he doubled over, gasping for air.

  He heard a terrifying clang. Standing upright and looking past the Umbreon which had turned around to face the center of the altar, Zarius saw that a blade had embedded itself in the stone object.

  A black sword, cut through with crimson lines that trailed in a geometric pattern. The cross guard had a single, solid, red gemstone that seemed to focus on him. "Rise, champion of the Dark. Feed me and be my new vessel."

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