Chapter 9 A Communion with a God

Trigger Warning, Some Villains and other characters within this piece of fiction do not reflect the IRL views of the author, and This Novel Will contain very extreme themes, some actions will not make logical since because of the character's psychosis; some of these characters will try to logically rationalize the irrational. Which Incudes Extreme Violence, Gore, Torture, and Corse language. Will feature Adult Themes through out, sometimes making light of great trauma.

 There is no Intentional subtext to suggest any of the characters political, or worldview is reflected by the Author some characters are to be driven by chaos. In this post apocalyptic, wasteland. 

WILL NEVER INCLUDE NTR.

Summary of chapter 8

In the latest episode of "Lights Out: The Reset," the Jones family stumbles upon a wounded alien drone named Bob after it crash-lands near their property. In a gripping turn of events, this emergency discovery upends their day, leading them away from their planned hog hunting expedition. The family, known for their role in the secretive and innovative Umbral Defense Agency, now faces the ethical dilemma of helping the strange, tentacled being while also wrestling with the implications of revealing its existence to the UDA.

This thrilling installment blends the stark realities of survival in a post-apocalyptic world with the awe-inspiring experience of first contact. As the Jones family debates the fate of the injured drone, which hails from a mysterious hive mind civilization, readers are treated to an electrifying narrative that promises secrets, suspense, and an exploration of the unknown.

Timothy, Lydia, and their children, Alex and Sara, become protectors of this interstellar visitor, showcasing their humanity amidst the grim backdrop of their wasteland life. Their bunker, once a safe haven against human threats, transforms into a sanctuary for extraterrestrial life, highlighting themes of unity and compassion that resonate through the darkest of times.

Join the Jones' in this exhilarating saga as they navigate the challenges of their discovery and confront the consequential decision of how to involve the UDA with their otherworldly guest. "Lights Out: The Reset" continues to captivate readers with its blend of sci-fi intrigue and family drama, ensuring that fans are eager for the next chapter in this unmissable grim dark science fiction series. Don't miss any updates—discover if humanity can coexist with alien life in the harsh post-nuclear reality.

Chapter 9: ​

"She will sleep," I grumbled, my voice barely audible over the creaking of the warehouse. "She will need someone to treat her wounds if she's to do what she is destined to do."

As if summoned by my words, more cultists began to trickle in, their faces obscured by the dim light. Some carried first aid equipment, while others clutched various salves and tinctures, their bottles clinking together in a morbid symphony. Their presence was a grim reminder of the task at hand. The medical witches began to tend to Jodie's wounds

The main room of the warehouse was a hive of activity, with more than five rooms set up for various purposes. The air was thick with the stench of decay, a constant reminder of the transient nature of life. In one corner, a group of cultists were huddled together, their voices barely audible as they chanted in hushed tones. In another, a makeshift altar was set up, adorned with various trinkets and artifacts, their purpose known only to the faithful.

My gaze drifted to the various bodies in different stages of decomposition, a chilling testament to the cult's twisted beliefs. Some were little more than skeletons, their flesh long since rotted away. Others were fresher, their faces frozen in eternal screams. It was a sight that would have made a weaker man retch, but I had long since grown accustomed to it.

Around me, the cultists went about their tasks with a fervor that bordered on mania. Some were busy setting up lesser banishing ritual sites, their hands moving with practiced ease as they drew complex symbols on the floor. Others were deep in prayer, their voices rising and falling in a haunting melody that echoed through the warehouse.

Despite the chaos, there was a sense of order, a rhythm that was as hypnotic as it was terrifying. This was their world, a place where the line between the living and the dead was blurred. And I was their butcher, their executioner, their cook.

I turned my attention back to Jodie, her body limp and broken. She was a puzzle, a mystery that needed to be solved. And I was just the man to do it. With a grunt, I began to tend to her wounds, my hands moving with a surprising gentleness. She would heal, and when she did, she would do what they were destined to do.

"Please, tend to her wounds, she's no good if she expires." I ordered the medical cultists to do their work.

The warehouse hummed with activity, the cultists moving with a single-minded purpose. The air was thick with anticipation, the promise of what was to come hanging heavy in the air. This was just the beginning, the first step in a journey that would lead us to the heart of darkness. And I, the Butcher, would be their guide.

"Listen up, ye faithful!" I bellow, my voice reverberating through the warehouse, silencing the murmurs and chants. "We serve the great Shax, the mighty, the warrior, the king! And in his name, we shall reign!" I thrust a meaty finger towards the unconscious form of Jodie, my voice dripping with malice. "She, the key to our ascension. She will lay out a path...a grand path of destruction. With our guidance, willing or not, she will obey. Playing into our hands would be her cause. Our influence and her change and her new charge will seek that our goals align."

I squat down, my biomechanical arm whirring as I grasp a piece of chalk. With a practiced hand, I begin to draw a summoning circle on the cold, concrete floor. "With this, we will commune with Shax. Hear his message, and seek his guidance." Each line is drawn with precision, the chalk screeching against the concrete, adding to the cacophony of sounds echoing in the warehouse. "With his guidance, we will know what to do, and how to proceed. With his guidance, we will know the true path, the path that will lead us to our Apex!" I shout, echoing through-out the warehouse.

The first layer of the circle complete, I move on to the next step, drawing the symbols that will give the circle meaning. The first one represents fire, strength, and light. "With this, we commune with fire!" I shout, my voice filled with fervor. The cultists around me echo my words, their voices rising in a chorus of devotion.

Next, I draw the symbol for water, dexterity, and chaos. "With this, we commune with water!" I shout, my voice growing louder, more insistent. The cultists echo my words, their voices growing in volume and intensity.

The third symbol represents air, athletics, and destiny. "With this, we commune with air, which breathes life to our destiny!" I shout, my voice reaching a fever pitch. The cultists echo my words, their voices filled with a fervor that matches my own.

The fourth symbol represents earth, material, and wisdom. "With this, we commune with the mother earth! For she is who grants us the land that which she serves us with." The cultists echo my words, their voices filled with reverence.

"This," I say, drawing the final symbol, "completes the elements." The symbol represents the spirit, and its location, below the symbols of the elements, means we are seeking a spirit from which governs the spirit. Those with influence on vice, addiction, pain, and emotion. "With this symbol, below the elements, to which it is governed by the elements."

The other symbols represent the god that is called. The four each represents that of Shax, the Demon-lord general. "With this complete, we may now commune with Shax!" I shout, my voice filled with triumph.

The cultists echo my words, their voices rising in a deafening roar. "Shax! Shax! Shax!" The chant fills the warehouse, the sound reverberating off the walls and ceiling, a cacophony of devotion and malice. The air is thick with anticipation, the promise of what is to come hanging heavy in the air. This is just the beginning, the first step in a journey that will lead us to the heart of darkness. And I, the Butcher, will be their guide.

"Step forward, my faithful," I command, my voice echoing through the warehouse. "For us to begin the summoning, we need three willing sacrifices." The air grows thick with tension, the cultists shifting uneasily. Then, slowly, some begin to stand, their eyes shining with fervor. They approach the summoning circle, their steps measured and deliberate. Three of them kneel, their heads bowed in submission.

"My life for Shax!" one declares, his voice trembling with emotion.

"My life for you!" another cries out, her voice filled with devotion.

The third, a young man with wild eyes, screams, "My life, my soul, is for Shax!"

I nod, my heart pounding with anticipation. This is it. This is the moment we've been waiting for. I direct them to the three corners of the summoning circle, my biomechanical arm whirring as I move. Each one takes their place without hesitation, their faces calm and resolute.

With a swift motion, I draw my blade, a butcher's cleaver, the steel gleaming in the dim light. I position myself behind the first sacrifice, my hand steady on the hilt. "May Shax guide you," I murmur, my voice barely audible. Then, with a swift, powerful motion, I sever his head. Blood spurts from the neck, staining the cultist robes a deep crimson. The body slumps to the ground, lifeless.

I move to the second sacrifice, my heart pounding in my chest. The air is thick with the scent of blood and death, but I do not falter. This is our path, our destiny. I raise my blade, the steel catching the light. "May Shax guide you," I repeat, my voice stronger this time. And with another swift motion, I take her life.

Finally, I approach the third sacrifice. His eyes meet mine, and I see no fear, only determination. "May Shax guide you," I say, my voice filled with respect. And with one final, powerful strike, I end his life. Blood pours from the neck, pooling on the concrete floor. The summoning circle is complete, the sacrifices made.

The air in the warehouse shifts, a palpable energy pulsing through the room. The cultists begin to chant, their voices rising in a cacophony of sound. "Shax! Shax! Shax!" The name echoes through the warehouse, a chilling symphony of devotion and fear. I stand beside summoning circle, my heart pounding, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

As I watch the dark swirling of energy circle the warehouse, I feel a sense of awe and dread. The tornado of energy sucks in the magical essence surrounding the summoning circle, creating a purple-red light that intensifies with each passing second. From the glowing energy, a bird-winged man emerges, his body slowly materializing before my eyes. His dove head on top of a muscular neck, wearing tight leathers, and various implements of torture attached to his clothing.

Standing before me is an aspect of Shax, a large muscular man with gigantic bird wings protruding from either side of his scapula. Reminding me of a swan. His presence is both intimidating and exhilarating, and I can't help but feel a sense of pride at having successfully summoned him.

His deep red eyes, his blood covered beak, his head bobbed taking in the scene that he was summoned to.

"Hello, dark lord," I begin, my voice steady and confident. "I have exciting news, an update if you will. We have captured Jodie of the UDA. With the sheer terror that I instilled in her, she will shape the destiny of mankind. I think we've done just that, she's going to follow her path of destiny."

I pause, realizing that I may have been rambling on too much. But Shax simply smiles, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Ah, nice to get this update, and thank you for the delicious meal. Those souls were lovely."

He leans forward, his wings rustling as he speaks. "Your next steps are to tend to her wounds just enough so that they need to help her come to terms with a new reality. Drop her in a ditch, and then contact UDA anonymously about the location of the body. Drug her so that she's unconscious and that when she comes to, she doesn't remember how she got there, but she remembers the night of torment."

He smiles again, his jagged teeth gleaming in the dim light. "With her mind being melded by the horrors that she's now experienced, that is the fuel she needs to follow the path of her destiny."

I nod, my heart pounding with anticipation. This is it. This is the moment we've been waiting for. With a renewed sense of purpose, I turn to the cultists around me, ready to carry out Shax's orders. "You heard the dark master," I bellow. "Let's get to work."

The warehouse hums with activity as the cultists spring into action, their movements precise and efficient. I watch with a sense of pride as they tend to Jodie's wounds, their hands moving with a surprising gentleness. This is our world, a place where the line between the living and the dead is blurred. And I am their butcher, their executioner, their cook. And together, we will shape the destiny of mankind.

"I thank you for sharing some of your valuable time, I will report as the plan progresses. Thank you, Shax." With my determination solid and newly found, I begin to figure out which ditch would be the most dramatic, and begin to plan out how best to situate the whole thing, the more negative conclusions they could have, the better.

As those words were spoken, Shax's form began to dissipate into the ethereal void. The divine presence had vanished, as though it had never been there, highlighting the sheer toll of such an exchange. To enable discourse with entities from other dimensions, the cost is indeed astronomical. Yet, it is this very enormity that aligns followers from diverse backgrounds, fostering a deeper loyalty through the ceremonial essence of our practices.

Over the next few days, I watch over the cultists tending to Jodie's wounds like a hawk. Their hands move with practiced efficiency, cleaning and dressing her injuries with a strange tenderness that's at odds with our usual activities. I find myself strangely fascinated by the process, watching as the bruises on her face fade from angry purples and blacks to sickly yellows and greens, and the gash on her leg slowly knits itself back together.

I can't help but feel a sense of pride as I watch her heal. She's strong, stronger than I initially gave her credit for. Despite everything she's been through, she's still fighting, still clinging to life with a tenacity that's almost admirable. It's a shame, really, that she's going to have to go through so much more before this is all over.

As the days pass, I find myself growing increasingly restless. I'm not used to waiting, to standing idly by while others do the work. I'm a man of action, a man who gets things done. But this, this is different. This requires patience, a virtue that I've never been particularly fond of.

But I know that the wait will be worth it. The plan that Shax has laid out for us is a good one, a clever one. It's a plan that will sow chaos and fear, a plan that will bring us one step closer to our ultimate goal. And all we have to do is wait.

Finally, the day comes. Jodie is nearly conscious, her eyes fluttering open and closed as she hovers on the brink of awareness. I watch as she struggles to make sense of her surroundings, her brow furrowing in confusion and pain. It's a sight that would have made a weaker man feel sympathy, but I am not a weak man. I am the Butcher, and I have a job to do.

With a curt nod, I order the cultists to prepare her for transport. They move quickly, wrapping her in a thick blanket and lifting her gently onto a makeshift stretcher. I watch as they carry her out of the warehouse, her body limp and unresponsive.

The trip to the UDA headquarters is uneventful, the streets quiet and empty in the early morning light. I find myself growing more and more tense as we approach our destination, my heart pounding in my chest like a drum. This is it, the moment we've been waiting for.

As we pull up to the ditch near the UDA headquarters, I can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. This is the perfect location, the ideal place to leave her. They'll find her, of course, they'll have to. But by the time they do, it will be too late. The damage will have already been done.

I watch as the cultists carefully lower her into the ditch, their faces hidden by the hoods of their robes. They move with practiced efficiency, their hands gentle as they arrange her body in a way that suggests she crawled there on her own. It's a chilling sight, one that would have made a weaker man feel uneasy. But I am not a weak man. I am the Butcher, and this is just the beginning.

With one final glance at Jodie's unconscious form, I turn and walk away, my biomechanical arm whirring softly in the early morning light. The cultists follow behind me, their footsteps echoing in the stillness. We have done what we set out to do, and now it's time to wait. To watch as the chaos unfolds, and the world burns. And I, the Butcher, will be there, ready to guide them through the flames.