Page 94 of Chaos Carnival

“And where is my sister's star pupil?” Baphomet's eyes gleamed with ancient fire.

“Ensuring the performance’s success.” I let my power slowly rise to match his. “This is her design, after all.”

We watched as Vera selected her prey, her choice speaking to her understanding of human cruelty. From the bustling crowd, a young man in his early twenties was chosen. His cries of terror blended with the excited shouts of those gathered.

Jeremy Walsh, a trust fund kid with more money than sense, had spent the last year indulging in his depraved desires. Every weekend, he hired prostitutes, using them as playthings, forcing drugs upon them, and fucking their bodies however he pleased until they were deflated dolls, busted and defeated.

Vera dragged him down, her eyes wild and hair whipping as if caught in an unseen wind. She forced him into a transparent box, her hands a blur as she manipulated his body to fit, bending and twisting him until he was folded like an impossible human origami.

As the box sealed shut, a new delicious horror began. Blades, thin and sharp, emerged from every surface, a toxic metallic forest. They inched forward with agonizing slowness, a bloodthirsty dance, each one seeking flesh. The man's screams turned hoarse, his body jerking with the effort to escape, but there was nowhere to go. The blades pressed closer, piercingskin, drawing blood. With each passing moment, the box filled with a grisly display of red, a testament to the dark Sisters' art.

The heavy canvas trapped everything inside—the heat, the screams, the thick copper scent of blood. But somehow the sugary sweetness of funnel cakes still permeated the air, making my stomach turn at the incongruous mixture. Above us, the tent pole creaked rhythmically, as if keeping time with the distant thrum of bass from the carnival rides.

And then, with a dramatic flourish, the box opened.

The moment was punctuated by the sudden, stark silence that followed. I could sense the crowd's reaction without seeing it — an eclectic mix of emotions that hung heavy in the air. Their gazes fixed on the man's body, now a punctured and bloody mess. Gasps of horror and delighted laughter mingled with the smatterings of applause. They still didn't know yet that their own gruesome fate was fast approaching.

Darkness deepened as the Sisters reached the culmination of their dance. The marked souls began to unravel, their corruption feeding back. It was justice and vengeance wrapped in beauty; death disguised as art. Art disguised as death.

Luna and Vera moved through the crowd, selecting their next victims with glee. They dragged audience members, yelling and fighting, into the ring and bound them tightly, gagging their mouths. My skin tingled at the sight.

The Sisters' movements were precise, almost loving in their brutality, as they secured each struggling form. The theater doors had been sealed, and now the air erupted with dark anticipation.

The unlucky souls were hung from a rotating carousel, their arms and legs bound and fastened to the spinning structure. As the ride began to turn, the bodies were flung outward, the centrifugal force stretching them taut. Their muffled screams resounded over the creaking of metal and rope, a symphonyof terror that made my pulse quicken. The carousel picked up speed, transforming the suspended figures into blurred shadows against the dim theater lights. Their restraints pulled so tight that their tendons strained beneath their skin, muscles rigid with desperate resistance. Each rotation brought them closer to the moment we'd all been waiting for, and I found myself leaning forward in anticipation.

Their screams became a symphony of terror, a soundtrack to the Sisters' dance. I watched, my alchemy thrumming within me like an electric current seeking ground, as the chosen ones spun faster and faster, their bodies becoming a blur of sacrifice. Sweat beaded on my forehead as the energy in the room built to a fever pitch, the air seeming to crackle. The performance was designed to terrify, each revolution bringing forth their chorus of agony.

Tess's hand too, was guiding this spectacle with the ancient magic that coursed through the chamber. The familiar tang of her spell work hung in the air, sharp and metallic.

As the carousel spun faster and faster, the bodies of the sacrifices twisted and contorted unnaturally, their limbs threatening to rip from their sockets at any moment. The audience, caught in the powerful centrifugal force, would feel the pull and stretch in their own bodies. A visceral and sinister sensation—Ivan’s idea, Tess's handiwork.

The panic and fear in the air was a tangible thing as the Sisters' chosen ones became a blur of flesh and blood, their screams now a high-pitched keening that sent shivers down the audience’s spines.

“She's become something…” Baphomet began as the bodies pulled apart, “more ancient than all of us.”

The tent grew still then, the Sisters floating back to the ground as their work completed.

No bodies remained, the spell had unmade them completely, erasing all evidence of their existence.

“Tell Lilith I'll be watching her progress with great interest,” Baphomet said, turning to leave. “And tell your mate... well.” His smile held secrets older than time. “She already knows what I would say.”

As he vanished, I looked at the now-empty tent, where only echoes remained of what had transpired. The performance was a success, elegant, efficient, and terrifying.

As we cleaned away the remnants of popcorn and candy wrappers, our tent echoed with phantom screams. The canvas had absorbed the night's activities, the way sugar and copper seemed permanently mixed in the air.

The regular show would begin soon, the tent filling with ordinary humans seeking manufactured thrills. None would know that real monsters had sat in their seats just hours before. None would suspect that their entertainment was built on foundations of darkness and sin.

I straightened my coat, preparing to play my role as ringmaster once more.

Chapter 44: Dawn's Promise

Tess

Afterthelightsandlaughter of Cirque de Sanguine was shut down, the night's performance was still humming in my veins. I was a being of magic and flesh, caught in the throes of ecstasy, utterly lost in the man who held me close.

Teetering on the brink, the sweet tension coiling tighter and tighter within me, Maverick's voice was a steady anchor in the storm of sensation. “Come for me, monstre. I've got you.”

With a final, shuddering cry, I surrendered to the wave of pleasure that crashed over me. Maverick followed me over the edge, his own release pulsing within me as we clung to each other, spent and sated.

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