The Cult's Failed Summoning

Chapter 5: Trials of Flesh

The next day, in a large, mostly empty chamber lit by harsh torchlight, six violet-robed initiates stood clustered near the center. A row of heavy torturer’s chairs waited in grim silence, their leather straps and metal restraints gleaming dully under the flickering flames.

One figure spoke in a hushed, eager tone.

“Did you hear? The Overseer said if we are compatible with the drugs the High Priest made, we could gain immortality.”

Another answered quickly, voice edged with excitement.

“He told me we would grow far stronger than we are now and could even become mages.”

A third figure added shyly, almost embarrassed.

“Well… he told me I could increase my size.”

All eyes turned to him at once. Faces twisted into expressions of pure disbelief, the air thickening with awkward silence. The third figure slowly backed away, shrinking under the collective stare as if the stone floor might swallow him whole.

The tense moment shattered as the far door creaked open.

Alistair von Vaneford entered with Stone at his side, four High Acolytes following close behind. The High Priest’s eyes burned with barely contained excitement as he swept his gaze across the volunteers.

“Thank you all for coming and volunteering yourselves to serve as vessels for our lord.”

He gestured smoothly to the tray Stone carried, filled with small glass test tubes containing a dark, shimmering liquid.

“All you have to do is drink the contents.”

The initiates stared at the tray. Hesitation rippled through them like a visible wave.

Two of the High Acolytes remained stationed near the door, standing guard while the other two waited beside Alistair.

One initiate whispered something urgent to the others. In an instant every head snapped toward the third figure—the one who had mentioned growing larger. Without a word they seized him, hands clamping down on his shoulders and arms, and shoved him forward with rough urgency.

Alistair snapped his fingers once.

Two of the High Acolytes remained by the door, while the other two moved like shadows, grabbing the struggling volunteer and dragging him toward the nearest torturer’s chair. They locked him in with brutal efficiency—straps cinching tight around wrists, ankles, and chest. Stone stepped forward without hesitation and forced the liquid down his throat.

The man swallowed.

For a heartbeat nothing happened.

Then violent spasms ripped through his body. He screamed, thrashing against the restraints, veins bulging black beneath his skin. The convulsions lasted only seconds before his body went completely limp, head lolling forward.

Alistair watched with hungry eyes.

Nothing.

The man did not move again.

Alistair’s face darkened. He snapped his fingers once more. The two High Acolytes assisting him unstrapped the corpse and dragged it out of the chamber without a word, leaving a faint smear of blood across the stone.

Alistair let out a long, weary sigh.

“Who’s next?”

The two High Acolytes who had been guarding the door continued assisting with the experiments.

The remaining volunteers hesitated, eyes darting toward the door. Alistair whispered something low to Stone. The Overseer set the tray down and disappeared into the back room, returning moments later leading the mutated Surong on a heavy chain.

Alistair’s voice rose, triumphant and commanding.

“This Surong proved compatible with the Lord’s cells. Not only did it gain magic aptitude, it can increase its size and is immune to poison. It just might be immortal—though further testing is still needed.”

The initiates stared at the enlarged, muscular creature. Their hesitation cracked. One by one they stepped forward, voices overlapping in desperate eagerness.

“I volunteer!”

“High Priest, use me!”

“I’m the most compatible!”

They were quickly strapped into the remaining torturer’s chairs, leather creaking as restraints tightened. Stone moved to the first man and forced the liquid down his throat.

The reaction was immediate and horrifying. The man thrashed wildly, screaming as his body began to inflate like a balloon. Flesh swelled, skin stretched taut, until it could take no more. He exploded in a wet burst of gore and bone, scattering blood and entrails across the chamber. Only Alistair remained untouched, a blue barrier shimmering around him.

The two High Acolytes guarding the door were splattered by the blast, but neither reacted.

No one flinched. Stone calmly wiped a smear of blood from his face with the back of his hand. The other initiates simply sat covered in gore, waiting in silence.

Stone turned to Alistair.

“Should we clean up before continuing?”

Alistair’s eyes were fever-bright.

“No. We continue. We can’t stop now. We are close—I know it. On to the next.”

Stone nodded and stepped to the second volunteer. The man struggled desperately, refusing to open his mouth. Stone seized his jaw, pried it open with iron strength, and poured the liquid down his throat before stepping back and raising a barrier.

The second man thrashed violently… then went limp.

Alistair watched with anxious intensity.

Seconds passed.

The man suddenly gasped awake, eyes wide.

“I’m alive… I’m alive!”

Alistair rushed forward.

“You two, release him!”

The High Acolytes hurried to unshackle the volunteer. Alistair leaned in close.

“How do you feel? Any irregularities?”

The man flexed his hands, confused.

“No… none.”

Alistair folded his arms in triumph.

“Yes… a success. So, did you gain anything?”

The man frowned, then suddenly began to change. His shoulders broadened, muscles swelled, bones thickened. In moments he towered over the others, a hulking figure of raw power. He casually crushed the reinforced torturer’s chair that had held him, metal groaning and snapping like twigs. A wild laugh burst from his throat.

Alistair smiled.

“There is room for improvement, but this is good enough for now.”

He waved a hand toward the remaining three volunteers.

“Administer it to the rest of them. Quickly.”

Stone and the two High Acolytes each took a test tube. The final three men were force-fed in rapid succession. Their bodies reacted with the same violent spasms as the others. Alistair stood perfectly still, both hands gripping his hair, barely containing himself as he watched them go limp one after another.

The chamber fell silent.

Seconds stretched into an eternity.

Then all three men woke up at once, gasping, eyes wide with shock and wonder.

Alistair finally released a long, shaky sigh of relief. He waved his hand with a satisfied flick.

“Release them.”

The High Acolytes moved at once, unbuckling straps and unlocking restraints with practiced efficiency. The three surviving volunteers rose unsteadily from the torturer’s chairs. They took a few cautious steps forward, rolling their shoulders and flexing their limbs as if testing whether their bodies still belonged to them.

Alistair gave them a moment to steady themselves, his eyes bright with anticipation.

“So what did each of you gain?” he asked eagerly. “Tell me.”

One of the men stared down at his own hands. He closed his eyes for a long second, as if reaching inward to inspect something only he could see. Then his eyes snapped open and he let out a sharp cry of surprise.

“High Priest!” he exclaimed. “I think… I think I gained some casting abilities!”

Alistair’s smile widened.

“That’s good. We will test the proficiency of what you’ve gained later.” He turned toward the others. “And the rest of you—”

The words died on his tongue.

The atmosphere in the chamber changed in an instant—a sudden, unnatural stillness, as if the air itself had thickened and grown cold.

Alistair spun around just in time to see the young volunteer who had spoken first raise his hands. A roaring fireball condensed between his palms and hurtled straight toward the High Priest’s back.

Alistair leapt backward with desperate speed, one hand already weaving a spell.

“Barrier!”

A translucent blue veil snapped into existence. The fireball slammed against it with a thunderous crack, flames licking across the surface before dissipating harmlessly.

Alistair landed in a crouch and barked at the High Acolytes standing a short distance away.

“Restrain him immediately—”

No one moved.

Not a single cultist shifted. Every robed figure who had just been released stood perfectly still, faces slack, eyes empty and hollow as if their minds had been scooped out and replaced with nothing.

The realization hit Alistair like ice water.

Stone.

He whipped his head to the right—straight into the glint of a rapier thrusting toward his chest.

Alistair twisted at the last possible moment. The blade sliced across his stomach instead of piercing his heart. Pain flared hot and sharp. He staggered backward, one hand clamping over the deep gash, blood already soaking through his purple robes.

His eyes locked onto the attackers.

Every single person in the chamber—the initiates, the High Acolytes, even Stone—stared back at him with the same vacant, hollow gaze.