....And The Night Shall Save Us All....

Lylesburg knelt down, gently nudging the curled, crumpled form onto her back from the fetal position she had assumed when Kinski placed her on the floor of the stone tunnel at the old shadow’s feet. A small moan, a bright, quick flicker of yellow eyes, and the girl jerked away from the soft hand, still caught tight in the grip of unconsciousness.
“Is she one of ours?” Kinski stood over the two forms, half-guard, half-observer.
“I believe so….But I must make sure….” Lylesburg grasped her trembling shoulder more securely, ignoring the small spasms and tremors of her wounded muscles. He closed his two blood-red eyes, and Kinski gasped, taking a quick step backwards as Lylesburg opened his six true eyes.
The bloody slits set into his aged cheeks peeled back, and three eyes on each side rolled wetly for a moment in their stigmatic bath of bloody tears, before coming to focus on the stranger.
“So much hurt….” The eyes winced, seemed to shudder, closed the merest breadth of a second. “Like so many who finally make their way here….” He sighed deeply, and in that short breath, Kinski felt civilizations rise and fall, felt time and loss as such an acute weight he almost collapsed. He was forced into leaning against the cold rock wall at his back just to keep his feet.
“She is breed. A shape-changer, animal in nature.” Bloody tears pattered softly to the floor as the secret eyes wept their endless flow of crimson. Before closing, the depths of those six black eyes fell on Kinski, and in that haunted gaze, the man felt his very soul weighted and measured. The shivering chill that swept through him from the very core of his being forced him to cough and turn away, praying feverishly to Baphomet to never let those bright martyr’s eyes touch on him again, not in this life time or any other, even if he lived to see the oceans burn and the moon fall…..
Lylesburg stood. “She is weak, half-starved, and fatigued. Please find her an empty bed, and don’t let her wake without an escort. We do not want her panicking, possibly hurting herself or anyone else. Coming here can be…..Very….Harrowing.” He turned, and with the slightest moths-wing rustle of cloth, faded into the ever-present shadows.
Kinski scratched his long, pointed chin, shook off the last of the lingering chill, and scooped the small burden of the newest addition to Midian into his arms.


“To fair of face.” Shuna Sassi sat preening her quills, the slightest hint of venom in her sultry voice as she admired her eldritch plumage.
Lude laughed softly, not surprised at her answer to his query about the new one. “Didn’t you say the same thing about Rachel?”
Shuna Sassi stopped her preening, regarding the half-satyr with a wry half-smile. “Point taken….” A soft rattle of quills accompanied the slight shake of her head.
“When she changes, she’s a cat, you know, a great panther with fur as black as my skin….Or so Leroy claims. He says he saw her shift the night before, when they ventured above.” He pointed a claw upwards, waggling his finger.
“Leroy says lots of things, especially after visiting the Thrall….”
Lude chuckled. “True, true my dear.”
“I wonder if I should bother speaking with her. She seems too normal, too natural, to be worthwhile.” Shuna sighed, admiring the sheen on a blue-green quill.
“I don’t know if I’d go that far. We can’t ostracize her based solely on her looks. That wouldn’t be very breed of us. Too damn natural for my tastes.” Lude shook his head and rubbed the base of one of his horns. “But I’ll just play it by ear. I won’t seek her out, but I will give her a chance based on her, ya know? And all this may be pointless. Her meeting with Baphomet is tonight. If he rejects her, well, we all know what happens then.” He drew a finger across his ebony throat, gurgling softly. “End of discussion.”
Shuna Sassi laughed quietly. “True enough.”


The rock under her feet gradually lost it’s chill, seeming less like lifeless stone and more like hard, living flesh. She can feel the radiating, ominous heat creeping into the rough pads on her feet, somehow making the difficult journey worse still. She follows the sloping passage down, down, always down, and somehow that fact does not surprise her. After what she had seen and learned in the past few days, she doubts anything can anymore.
Now the tunnel widens, turns into a steep ramp, as if being able to traverse it was merely an afterthought, not the intent, of the architect. With each footfall, her heart beats harder, a panicky inner drumbeat to march briskly to. She can feel her pulse, racing along in perfect time with the manic tattoo of her pounding blood. She paused a moment, shaking hands pulling her long obsidian hair back into a lose tail, reflecting on all that had transpired, all the knowledge she has gained.
We will not be the monsters they make us out to be.
Even death has laws, codes of honor.
The law cannot be broken. Abide by it and you will have a place here till death and beyond.
You are Night breed. To your brethren you owe honor and respect.
No matter what you have been told, to yourself you owe honor and respect.
The mantras echo in her skull, and she repeats the most basic and meaningful over and over, a prayer of the damned. The fractured God that lay ahead in all his agonizing glory beckoned her, and she felt His calling in her bones, a pull as inexorable as the tide, a slowly tightening rope around her very essence. She swallows hard, and for the first time in her life, prays for another to find her worthy. Her step falters, delicate hand grasping, almost clawing, at the wall of the ramp.
“Amani…..” Kinski’s voice is soft, coaxing and gentle, forcing nothing, merely reminding her that she is not alone, will not face this old, bloody Baptizer by herself. Amani smiles weakly, trying successfully to regain her composure.
“I’m alright.” She forces herself to stand straight and tall, drawing her slender body to it’s full height of 5’5, bunching her hands into nervous fists. She steels her will, takes one more second to gather her resolve, and moves forward with a lithe, liquid grace, head held high, narrowed eyes seeming to almost throw yellow sparks into the gloom.
“I know you’re scared.” Kinski lays a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she smiles thankfully, nodding ever so slightly. “This is an irreversible step. Anyone that went without fear is not someone I would lair with….”
Amani tried to agree, but found her voice had deserted her in the ever-increasing pull of the Elder God. She fought the blanketing influence, trying to speak and coughing on her first attempt. After a minute, she spoke, rather quietly and with deep emotion in her silky voice.
“I have finally found my place. What waits for me at the end of this path, no matter what the outcome, is a thousand times better than the merest thought of leaving Midian. I don’t have to hide, or run….I can have true friends, a family….” Here her voice dropped, suddenly full of malice, dripping with venom and hate. “I have had my fill of the naturals. Never again will I judge myself by their laws, never again will I suffer for their blind stupidity.….” Kinski sees her eyes flare, flaming yellow utterly consuming pupil and iris, til the whole of both orbs shine like falling stars, and extinguish just as suddenly, fear and pain and loss and rage and every hurt she had ever been dealt by cold and uncaring hands plainly visible in the aftermath of the glow. But brighter than that is the spirit behind those eyes, unbowed, unbroken. Kinski grins, glad that he was chosen to teach and guard this uncanny woman, glad for the chance to befriend her.
He took her hand, and led her down to Baphomet’s inner sanctuary, to the heart of the labyrinth.



Peloquin swaggered through the winding, twisting corridors, headed to the baptism room in a round-about, unhurried way. The new girl’s trial was today, soon. He made it a point to never miss one of these rare ceremonies, on the off chance than the enigmatic God of the Nightbreed chose not to welcome and accept the proffered soul, instead reducing the unworthy to a twitching, smoldering heap, writhing in blind agony, doomed to death in a few short moments. That, in Peloquin’s opinion, was great fun and entertainment. Better than fireworks.
He hummed a little tune as he walked, wondering in an off-hand, not-truly-concerned sort of way what the new girl looked like, and if she was fuckable. But that was a trick question….Did she possess a cunt? Than the answer to said question was a resounding and gleeful yes. He had been absent from Midian for the past few days, leading his tribe on a spree of violence and debauchery, adding to the numbers, weeding out the weak, so he hadn’t had the chance to ask anyone on the stranger’s appearance and personality. But that was alright….Peloquin enjoyed surprises, especially female ones. He followed the ramp, and strode into the inner chamber.
And there, came face to face with the phantom woman from his dreams.