Chapter 6

The interrogation room was nondescript. The walls were reinforced with sound absorbent paddings, a steel table in the middle and a polarized observatory window to the right. The detained cultist sat at the end of the table, jacketed with an anti-thaumaturgic fabric that prevented him from opening his abdominal maw or exhibit any other anomalous properties that he might possess.

His hands were bound in chains in front of him so that when the interrogators required him to write or draw something, they would not risk getting close to remove his restraints and in turn, give him chance to escape. He sat, rocking in his chair, giving the personnel behind the observatory window the evil eye.

The door beyond swung open, revealing Lukas in uniform. In his left hand was folder containing documents about the cult's activities in the past three weeks. The soldier sat at the chair across him. The Lieutenant carelessly tossed the folder on the table and glared.

"Are we just gonna sit here or are you going to speak? We can do this all day." Lukas said.

The cultist laughed.

"No, you don't." The cultist replied. "You never have the time."

"Elaborate."

"Why would I tell you?" The cultist replied back with a mocking laugh.

"So you just said that to make yourself sound badass? Typical."

"You never have the time because we will rule this world of yours." He laughed. "I hope you are still alive to witness it, I really hope you are."

Lukas grinned. He doesn't need enhanced interrogation techniques for this bastard to speak. He was divulging small important details on his own accord.

"So, all of these are just rituals, huh?" He asked.

The cultist realized that he had spilled too much. He leaned back and avoided his gaze.

"Come on, tell me more about this 'fire and brimstone' shit you bastards got. I am interested." But the cultist did not respond. "Cat got your tongue?"

"You will all die." The cultist cursed. "The bloodshed had opened a tear in the Veil. We are just widening it with more." He laughed.

The bloodshed. He must have been referring to the separatist rebellion conflict of the mid-2000's. Lukas sat back. He wanted to extract more information from him.

"Can you tell me more?" He asked, tone relaxed. The cultist did not respond. "Come on,"

But he couldn't get more facts out of him. He was about to stand when the cultist started to speak again.

"You know what human flesh tastes like? Or how sweet a blood is if it came from a virgin? The power it brings to you was more than you can imagine." He grinned. "When I slit the bitch's throat, she was moaning like some--"

Lukas turned to him with his fist clenched.

"--her arms were limped at the side as I sucked more and more. I can't get enough of it." He laughed. "I pulled another one, slit her throat and--"

Lukas' fist slammed against his face, sending blood dripping from his nose. The cultist himself felt nasal carthilage broke upon impact. The soldier felt his blood boil. He clenched his fist for the second time and threw another punch.

At this point, three other troopers burst into the room and wrestled the disgruntled Lieutenant away, and at the same time, retrieved the folder on the table. Lukas tried to squirm from their grip but their combined strength outmatched his. The cultist laughed maniacally at the scene.

And they were gone. The door slammed close after them.

With a laugh, the cultist dipped his index finger with the blood coming from his nose. He made a symbol on the table and began whispering an incantation from a book written in some very old language. His other abilities may have been hindered, but casting spells or doing short rituals is not since it does not need a special skill to do so.

Especially a communication one.

"My masters," he spoke at the symbol. "I am here, inside one of their territories." He added. "I offer their blood to you."

The lights flickered in response. The cultist looked up with a bleeding nose and laughed.

"These people are responsible for the slaughter of your followers." The cultist said. "If they are allowed to continue their living, they might pose a threat against the black father's ascension." He grinned. "Yes, master."

#

Lukas was pinned against the wall by a fellow ranking officer and received a slap in the face to calm him down.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Apostol?" He recognized the face and the voice, it was 1st Lieutenant Francis Borja, recently coming back from psychological rehabilitation. "Are you risking court martial for this?"

Lukas released a deep sigh as Francis dismissed their subordinates, who saluted and walked away. The other 666IB personnel around shot them a curious glance but they went on with their business as usual. He reclined, touching his sore knuckles that were stained with blood that belonged to the cultist and his.

"I guess you should have that checked." Francis nodded at his bruised hand. "Let me accompany you."

"I think I can manage," Lukas replied. Aside from Alice, Francis was one of his closest friends within the Battalion. The latter knew him, from mannerisms alone and even his family in his previous life. The man simply stared at him as he began to walk away.

"I insist." Francis protested as he followed him. "You're unstable, buddy. Look at you, you're a mess. You're not opening up to the rest of us while you are trying to drown it in freaking alcohol!" He tried his voice to be as low as possible to avoid the leakage from being heard by the rookies. He shook his head.

They walked down the corridor that leads to the clinic wing.