The Hooded Man Ritual Novels & Stories

Three sacrifices for the three heads, two more mounds for the feet, and lastly, one heap in the middle that connects the dark squid ink. In the distance, a group of people hovels around one another. These humans wear the banner of the Hydra: dark cloaks made from animal furs, green and black plated armorers with the same hydra rune etched within the chest of the plate armor, and lastly, hoods that cover their faces. Approximately one meter away is a carriage. This carriage is being pulled by two black and healthy horses, though chain mail covers their facial structure. A peasant within the group of people that whispers among each other turns his head at the right time and notices the coming

the Priest intoned, his voice echoing off the high stone arches. Jordan took my hand, his grip like iron, and led me to the front. We stood before the Priest, who held a bowl of sacred moon-water and a bundle of dried sage. He began the ritual, waving the smoking sage around us in slow, rhythmic circles. The scent was thick and earthy, meant to cleanse our spirits before the final binding. He dipped his fingers into the silver bowl and flicked droplets onto our foreheads, murmuring an ancient tongue that made the hair on my arms stand up.

I think about his big, hot body, and I think about what it would feel like if he lay on top of me like this man is doing to Arina. My sacred part tightens and I don't know what this sensation is, but it scares me at the same time that I want to feel it again. When the music drops a little, I hear Arina emit a low, timid scream. The man too. And then the ritual ends. The man comes down from the altar and two Mothers take him out the way he entered, away from us. My eyes follow him, but he doesn't look back. Arina remains lying down, so we approach and continue to sing, asking for her womb to be blessed by the Goddess.

“Will never know why people deserve to die the way they do. Unless you're in their heart and head like I am, only then will you be able understand what it means to die in such Glorious manner.” “What is glorious about butchering humans like rams?” The masked man leaned forward, “Very soon, it will become clear. You shall undergo cleansing only then, when you're purged of everything unclean, can you completely understand why death visited them through my cold hands.” Lex wondered what was about to happen to him, he felt his body afloat, gooseflesh. His neck and chest tightened. Whatever was about to happen isn't going to be pretty. He has read of such occult practices, their initiation where

That place had become a home to a kind of creature, called The NightCrawlers. The man sitting in the middle of the circle, poured blood over himself and bathe in it till the container gets empty. As soon as he bathed, the other cult members started chanting words in a foreign language. It seemed as if they were performing a ritual and the bait was the man in the middle. Suddenly, the lightning in the sky appeared and fell in the middle of the circle, on the man. The impact made the other cult members flee from the spot and they stood far away form the circle. Most of them expected the man to be dead and their ritual incomplete.

The air felt thinner, charged with a static energy that made the hair on my arms stand up. “What kind of ritual?” I asked. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs. Ronan hesitated, his jaw tightening. “An old one. Pre-crown. It was used only in the ages of chaos, when fate itself seemed uncertain. It requires a complete stripping of the self. No shields. No lies.”

The ritual kicked off under the light of the blue moon, where a goat was buried in a fetal position, representing rebirth. Then we sat on the earth, carefully shaping a mound of soil to look like a wolf head. My grandmother, my uncle Boaz, Nebula, Selena, the steward, and the pack priests watched us at the sacred grounds, and at exactly midnight, the company drum resonated in the air. Selena made us do this call-and-answer chant dedicated to the moon goddess, then applied a costume red pepper, which was super spicy, around my neck, and made us drink a spoon of Castor oil.

He looked like everything that defined the word 'Mystic' A few moments passed and they fell to the ground and turned back to their usual human form. They looked sick, exhausted, and nauseous....for indeed, it was not an easy journey they had embarked on. It was the journey of essences — where weaker spirits commune with a stronger and superior spirit. The initiation rites were complete, what was left was to seal the ritual with the drinking of blood from the skull pot. The last but most important rite of all. It was that one journey where darkness overshadowed light.

And yet, every night the boundaries shifted a little further, testing him, molding him into something unrecognizable. Noah slipped the invitation into the pocket of his hoodie, feeling the weight of it—not just the card, but the reality it represented. One night. One performance. One decision that could tilt the balance entirely. The rest of the evening passed in a fog. His steps carried him automatically to the bus stop, into his apartment, through the motions of eating and preparing for the night. The clock ticked down, relentless and unforgiving. He dressed carefully, methodically, each movement deliberate. The mirror reflected a man sharpened by necessity and fear—a body conditioned to c

Then the sheet lifted from my face. Through my blank stare, I committed his features to memory. I would come back to haunt him. “She’s gone. Blessed be.” Lucien’s answer stunned me, “She joins the pyre.” The hooded man tightened his grip on me and said, “I’ll see it done.” The simpering elder murmured something about rites and Lucien’s pending nuptials. The hooded man carried me out the door. I automatically tried to take a deep breath of the outside fresh air, but couldn’t. Panic set in as my eyes watched the world bounce from my position over the man’s back.