Every time a human sacrifice occurred, Dark Primax followed the same routine. Mylos heard the drums as he walked the hallway to the chamber, always treading carefully to avoid stepping on the ceremonial red robe. On Ashantarie, conventions strictly forbade common people from wearing such color as it was the Blood Divine’s prerogative during special occasions, including sacrifices. On other less formal events like public ceremonies, regulations allowed him to use the red scarf, the same given to Mylos by the now dead Blood Divine. Considering how hard he had had to work to earn it, he justly considered it his most prized possession and never allowed anyone to touch it.

Stroking its silky red texture, Mylos hurried to the chamber. Everything seemed ready. Blazing torches spread shadows from the ceiling to the floor, blending with the firelight at the altar and playing games on the smooth stone surfaces. The drums drowned any other sound as Mylos advanced to the center of the chamber to glance at the impressive lineup of knives next to the altar.

Over the ages, the Blood Divine had devised a sophisticated technique to carve, spill and cut any part of the human body. Particularly challenging was the extraction of the still beating heart from the victim’s chest. The important organ had to be full of life in order for the gods to accept the donation and bless the city. The Blood Divines’ intensive practice allowed them, in a matter of seconds, to kill their prey without it being aware of what was happening. Swiftly and cruelly, they ended the ordeal without too many ceremonies, leaving behind large pools of blood and a battered carcass.

The spilled red liquid stained everything, including the blades used for the ritual. Mylos nodded with satisfaction at the array lined-up on the velvet cloth. Light shone on the sharp blades, sending sinister sparkles across the floor. They were all shiny clean, almost new in their gleaming metallic state. Acolytes had to perform the delicate task of cleaning them as part of their duties. Nothing was more important than the Blood Divine’s clean cutting instruments, which had to be spotless by definition since they represented not only his most precious tools, but a revered symbol as well. Satisfied with the final effect, Mylos raised his head. The city Council was already in place. The drums increased their rhythm and he felt his blood pumping faster, his heart racing as fast as the excitement cursing through his veins.

Every time the sacrifice was about to begin, Mylos slipped into an altered state of consciousness, which allowed him to perceive different sensations and new meanings to the ancient ritual itself. He became lost inside another reality, one made of extreme passionate desires that required spilling innocent blood in order for life to continue as it had or better yet, to satisfy the senses completely…his own, naturally. This urge overpowered him, superseding any other instinct, and he could hardly contain himself when the girl stepped inside the chamber. Servants brought her to the Master in a drugged state, not fully realizing what would happen to her. She wore a gleaming white robe, to symbolize purity and innocence, the qualities that Ashantarie’s bloodthirsty gods most appreciated.

To appease them, Mylos said a few words aloud, offering the girl as a gift in return for protection and prosperity, renewing the city’s faith in the superior powers above. Stepping forward, he took a knife from the array. His hand caressed the young woman’s neck, a reassuring gesture, which asked for trust. As if unaware of what he was holding, the girl leaned her head on his open palm, exposing her neck. Unconsciously, Mylos ran his gaze on the smooth skin and found it, though hidden beneath the ear lobe, the strange mark so small he almost missed it. Not that he expected to see it, of course, but lately this sign had marked more than one victim and even if it meant nothing to him, he had taken the habit of noticing it.

Without wasting more time on useless observations, the Blood Divine acted fast to accomplish the ritual’s first step before the young woman got alarmed. With a swift gesture, he dipped the blade into her soft flesh, cutting from ear to shoulder. Then he flipped her head and did the same on the other side. As usual, the girl hardly noticed, maybe because the cut was not deep, though it bled consistently, staining her white robe with brilliantly red spots.

For a moment, everyone stared at the dark fluid trickling down, the contrast between the colors sharply defined even in the chamber’s smoky half-light. Enflamed by an ever-growing desire, the Blood Divine bent on the young woman’s neck and sucked the cut, his tongue tracing its uneven edges, savoring the metallic bittersweet taste. Then another quick move and he stripped the woman. Standing naked, she shivered, maybe realizing something was wrong. But it was already too late.

Servants grabbed her and laid her on the altar, spreading her legs and arms apart, then tying them to metallic rings. They bowed to their Master, indicating she was ready for the next phase.

Mylos did not allow himself to feel distaste for the body on the slab. At this point, usually the girl’s drugged stupor began to wear off and she showed her first reactions. One look at the chamber with the knives lying next to her was enough to raise her blood pressure and make her heart beat wildly.

This was the sign he waited for each time. He needed her terror to buildup his own excitement and complete every step of the ritual. Without it, Mylos realized, he felt no divine power or connection, simply the distaste for an unworthy and ugly female body. And his shriveled cock refused to react. Only if fear gripped her, releasing its exquisite smells and sights, would his lust mount, overcoming repulsion and to the point of hardening his shaft.

Driven by the drums, the fragrance and taste of blood strong on his senses, he smelled her sweat, read her wide-eyed stare, heard her blood rushing madly to her ear, feeling at the same time her spasmodic convulsions. Finally, his excitement took a definite shape, but it was not yet time. With a different knife, Mylos circled around the altar, slicing her wrists and ankles while a servant placed gold basins on the floor, exactly beneath the new wounds, to collect the dripping blood.

Taking another knife, Mylos pressed the blade on the trembling body, starting from the neck, then traveling between her breasts and stopping below the stomach. Other paths followed, running down opposite sides, curving on her hips before stopping right before her thighs. All dripped tiny red droplets, which stained the altar and her flesh.

Mylos bent his head and his tongue trailed one of the paths, licking voraciously the fresh blood. His excitement was now at a peak. Without waiting a moment longer, he stripped naked, exhibiting a proudly straight cock, which seemed huge compared to her small body. With a sigh of satisfaction, he crashed inside her, feeling her resistance crumble along with the rush of blood drowning his stone-like shaft. She screamed, but the drums effectively smothered her voice.