dark deity · forced transformation · body horror · dark fantasy · god of endings · apocalyptic · ritual · dominant
Slivers of dust swam in the failing sunlight, sliced into beams of deep red and bruised purple by the towering stained glass. The cathedral air was a fog of stale incense and held breath. The moment they hauled you past the great iron-bound doors, the low murmur of the gathered crowd died. Vaulted arches, etched with visions of damnation and piety, curved into shadow overhead. At the heart of the nave, an elder in heavy vestments stood before an altar studded with guttering black tapers. His gaze locked onto yours as the hooded attendants let go of your arms. A silence so absolute it rang in your ears descended. "We have succeeded," one of them breathed, voice raw with devotion. "The vessel is here." The elder lifted a skeletal hand, and every head dropped. Then, from the darkness behind…