Abraham looked through the small glass window fixed into the heavy iron door. Each cell in this chamber was set up the same, with a small window of thick glass, small enough that even if the glass was broken there would be no possibility of escape, and a small hatch just below that window so that food could be passed through, also designed to eliminate any chance for escape. Many of these cells now housed werewolves that had been brought back to the Sanctum by Mitchel Crawford and his team of mercenaries, but most of these beasts were pathetic at best.

Abraham looked at the dog-like creature, greedily devouring a hunk of beef that had been tossed in moments before. The thing hunched its back and still had the opposable thumbs of a human, but that was where the comparisons stopped. It was barely the size of a large dog, and the skin of its face had pulled back, giving it an almost rodent quality. The teeth and claws were still deadly and surely capable of killing, but the power and strength of a true werewolf had been lost through the generations. Abraham had only known stories of these mighty creatures, passed down through the leaders of the Imperial Cult who had taught him. They would talk of these towering beasts, eight, no, TEN feet tall, they would say, with jaws that could swallow half a man in a single bite. These creatures were a blight on early communities, devastating small towns in Europe, leaving bodies ripped to pieces in the brutal snows of Russia, terrorizing the new colonies in America. Their history was unclear, but the Imperial Cult believed it was another curse passed down from the True God as the vampire virus had been, only perhaps more feared than the vampires because lycanthropy took hold completely until all sense of self was lost, no matter how pure a heart. One who turns to evil, consumed by the darkness.

Abraham had worried intensely as he saw the crop of beasts brought back by Mitchel and his team. These were not the werewolves of legend. These were mutated, watered down imitations of them; their true power lost through the ages, hunted near extinction, weak through decades of scavenging and surviving on small animals, forgetting their innate desire for the fresh hearts ripped from the living body of a human. Of course Abraham couldn't be certain how the werewolves in these cells had devolved, these were only theories, but they felt like logical ones. Abraham trusted his intuition on most matters.

There was one caged in this room though that set his mind at ease, and allowed him to hope that the ritual would go according to plan, the one that had brought most of the others here. He abandoned the window with the retched thing inside, passing by the cells of others that were similarly disappointing. Some lacked fur, some were near skeletal, some were blind with milky white eyes. Mitchel Crawford was different though. Abraham couldn't explain exactly why he was different, except that it could be felt through the chamber.  Tonight was the full moon, and Crawford's change had begun.

Based on the stories of the one they had hunted last, the one that had killed the rest of his team, perhaps that wolf had been from a more ancient bloodline, one that was still pure and strong (if the lycanthropic curse worked similar to the vampire one). The vampires had never mutated so badly as the werewolves appeared to, but each generation of vampires was slower and weaker than their parents who had bitten them and shared their blood. Abraham thought, perhaps there was a werewolf out somewhere in the world that had survived for thousands of years, since the early days of man. That an explorer perhaps had been bitten by it and survived, who came back to their home in North America where the curse came forth, and they bit another, maybe there was another generation after that, but without diluting the line too far, one of those creatures had bitten Mitchel Crawford as he was hunting it. Just a theory, but it was easy to imagine some version of that story being true. Now he stood on the other side of this iron door, glaring at Abraham with yellow eyes.

Mitchel still looked human, minus the yellow eyes and some sharper fangs.  The full change would come with the next full moon. That was how the curse worked.  The first moon started the change, the second made it complete.  For now though, despite his mostly human appearance, Mitchel was acting like the wolf.  And it seemed promising; he wasn't retching or twitching like some of the other wolves they had caged.  No, he was standing strong and furious.  Mitchel lashed out at the glass, barring his fangs.  He saw Abraham and charged head first into the window, creating a nasty gash on his forehead.  But also a small crack on the glass.  Abraham gave a satisfied grin.

"Reinforce this window before the next full moon," he ordered his fellow Brother who stood guard behind him. Abraham turned from Crawford, satisfied and walked further down the row of cells to check on his other piece of the trinity. He followed the glow of candle-lit lanterns along the wall to the cell at the very end. A Brother stood guard by this cell too, in case Mr. Delaney became uneasy. Abraham had him open the door to let him into the cell. Most men may have been made uneasy at the thought of being in a closed room alone with a notorious serial killer, but Abraham held no fear of death, only the impulse to delay it until their work was done. Besides, he had killed more people than Delaney ever would.

He stepped inside the cell and the door swung shut behind him. Sitting on the bed that had been brought into the room to make it slightly more comfortable was John Delaney, freshly risen from the dead. He still bore most of the qualities of a corpse with his skin translucent and peeling in places from his bones. His flesh and muscles had regrown enough to allow him to move, and these bulges and tendons rippled clearly through the thin layer of skin. A few wisps of white hair stuck out from the sides of his otherwise bald head, this area being so stark white he may have only been a skeleton if seen from behind. His ears had rotted away, leaving lumpy holes instead, but he seemed to hear well enough, turning to face Abraham as the door opened. His face was very sunken but new layers of flesh had filled out some of the details. His eyes, though still pale, were wet with life again, and thin, newly formed lids blinked down over them. His nose was gone, but the skin around the hole was piecing together to hide the wound. The cheekbones stuck out prominently, making the rest of his cheeks look that much more none-existent. In fact some bits of flesh from his cheeks were gone completely, leaving holes to view fresh tendons as they stretched around his mouth. The newly grown thin lips barely covered his ancient yellow teeth, probably in bad shape even before he died.

Delaney lifted a skeletal hand and brushed it along the suit he was still wearing, the one his family had buried him in.

"If I'd know I was having visitors, I would have cleaned myself up," he said with what amounted to a grin. His lips pulled back to show both rows of teeth, the tendons through his cheeks rippling in precarious ways. All of Delaney's motions were slow. He understood that his body was still regaining strength and if he wasn't careful, it could tear apart. Abraham pulled up the chair they'd placed in the corner and settled himself into it, face to face with John Delaney.

"How are you feeling John?" Abraham asked, as a doctor might, no emotion, just gathering the facts.

"Better than yesterday, but still like a rotting corpse," he said grimly. "How long until I feel like a human again?"

"You won't, not ever," Abraham said bluntly. "Humans aren't meant to be brought back. The body once it's started to decay, can only reverse that process so much, and only for so long. You will regain more strength, but you will never be as you were. Your body can last like this for a few months, maybe as long as a year, but then it will fall apart and you will be dead once more."

"Hm," Delaney said thoughtfully. "That's a shame. I had more stories to tell." Even through the milky layer of his eyes, Abraham saw the delicious urges in John Delaney.

"I was curious about that John, about the people you killed, about why you killed them that way." Delaney smiled again, slowly, and carefully. He had never gotten a chance to tell his side of things in life. He had never been caught. "Why fairytales?" Abraham asked, genuinely intrigued.

"The stories weren't for me, they were for everyone else. They were for other people, but I killed whom I wanted to kill when I wanted too. I was never just the Huntsman or the Fairytale killer as they called me. I killed many more. Over a hundred people in my lifetime." He paused to see Abraham's reaction at this, but if he was expecting shock, he was disappointed. "The easiest were always prostitutes, especially the boys. No one really cares for them, the families of the boys were usually happy to let the whole thing be swept away." He paused for a moment, with a satisfied sigh. "Sometimes I would rape them, only after they knew how it was all going to end. I suppose I'll never have that opportunity again, not with the shrivelled, rotten thing between my legs now." He groaned softly, masking most of the frustration, then continued.

"The fairytales I wanted to inspire others with. Humans truly are vicious things. How the media ate up the stories of my killings. Everyone in the country knew my stories, and everyone eagerly awaited the next one. It's a vile thing, this world. The people's lives didn't matter. It was all about reaching toward...well, something greater."

Abraham smiled as he listened, and began to see what he had hoped to find in John Delaney: someone who could grasp the truth of what they were doing.

"I have a few questions of my own," Delaney said. "If I may." Abraham nodded, and held out his hands, I am an open book.

"Obviously I've been curious about my current situation. Where I am? How was I brought back to life? Who are you and the rest of these cloaked fellows outside my cell? What are those roars I hear outside of here? Perhaps you could tell me your story and shed some light on all this."

"That would be fair. And as you sit, recently brought back from the dead, I'm sure we can skip some of the redundancies of what's possible and impossible. Can you trust that what I tell you will be fact and nothing less?" Delaney nodded, leaning in, eager to be part of these secrets. "My name is Abraham. I am part of an ancient organization that has existed in some form since the dawn of civilization. The Free Masons, the Illuminati, now we go by the Imperial Cult. The name is irrelevant and only changed for those who wish to search for us, but the foundations have always remained the same. We decide the direction for humanity. We shape the modern world. We take life. We give life." He paused and gestured at Delaney. "But there has always been one goal, one ultimate purpose, and the time for that is upon us now."

"Do I dare ask what this purpose is?" Delaney asked with a cheeky smirk.

"To raise the one True God from his cage in Hell. He is known by many names in many cultures, but to you, he was no doubt called Lucifer, Satan, the Devil."

"Of course that's the end game, the apocalypse, book of Revelation. It's quite the story."

"I thought we agree to skip the debate on the truth of all this," Abraham said, annoyance slipping in.

"I said only that it's a story, but I think you can trust me when I say stories can be made into reality." Abraham smiled at this, Delaney was following, understanding. Abraham stood up and rapped on the door for it to be opened.

"Come for a walk with me John, I will show you the heart of this place." Delaney stood up on shaky legs. It took him a moment to gain his balance but once he had it, his steps didn't falter. He had been a tall man in life and stood above Abraham who was fairly tall himself. They left the cell, into the larger chamber, surrounded on all sides by similar cells. Abraham led him first to the cell with Mitchel Crawford.

"Look through the window there." Delaney walked past the two cultists stationed beside the door and peered through the glass. Crawford came into view, popping his snarling face in front of the glass. Delaney looked back at Abraham, curious.  They walked on, and Abraham had him look into the cell of one of the fully transformed werewolves.  Delaney didn't jump back in fear, but stiffened up. He turned back to Abraham with a curious excitement in his eyes.

"Is that what I think it is?" Delaney asked.  Abraham nodded and gestured for Delaney to follow him. They walked side by side out of the large chamber housing the werewolves, following the winding path toward the inner Sanctum.

"That man will soon become a fully transformed werewolf.  And you two have something very important in common John," Abraham began. "You are both essential pieces to freeing the True God from Hell. As you can imagine it is no easy thing to free Lucifer from his pit. The stars need to be aligned in a precise way on a precise date, a combination that only comes around every three hundred years. And this is the first point in history that we have had the resources and the power to bring all the other pieces together.

"Most of the men who call themselves Brothers in our organization have small minds toward this. They see Lucifer's rising as a way to secure their hold on this world, a way to live with godly power, immortal and indestructible. This is a view the true Brothers like myself allow them to hold, for if they knew the truth they may turn on the True God in their cowardice."

"What is the truth then?" Delaney asked.

"The True God will put an end to this stain called humanity. He will put a stop to all life, to all worlds, and shape the universe as he sees fit. It is not a vision we will ever see, you and I. We will die as the rest will, but through our sacrifice, the universe will have a chance for renewal on a scale we can hardly comprehend." Abraham stopped and turned to him. They were getting closer to the inner Sanctum and the chanting preceding today's sacrifice was reaching their ears. "Is this something you could do? Sacrifice yourself for a cause, a being greater than all of us?" Delaney looked down and seriously considered the question, his slow blinks emphasizing every passing thought.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps. You tell me I'll die anyway. I'm okay with that; I've done it once after all. And to be part of the final story, the one to end all others...that would be something." They continued walking, Abraham matching Delaney's slow pace. "What is my role in all of this then?"

"You will need to die," neither of their strides faltered as he said this. "Your bones will help form the body of the True God when he rises to this realm. The sacrifice of three are required, a perversion of the Christians' Holy Trinity. One who holds evil in his heart; that is the role you were chosen for, One who turns to evil; the man you saw back there will play that part, and One who is forced into evil against his will."

"Who will play that part?" Delaney asked, hanging on every word.

"I need to talk to someone very powerful to decide that, but I will be making the trip to see them soon." All conversation paused as they entered the Sanctum. The chanting of the Brothers around the pool echoed through the cavern. Delaney walked forward, gazing up at the gigantic carved pillars, which rose up into darkness. Even for a dead man, he was in awe. Abraham pointed out the grooves in the floors that spiralled and twisted all the way to the pool. He told him the history of this chamber, how the Brothers used to all bleed together to fill the pool so that they could communicate with the other side.

"Now it is rarely willing participants who bleed for us," Abraham said, gesturing ahead to the man tied naked to the cross, legs dipping into the blood up to his shins and weeping. "On the night of the final ceremony to bring the True God back to this realm, that pool will be filled to the brim with sacrificial blood, one life every day for a year. The portal cannot be opened yet to bring him through, but sometimes we get whispers from our True God as we stand in it." Abraham pulled out the silver blade from his side and gestured the hilt towards Delaney. He looked at it surprised.

"You trust me with this?" Delaney asked.

"I trust that you will play your role in this story as you were meant too. Perhaps in doing this you will find your purpose." He held out the blade until Delaney took it, then they walked over together to the edge of the pool. "Step in and complete the ritual." Delaney started to step forward when Abraham grabbed his arm stopping him for a second. He could feel the muscles moving under his grip. "We don't need him to suffer, only to bleed. A cut along the throat is ideal." Delaney nodded and glanced around at the chanting cultists.

"When do I do it?" he asked.

"You will know when the moment comes. I always do."

Delaney waded into the blood, descending into the pool carefully as a child might, cautious not to break anything. The blood was well up his long legs and his slow movements became even slower as he drifted through the congealing gallons of blood. Then he stood before the man weeping on the simple wooden cross. He admired the construction of the device for a moment, how it could be inverted to drain the body. Then he admired the man, young though not quite as young as he usually liked them, tattoos covering his arms and chest, sweat dripping down his chest to the sizeable appendage between his thighs. Delaney wanted to play with him, and his mind raced with all the possibilities of what could be done with this fine body. All the ways it could cut and fold. All the places he could enter. All the ways he could transform it into something beyond human.

But then he refocused. He thought of all Abraham had said, and considered what role he wanted to play in all of this. He listened to the chanting. And then he cut. One smooth cut across the sobbing young man's throat, severing both arteries on the sides. The blood began to pour, and something, not quite a voice, closer to a feeling, drifted up to John Delaney. And he understood his purpose.