A boy was sent each morning to John Delaney's room to clean it, as a maid at a hotel would. There were a slew of teenage boys that wandered the halls of the sanctum, performing the menial tasks required of the place: cooking the food for the higher Brothers and Sisters, washing their clothes and sheets, and yes, emptying their chamber pots. The Sanctum was ancient and though in certain sections rudimentary plumbing had been added, the section that John Delaney stayed in did not include it.

He had been moved to what would best be described as the guest suites. Through a smaller tunnel built out of the main chamber, set only a few feet over from the path leading to the cells that still housed a rabble of werewolves, was a narrow, twisting path that climbed steadily upward, turning into an uneven mix of cobblestone stairs. Nearing the top the path would start to break off and lead to individual corridors, which housed larger living quarters. Most of these were unused, though Abraham used one of them, and others were periodically occupied when a visiting Brother came to the Sanctum to observe or participate in one of the daily rituals.

Delaney had been given one of the top spots, higher than Abraham's own chamber, though the extensive climb to the top of these stairs hurt the brittle bones that made up his body. He could still move fine, faster even than he used to, and had a strength he had barely known in life, but he felt each motion taking its slow toll. His body was well past its time and would eventually collapse in on itself. Delaney felt this, but it didn't worry him. He had one more story to tell, which was all that mattered.

Delaney sat at the table in his main living quarter, eating the meager breakfast he had been provided. It was a kind of thick porridge, like every morning, but he had no taste buds left on his withered tongue so this went down fine as anything. His gaze was on the shelf of books on the wall in front of him, a collection Abraham had provided, stressing the importance of reading certain ancient texts, which gave the history of the Imperial Cult and an understanding of their ultimate goals. Delaney had flipped through some, but it all felt like a review from the lessons that Abraham spouted himself. He kept annoyingly close to Delaney at all times, insisting that he shadow him, learn from him, see the power of the True God. But Abraham was away now, for a short while anyway. He may return that very evening, or at least by tomorrow, which didn't give Delaney a lot of time to act. It was enough though. All the pieces were falling into place.

He glanced through the archway into his bedchamber and the young boy currently scrubbing out his chamber pot. The boy had a bloated face, stricken with deep pockmarks, and tiny eyes, but they were calm as he washed the liquid waste from the pot. This boy was probably still high school aged, a runaway, but unlikely a criminal. Abraham didn't have an eye on delinquents, he wanted young people who were focused, intelligent, waiting to be molding into the image of these brainwashed cultists. And so this boy rinsed out the brown liquid, mumbling his penance to the True God for years wasted on any matter that did not serve him.

As the boy finished that task and carefully wiped his hands clean, he went to remove the old dirty sheet from the bed. Delaney stood up then, careful to avoid any noise. In his life, he had been well practiced at this. The boy was peeling back the white sheet from the mattress (each bed in the Sanctum was given a single white sheet regardless of the cold that came through these chambers some nights), and as he leaned over the bed, Delaney struck.

The knife moved quick in experienced hands and the boy's throat was opened faster than he could register Delaney's hand moving. The boy tried to stagger around to face his murderer, but Delaney dropped the knife then and grabbed hold of him, one hand wrenching an arm back, the other lifting his head by the hair. Delaney pressed him down right over the sheet as the blood poured out, soaking it. The boy twitched, struggling for release, his other hand swinging back. But his energy faded fast as his body drained. As the boy's knees slumped to the floor, Delaney loosed his grip but kept the body positioned over the bundled up sheet. It was that blood stained sheet that Delaney had killed this boy for. After a few more minutes when the stream of blood had become a trickle, Delaney tossed the body aside, letting him fall to the stone floor, and grabbed the sheet, folding it and pressing it this way and that to absorb as much of the blood as it could. He held it up to examine it. There were a few patches of white here and there, mostly around the edges, but the majority of the sheet was blood red. Delaney took care and held each remaining bit of white fabric under the dead boy's open throat, soaking up the juices.

He had hidden a few stolen items behind the collection of books stored on his shelves, which he removed now and tucked into the folds of his robe. The trickiest to hide was the ax, this he hid down the length of his spine, tying it to his tender, peeling flesh with coarse twine.

Delaney left his chamber, shutting the door behind him. His room would have been the last the boy was cleaning that morning and after that he would have taken time in private for penance, whipping the flesh off his back. It would be hours before the boy was noticed missing. And no one but Abraham would have the gale to go into his chamber without permission. Delaney folded the sheet carefully as he descended the uneven staircase, and stored it safely in one of the deep pockets of his robe. His legs moved him swiftly down to the bottom of the staircase. They ached but he would not be slowing today.

After trekking his way through the narrow candle-lit hall, he emerged in the inner sanctum. Members of the cult were circled around the pool of blood, praying to their god, hoping to hear his voice. In another couple hours or so they would bring out that perverse inverted cross and fetch the day's sacrifice. Two nights before a group of three teenage girls had been brought to the Sanctum, tossed into a cell a few down from the werewolves. These girls had trusted the wrong boys and gone to the wrong party, a sin one had already paid for with her life. Another would be sacrificed today and the third tomorrow. John Delaney had something different in mind for these girls.

He walked along the path toward the cells. It was a long walk and he did not pass by anyone on the way. That was good, best no one know where he was until he was done. He found the crevasse in the wall, only another ten minutes to the cells, the one he had taken note of weeks before, and slide into it. The shadows surrounded him and he waited. Waited for the wheels of the cart to come grating along the stone path.

And there it came. Right on schedule, noon everyday. Another of the boy apprentices was pushing the heavy wheeled cart of meat along to go and feed the werewolves in captivity, mainly Mitchel Crawford, part of the supposed trinity.

The boy did not so much as glance towards the cloaked figure of John Delaney. This brought back vivid memories of the others he'd killed over the years; how easy it was to catch someone unaware, vulnerable. As the boy walked past the crevasse, Delaney stepped out behind him, the knife still stained in blood rising up to make its quick imprint. Down into the side of the boy's throat, arteries severed, and back out again. The boy turned around in panic, hand coming up to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. He stumbled to the floor, gurgling softly, trying to call out for help perhaps, but words wouldn't form and his time was up. John Delaney grinned with his rotting teeth at the fear in the boy's eyes as the lights went out.

Delaney stripped the boy out of his robe (all that any of these cultists seemed to wear), tossed the robe back in the crevasse, and then stuffed the boy's body into the cart with the rest of the meat. The body of the girl sacrificed the day before, now grey, drained of blood and cut up into pieces, made up the majority of the cart's contents, but there were also some fresher slabs of meat and organs from animals. Delaney pulled some of these pieces over the boy's body to hide it. The guards only had to be fooled for a second.

Resuming the march along the tunnel with the cart of meat, Delaney felt a tingling excitement deep in his guts. He pulled the hood of his cloak further down, hiding his face. A few minutes later he entered the captives' chamber, the large, almost ceremonial room where he too had first been kept, and he supposed he would be returning to after today. The cells lined the walls around the room, but the one he wanted was dead ahead, with two guards stationed beside the door. 'Guards' was a term that perhaps gave them too much credit. They were brainwashed cultist lackies like all the rest. The only difference was that they carried guns, the only ones in the Sanctum authorized for that. Delaney had no fear of them though; he was perhaps the most valuable one in this place, even more so than the werewolf.

He moved closer to them, the rickety wheels of the cart now echoing through the chamber. They halted him ten feet away.

"State your purpose here," one, a man, said in a gruff voice.

"Feeding time." They had not seen is face but his voice was enough to set them on edge. It did not matter. As the man reached for his gun, Delaney already had his in hand and was pulling it out of his pocket. It was one of the tranquillizer guns recovered from Mitchel Crawford's crew and stashed away in a back room for safekeeping. But Delaney had found it. That voice he had heard in the pool, it had been guiding him for weeks now, and each path he took, he knew it was the right one.

He fired one of the darts into the man, still reaching for his gun. The other guard, a woman, now set on alarm was reaching for her weapon as well, but she was much too slow. Delaney fired again and a dart connected with her. Neither one were knocked unconscious instantly, but their hand-eye coordination evaporated and their attempts to stop him were laughable. They fumbled hopelessly, trying to get their guns out. Then their knees gave way. The man face-planted on the stone as he tried to reach for Delaney, knocking a couple teeth out. The woman grabbed the cart for support as she fell and the contents tipped over onto her.

Delaney looked on, pleased as they twitched a few more times before falling into a deep sleep. He considered leaving them like that, they would almost certainly be unconscious long enough for him to do his work, these darts were made to take down much stronger creatures, but he didn't like taking chances and that had served him well in the past. He took a second to reload the tranquillizer gun with a couple of the extra darts he'd brought along before tucking it away. Then he knelt down beside the man, drawing his knife once more, and inserted the blade into the base of the man's skull, through the spinal cord and into the brain. He did the same to the woman, killing them both instantly.

He glanced at Crawford's cell, a low growl coming from inside.

"I'll get to you in a moment."

Delaney opened his robe and cut the twine tied around his chest. The ax dropped and hit the floor with a heavy clunk. He picked it up with one hand, wrapping his bony fingers tightly around it, and began to drag it along the floor, letting the metal scrap the stone. The cells weren't sound proof and he wanted the girls to hear as he approached. He wanted them to be afraid.

Delaney lifted the latch on the door and swung it open. Inside there were two young teenage girls, cowering close together on the far wall. One had platinum blonde hair, her face streaked with runny make-up. She let out a deep hysterical scream as Delaney entered, cloaked in black, his face that of a rotted corpse, the ax still hissing in tow. As this girl saw it, the Grim Reaper himself had come to claim them. The other girl, her hair auburn, freckles covering her nose and cheeks, simply sighed out a defeated whimper, tears pouring.

They were both dressed for a night of partying. The blonde was in a low cut black dress, and the auburn one wore tight jeans and a crop top. Neither outfit would do, but he had been prepared for that. Now he simply had to pick one. Delaney walked closer, until he was towering over them. The blonde screamed again. He held up a hand for them to be calm.

"Girls," he mused in his slow broken voice. "You're both about to die." More sobs at that. "One of you... will die quick and one... will die slow. But I need you... to answer me... a very important question to help me... decide." He looked solely at the blonde and she quivered beneath him. "How old are you?" The question seemed to baffle her, but Delaney waited while she composed an answer.

"Seventeen," she said softly. Delaney looked at the auburn girl, waiting for her answer. The girl's eyes darted frantically to her friend. She knew her answer would condemn them both, even if she didn't understand how exactly.

Eventually with a whimper she answered, "Sixteen."

Delaney smiled. Yes he was happy with this.

He moved swiftly, swinging the ax up, gripping it with both hands now. He raised it up high before bringing it down on the blonde girl. She screamed, ducking to the side and lifting her hand instinctively to protect herself. The ax came down shy of its original target, missing her head. The blade chopped clean through her wrist, spraying blood on the girl's face, and then burrowing to a stop in her collarbone. The blonde was done screaming, the ax had penetrated her lung, but her friend was now shrieking. Delaney put his foot on the blonde's chest and wrenched the ax free. The girl's mouth was moving open and closed as she gasped for air, blood dripping down her lips. Delaney lifted the ax once more and this time brought it down straight on target. He whacked the ax into her head, splitting her face past the bridge of the nose.

The auburn girl had fallen back, crawling as far away as she could. Delaney put his foot on the blonde once more and ripped the ax out. He turned on the auburn girl. Yes she was right for this story.

"Stand up," he ordered. The girl stayed cowering in the corner.

"Please...don't hurt me!"

"Dear girl... I won't. So long as you... do what I say." And Delaney knew that was the honest truth. She stood up, shaking before him. "Now take your clothes off."

"What?" she sputtered. He took a step closer so that she could see the decaying grooves of his face.

"I said, take off your clothes," his voice soaking in menace. The tears flowed heavy as she did what he said, peeling off her stained and dirty clothes. Delaney felt an ache in the raw strand of flesh that had once been his penis. She was so pretty and young. Not as young as Delaney would have liked her to be for this story, but young enough.

He pulled the now-red sheet out of his robe and offered it to her.

"Here, wrap this around yourself and tie it tight around your neck." She did as he said, taking it almost gratefully to hide her body from his gaze. "Now walk," he told her, pointing to the door. She led the way out of the room, flinching as she saw the dead cultists. They walked over to the door of Mitchel Crawford's cell, Delaney directing her with a point of his finger.

"Now through that door." She turned to him, panic in her eyes, mind filled with the horrors lurking in that room.

"No, please no! Don't make me go in there." The clock was ticking and Delaney needed her in that room. He shoved her back against the wall, and leaned in close so she could smell the formaldehyde still laced on his breath.

"There are worse things... than dying," he said simply. When he let go of her, she limped towards the door, weeping softly.

Delany took one last look at her as he lifted the heavy latch on Crawford's door.

"Goodbye Red." He opened the door and pushed her inside, slamming it shut on her quickly. The screams started shortly after that. Delaney knelt down and opened the hatch used to shove food through. The darkness was thick, but he could make out the flash of silver fur as the wolf pounced on the girl. Her screams became choked. Delaney watched as one of the girl's hands reached desperately through the hatch, before she was snatched away and dragged into the dark.

Delaney prepared for the next stage, taking the tranquillizer gun out once more, as the screams of the girl disappeared, to be replaced by wet smacking and ripping sounds. Delaney waited patiently as the wolf had its meal, staring into the hatch. Then a gangly, silver haired arm reached through the hatch at Delaney. One clawed finger cut a piece of flesh out of his cheek, but then Delaney struck. He fired two darts into the wolf's arm. The beast backed off with a deep roar. Delaney could see the gleaming yellow eyes through the shadows and fired twice more through the hatch. He heard a grunt from the wolf, at least one had hit.

Delaney lifted the lantern on the wall beside the door and tossed it through the hatch as well. It clanged to a halt, but the flame remained and he could see a lot more, even if it was a narrow view. The wolf had backed away to the far wall. It was an impressive creature. Large, with lanky muscular limbs, those yellow, hateful eyes, and a massive jaw full of teeth. In front of the beast was the girl's body, her chest ripped apart in an explosion of flesh and bone, her heart devoured, the red cape still wrapped around her.

He could count all four darts sticking out of the wolf, and the beast looked weary, swaying from side to side. Delaney unlatched the door again and stepped inside. He approached the werewolf, tranq gun raised, ax dragging in the other hand.

"My Grandma, what big eyes you have," Delaney crooned. The wolf took a step forward and Delaney fired another shot. The wolf snorted as it went in, eyes blinking rapidly. "And what big ears your have." The wolf snarled, now teetering, fighting to stay upright. Delaney fired again. "And what big teeth you have."

The werewolf then shot forward, whatever strength remained going into that burst, catching Delaney off guard.