The tension Abraham felt as he returned to the Sanctum was palpable, stinging the air. Brother Jebadiah was the one to meet him at the entrance, an old converted mineshaft, on the surface now functioning as an office space for pharmaceutical development. Abraham had made the two-mile journey underground on his own; Brother Raul had gone to the private airfield where the vampire Elias was being shipped to, overseeing that all went according to Nefertari's promises. Jebadiah looked grim, which instantly sent a heavy throb from Abraham's guts to his balls.

"What is it?" Abraham demanded.

"A problem. A severe one," Jebadiah said, not mincing words.

"Well?" Impatience seethed through his lips.

"It is best if you come see for yourself." Abraham considered striking Jebadiah in his dreary face, striking him bloody for keeping him in suspense, but Abraham had trust in this man and stayed his frustration. Abraham waved his hand to be led.

The walk through the winding underground passages was one Abraham had taken often, hours of walking depending on which entry point was used, but the hour journey from the mineshaft felt like the longest he had ever experienced in these tunnels. The unease grew as they moved in the direction of the cells, the chamber where the werewolves were held, where Mitchel Crawford, one of the trinity, was held. Abraham tried to stave off the possibilities that threatened to overwhelm his mind as he stepped into the chamber and saw the rows of his Brothers and Sisters standing next to Crawford's cell. There was no point to imagining. What was would be, he had just to step through that door. A door, he saw as he got closer, which already stood partially ajar. He also took note of the sleek stains of blood just a few paces before the door. Whatever bodies had been there had already been moved away.

"The guards?" Abraham asked of Jebadiah, indicating the blood. He nodded. Jebadiah grabbed a lantern from one of the other Brothers and pushed open the door, leading the way.

Abraham felt he was walking into a vision, something he may have witnessed in a dream in the past, as it held a surreal quality. Blood splattered across the floor and walls in arching brushes, almost artistic. He saw the girl first, naked except for a red sheet draped around her. Her chest was ripped open by bestial claws, from naval to throat, and her heart removed. She was laying on the floor like this, just ahead of her killer, the giant silver werewolf that had once gone by the name Mitchel Crawford. He would no longer go by any name. He was dead, with an ax buried deep into his skull and gut slit open, stomach juices spilling out towards the dead girl, almost spilling her out it seemed. And standing above this, one hand resting lazily on the hilt of the ax was John Delaney, a haunting smile gracing his face. He only had one arm to rest now, as his right was missing. Abraham surveyed the rest of the room and saw the arm off to the side, along with a number of discarded tranquilizer darts. Abraham turned back to Delaney, shock and fury dancing on his face in the flickering lantern light. And Delaney just smiled.

"Why?" Abraham eventually managed, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

"I had one more... story to tell. I'm done now," Delaney said with a satisfied sigh.

"You fool. You stupid fool," Abraham hissed. Delaney laughed that slow wheezing laugh his dead lungs would allow.

"I did what I was... meant to, my purpose. I heard your God... Lucifer's voice in that pool... I heard it and I listened."

"You didn't listen, and I was foolish to think you ever could. You're a psychopath. I cannot fathom why you were chosen, you have now put everything in jeopardy." Delaney released his grip on the ax and shuffled closer, stepping around the large werewolf corpse. Delaney knelt and picked up his missing arm.

"I was listening," Delaney said softly, now very near Abraham. "But I don't think you were. This wolf needed to die. He wasn't right. You got lazy and settled." Abraham held his breath. Rage wanted to come out. But was it possible...had he been the fool here.

"The wolf that bit Crawford?" Abraham was now merely muttering to himself. "But time is running out before we must perform the ritual. Crawford could have still worked."

"I'm guessing your God doesn't like to make compromises." Delaney shuffled back over and sat down, leaning his back against the werewolf corpse. He started attempting to stuff his arm back into the socket, grimacing as he did. Abraham walked closer and grabbed hold of the ax, yanking it free with some difficulty. He carried it to the door ready to leave, leaning towards Jebadiah for a few words.

"Search him, take everything he has on him, remove the bodies and toss him into his old cell." Jebadiah nodded. Abraham glanced once more at Delaney. "You will still play your part when the ritual comes. You will die."

"Can't wait," Delaney said, the maniacal grin bigger than ever, threatening to rip his cheeks apart.

Abraham left, walking past the rows of followers. One, Brother Alastair, stepped in beside him as he made for the exit of the chamber.

"Brother, apologies but we have another issue. Delaney killed the two girls we were holding to be sacrificed so now we have yet to make the day's offering."

"Fuck," Abraham muttered. He hardly swore anymore and didn't like that it had slipped out unintentionally. He needed to regain his centre; he needed to seek the wisdom of the True God. "Draw straws for all I care then. I'm going to the pool now and in one hour there will be a sacrifice made." Alastair bowed his head and slunk away. Abraham continued on, trying to keep his calm.

You're failing. The voice seemed to whisper through the dark tunnels.

"I will not fail you."

The warm, red glow on the pool filled his vision as he entered the main chamber. A few Brothers were still chanted around the pool, probably had been for hours, preparing for the day's sacrifice which was now hours delayed. Abraham approached the pool in a dazed reverence, he needed guidance. He pulled off his robe, the pins and needles stabbing into him, catching in horrid ways as he ripped it off, but the pain was good. In pain there was clarity. The others kept chanting, uninterrupted as his stepped naked into the pool of blood.

"Lucifer, though I am unworthy, I beg for your wisdom. Guide me. I will find you the werewolf." And then he let his knees go, collapsing forward into the blood until it surrounded him, submerged him. There was dark. And there was red.

And there was a voice.

"You will find him. The Watchers are circling." Abraham knew of the Watchers. Children of Angels corrupted by Lucifer and turned into powerful demonic forces, those were the stories Abraham had been told. And then a new voice.

"We see...we hear...the girl, Cara...the wolf is with her...and the old man...the cancer is eating through him...we see." Logan had cancer. Abraham knew this, they had tracked him through the hospitals, but him and his whore wife had escaped. Now it seemed he was with Cara, and close to death. This was good. Cancer was a demonic plague, one that could be sniffed out by demons.

"We find the old man...we find the girl...we find the wolf." Abraham felt exhilaration. The True God was working too. He would not allow the plans to fail. Abraham felt shame that he had ever feared, ever doubted.

He lifted his head up and out of the blood, gasping for breath, only then coming to the understanding of how close to death he had just been. The world swam into focus around him as he wiped the red dots from his eyes.

And then yelling. Someone calling from the far corner of the room. He stood straight up and lifted himself out of the pool, blood dripping down his naked form. His vision was still swimming but he saw someone approaching him, the source of the noise. Abraham walked forward, his eyesight clearing enough to see the man, Jonathan Marshal. Paces behind him were Benjamin Talbot and Brother Liam.

"There you are, I have been waiting too damn long for you!" Marshal laid in, face red with fury.

"What is the meaning of this?" Abraham asked, keeping a calm demeanour for the moment.

"What do you mean? Have they not even told you yet?" Abraham paused for a moment, genuinely surprised how they would know about today's events or that they would even care. "My son is missing! He's been taken!" Then Abraham groaned in frustration.

"You mean your drunken fool of a son who likes to rape girls? That is far below my concern. Hire a private investigator. Don't waste my time." Marshal looked ready to choke on his own tongue at the indignation.

"I apologize for the intrusion, Brother," Talbot said, keeping his distance. "Brother Jonathan is simply distraught and wished to do all he could to find his son."

"Don't tell me what I am!" Marshal said, turning on his business partner. He whipped back to Abraham, finger pointing into his face. "And you, you only exist because we allow it. You nut jobs do your make believe blood magic in the shadows and we allow it because you will do what we tell you. We could shut all of this down in a heartbeat! You answer to us, not the other way around! And put some damn cloths on you fucking fag–"

Abraham grabbed him around the neck, and pulled him in, throwing him down to the stone floor, right to the edge of the pool.

"I do not answer to you. I answer to the True God." Abraham knelt beside him and lifted his head by the remaining grey hairs. "You are a disgrace to our order!" Abraham slammed Marshal's head down on the edge of the pool. The stone split into his forehead. Abraham slammed his head down again. A third time. A fourth. He kept going until chunks of flesh and bone were peeling off and Marshal was very dead. But for good measure, Abraham reached over to his robe and pulled out the engraved silver dagger he always carried. He slit Marshal's throat and left the blood to pour into the pool.

Standing up, he locked eyes with Talbot who had blanched. The other Brothers in the room were staring at him.

"You all need to remember who we serve. We do not follow the whims of power hungry businessmen. We all serve Lucifer, the True God! And he will rise!" Abraham cried out into the echoing cavern.

"All hail the True God!" the room chanted back at him. Even Talbot managed it, delayed though his response was. Abraham walked to him, knife in hand. Talbot flinched away, but then Abraham flipped the blade so it was tucked away.

"Brother, it seems that Marshal will be taking an early retirement and you will be taking over as president of his company." Talbot stuttered to find his words.

"Thank you, Brother."

"You will also announce that his son is off gallivanting in Vegas, or whatever you deem appropriate. We will search for him, quietly." They did need to find this boy, if Marshal had been stupid enough to give his son the full breadth of information he was privy to, than he was a risk. Talbot nodded. "And Talbot, remember what this Order stands for, remember that there are great rewards waiting for those who follow the True God. All that's required is unwavering loyalty."  Talbot nodded again.

"Yes Brother."

"You may leave." Talbot quickly took off. He may have stood tall in the outside world, but in here he was a mouse. Still, Abraham imagined there would be no trouble from him. The Imperial Cult represented something beyond their reasoning. A man like Talbot assumed that once Lucifer rose, he and all the others in the Imperial Cult would claim their reward, dominion over the Earth, the rest of humanity as slaves, powers of a god perhaps. Abraham knew they would get none of this. Only death. But they needed to be kept in line.

Abraham glanced back at the pool. The trail had gone cold on the werewolf that had bitten Crawford, but it would be found. The Watchers would find him. He had faith.