Queen Of Blood by Bryan Smith Page B

Boston.
    Despair overwhelmed her as it became clear Ms. Wickman had truly mastered the most advanced forms of dark magic, working
     to appease the death gods, drawing immense power from them through daily blood sacrifices. The scent of blood—fresh and flowing—was
     strong in the air.
    Giselle knew she would ultimately be offered as a sacrifice to the death gods. Her sadist’s soul would be particularly prized
     by them. She would die.
    Unless…
    Yes. There was one avenue yet left to her. It was a slim hope at best. And any possibility of success would hinge on a price
     perhaps too heavy to bear, even given the grim reality she was facing already. She hesitated, contemplating what manner of
     unspeakable atrocity might be asked of her in exchange for the help she needed. Time moved forward. She felt the minutes un-spooling
     like the ticking of the Doomsday Clock. Death was coming for her soon. She could almost hear the Reaper’s footsteps on the
     stone floor. She saw him in her mind, raising a gnarled hand to point an icy finger at her.
    Then the vision of the Deathbringer dissolved and was replaced by an image of Ms. Wickman’s mad grin as the cleaver separated
     Giselle’s hands from her body. A low sound like the warning growl of a wounded animal rumbled out of her throat.
    She brought her right forearm to her mouth. The taste of her own flesh on her tongue made her pause for a moment, anticipation
     of pain momentarily freezing her resolve. Then she sank her teeth into her arm, driving them deep, shredding flesh and filling
     her mouth with salty blood. She drank the blood, drawing it down into her stomach as she continued to slurp more of it from
     the wound. Then she pitched forward and pressed her face against the cold metal bars of the cage floor. She opened her mouth
     and expelled blood, allowing it to coat the metal. The pain was bad, but she ignored it and initiated the blood ritual by
     repeating the phrases she’d memorized years earlier. Rhythmic phrases from an alien tongue. A chant. A summoning spell.
    Ms. Wickman had removed her ability to wield magic as a weapon, but she had not deprived Giselle of her knowledge. She had
     one ally among the death gods. A rogue who had aided her efforts to overthrow the Master. He would help her again. If only
     she could reach him…
    She placed the tip of her tongue against the cold metal and tasted her own blood again. Then she focused what psychic engergy
     she could and sent a message into the wall of darkness and the ether beyond.
    Azaroth, I beseech you.
    Another taste of blood, metallic and tart.
    I offer you my blood. My pain. Please come to my aid.
    I will do anything.
    Nothing.
    Despair again began to encroach on her thoughts, threatening the necessary focus and spiritual purity of the ritual. She tasted
     her blood yet again, used the feeble power it contained to focus her wavering will one last time.
    And the message went out again: Azaroth, I implore you…
    Then she felt it, the death god’s presence manifesting at first as a warmth that allowed her temporary respite from the freezing
     atmosphere of the torture chamber. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, forcing herself to relax. And as she relaxed,
     a bright, warm light displaced the darkness of her prison, enveloping her in an ethereal radiance that felt like a loving
     embrace.
    Something dark swirled in the midst of all that brightness, a cloud of energy that became luminescent and began to mold itself
     into a humanoid shape. The entity was forging a human appearance, one that exactly replicated the form Giselle remembered
     from her prior experience with this being.
    When the process was complete, Azaroth smiled at her with his human mask.
    Ah, Giselle. I see you have need of my assistance again.
    Tears misted Giselle’s vision. The spark of hope became a flame.
    I do. My enemies have taken me. They have maimed me. And I fear what they’ve done to me is only the beginning.