We dabbled a lot at Uni and for a few weeks it was with the occult that we concerned ourselves. It started with ouija boards run by us before we started to explore the darkest recesses of the oldest libraries to find and explore further the arts of the dark. And after one too many Hammer Horrors, we decided to summon the Beast of Revelations. And to slay him.
We did it in the middle of a rainy, stormy winter’s night, sat in a chalked circle on the hard floor of the basement laundry room. As the rattle of the windows in their frames grew evermore, and the candles flames flickered more violently, so our chanting grew more determined, finally fixing itself on the repeating of the numbers, “616. 666. 616. 666...”
On we went, continuing even as the Beast began to appear: a dim, ghostly pillar of light that slowly transformed to take the rough shape of the Beast, before becoming more solid until he was formed in completeness.
He was not what we had expected.
Before us stood a man dressed in a blood stained toga (so he had already been slain!) who jabbered in what we presumed was Latin. Fearful and scared was his tone, and the look on his face grew with concern, then horror, at his modern, and very non-Roman, surroundings.
As was soon the case for those surrounding him as we began to look to one another mouthing, “How do we send him back?”
We did it in the middle of a rainy, stormy winter’s night, sat in a chalked circle on the hard floor of the basement laundry room. As the rattle of the windows in their frames grew evermore, and the candles flames flickered more violently, so our chanting grew more determined, finally fixing itself on the repeating of the numbers, “616. 666. 616. 666...”
On we went, continuing even as the Beast began to appear: a dim, ghostly pillar of light that slowly transformed to take the rough shape of the Beast, before becoming more solid until he was formed in completeness.
He was not what we had expected.
Before us stood a man dressed in a blood stained toga (so he had already been slain!) who jabbered in what we presumed was Latin. Fearful and scared was his tone, and the look on his face grew with concern, then horror, at his modern, and very non-Roman, surroundings.
As was soon the case for those surrounding him as we began to look to one another mouthing, “How do we send him back?”
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