the-book-of-azazel

E.A. KOETTING
I finally turned towards the southern Triangle, towards
Shawn, her half naked body serving as the sacrifice, the heat
rising from her warm flesh acting as the incense, the blood still
running in her veins the Elixir of Materialization. The demon’s
sigil was drawn on her chest. I gazed into it. Within seconds,
the inked lines flashed and faded, and reappeared in three
dimensions. Belial’s presence streamed into Shawn’s body.
Her muscles jolted, her neck twitching, and then her
arms. Her head fell back, her eyes towards the ceiling, as if she
had no muscle to lift it.
“Belial, I call you and conjure you forth to stand in this
Temple and to take your place within the Triangle. I summon
you to manifest before me in beholdable form and to speak
with me in a discernible voice. Belial, I give you license to
appear, I give you power to manifest, I give you this call to
come. Belial, come!”
“Belial, come,” the congregation chanted. “Belial,
come! Belial, come!” The group mantra mixed in my ears
with Cody’s incessant song and the drone of the singing bowl,
both of which had been buried to me under the din of the astral
winds.
Shawn’s convulsions intensified, her abdominals
contracting and her spine distorting. Her arms bolted into the
air to form a cross at her sides.
My hand stretched out, all fingers pointed towards
Shawn, towards the Triangle, towards the misty shape of the
demon flickering between the worlds.
“Belial, enter this body. It has been willingly sacrificed
for you!” I found myself shouting over the cacophony of
sound, auditory and ethereal. “Belial, accept your sacrifice!”
With a final, short gasp, Shawn’s neck muscles finally
reengaged. Her head tilted downwards, again facing towards
me, and towards the congregation, her eyes still staring at the
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