the-book-of-azazel

E.A. KOETTING
All of my strength left me. I fell to the ground, my legs
refusing to bear my weight.
The concrete beneath me, upon which the Circle and
the symbols were inscribed, dissolved, and the earth beneath it
fell away. In place of solid ground, the nine foot diameter
“protective” Circle became a lake of liquid fire.
My body or my soul, the part of me that I then
recognized as me plunged beneath the surface of the steaming
orange and yellow sea. I shrieked as my skin caught flame and
disintegrated from my bones, and more as my bones dissolved.
Even as I no longer had a body with which to scream, still the
sound of terror bellowed out from me. A thousand faces
whirled around me, trapped in that unholy place, shrieking as
well, none of us comforted by the realization that we were not
alone in our suffering.
Whatever form was left of me began to burn away,
whatever soul or identity that remained being destroyed, or
utterly lost in the anguish. And just as it departed, just as my
entire existence was extinguished, a voice called out. I could
not tell if it echoed through the depths of the Lake of Fire
alone, or if it was spoken by one of the demons in that distant
Temple where my lifeless body remained. The voice
commanded, “Rise, and be reborn.”
My mouth opened and my throat begged for air,
coughing and spitting as I crawled to my knees. The
congregation had fallen silent save for the incessant drone of
the singing bowl, all eyes staring in horror. I stood, feeling as
though my body had been atrophying, unused for decades. My
mind was quiet, focused, sure. I looked again at the floor, and
saw that my feet were resting on the same molten lake that I
had fallen into. I walked across the red water to John, offering
my hand to him, leading him into the Circle. Leading him into
hell.
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