Remnants: A gripping and heart-pounding serial killer thriller: Brandon Fisher FBI Series, #6 by Carolyn Arnold

Author:Carolyn Arnold
Format: epub

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

He was dressed in black, a god in human form. The offering was naked before him and bound by chains. He chanted as he dipped his hand into the mixture, his fingers coming out coated in blue. He started with the offering’s face, pressing the paint to his forehead and working his way around his temples, down his cheeks, along the length of his neck, the back of his neck, behind his ears, on his ears…

The offering let out a moan, and his eyelids slowly fluttered. When they fully opened, he screamed incoherently, and it was then that he must have realized his tongue was gone. His eyes widened, and tears fell, streaking the blue paint.

He began again, first touching up the offering’s cheeks and then smearing the blue over his shoulders, his arms, his hands, his back, his buttocks, his privates, his thighs, his calves, his feet. All this time, the offering remained quiet and still. Broken. Succumbing to the reality of his fate.

When all the paint was applied, he stepped back to admire his work, the time for sacrifice upon them. The act itself fed his soul like a walk in nature did for some people. But he wasn’t “some people.” He was above the masses, and he’d evolved through his awakening. He no longer had to close his eyes to elevate above this flesh-and-blood existence. But as it was, he was stuck inside this form—five foot eleven, black shoulder-length hair, brown eyes, alabaster skin. Yet, he also appreciated having touch and taste, which came with being entombed in flesh, and breathing, the sound of doing so and the feeling of oxygen filling up his lungs.

He inhaled deeply, feeling it enter his lungs, expand his diaphragm. As he emptied his mind, he let his eyes roll back in his head, savoring the moment for a few seconds. He then looked on his offering. The man was weak and feeble, submissive, conquered, without voice.

He removed the restraints, and the offering, who hadn’t eaten much of anything for days, had no strength to hold himself up. The offering’s legs were like a rag doll’s beneath him as he guided the man to the outer room. Without the strength to resist him, the offering stumbled onto the sacrificial stone. At this point, he restrained the offering to another contraption that would stretch out his body and elevate his chest. The offering was bound once more at the wrists and ankles.

A smile teased his lips as he observed the offering watching him, his gaze indicating that he was already drifting partway into the next realm. Yet, the offering managed to yell and buck with remarkable strength now. The chain was being wrenched, but there was no way he could break free of his bonds. And there would be no one to hear his screams.

The protest was short-lived, and the offering retreated again into silence, a calm serenity, a state of detachment and observation.

This offering was perfect. A young man of strong will, a former protector, and a provider.

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