Sitting in the basement of his antiques shop, the Prophet prepared to confer with his master about the complications arising from Schofield’s defiance. He placed three pieces of blotter paper treated with lysergic acid diethylamide—or LSD—into his mouth. Most hits of acid obtained on the street contained a mere one hundred micrograms or less per hit, but in order to break down the walls of this reality and contact the other side, the Prophet employed a dose containing four milligrams. He had no fear of overdose, since no documented human deaths had ever been caused directly from the use of LSD. The only downside of the drug for him was that regular use caused a rapid tolerance build-up due to the down-regulation of 5-HT2A receptors in the brain. Luckily, his tolerance would diminish after several days without use, so there was little fear of his lines of communication with the Father ever being severed.
The drug could be absorbed either sublingually by holding it in the mouth or in the stomach if it was swallowed. But sublingual absorption led to a faster onset of the drug’s effects. The Prophet needed answers now, so he held the pieces of blotter paper in his mouth for several moments, chewing them and rubbing them on his tongue, before swallowing.
He stood up from the old wooden table and walked across the cold concrete floor to the sturdy cage that held the girl. He was naked and each step sent lovely tendrils of sensation up through his body. Schofield had said the girl’s name was Melissa Lighthaus, but the Prophet didn’t care about her name. She was just another dumb animal, a piece of livestock, to be used and thrown away. She was merely another one of the slaves that would soon die in The Great Fire.
He had soundproofed the block walls of the old basement in order to contain the screams of the women it held. This was especially necessary since the old basement actually extended farther out than the building’s upper floors. The sidewalk was directly above the cage. The thought of the other slaves passing over her without any knowledge excited the Prophet. He had shared this information with her to add to her despair. So many people, so close. Yet no one could help her.
The effects of his medicine were taking hold, and the sight would be upon him soon. Reality was already changing around him, breaking down. What none of the slaves realized was that hell wasn’t in another place. It was all around them at all times. But on the darkest night, when the ritual was complete, the barriers placed around this world that kept the Father out would be no more. It would be such a glorious day when the walls crumbled. When hell and Earth would finally become one. Mankind was approaching the next momentous and inevitable step in its evolution. Soon, The Work would be complete, and he would step out from among the slaves and sit at the right hand of the true god.
But until that day came, he enjoyed being underground. It made him feel more connected to the Father by being separate from the world of the slaves.
The girl cowered in the corner of the cage. Her skin seemed to glow. Her eyes were bright purple orbs shining out from inside her skull. Her stink permeated the air from the bucket he had placed in one corner of the cage for her to use as a bathroom. But soon the smell would no longer be a bother. He could taste the metallic tinge of the medicine on his tongue as the other side began to bleed through. The padded walls were breathing around him. Eyes watched him from the dark corners of the basement. The shadows were alive, pregnant with the dark ones. The concrete had melted and now it rippled beneath him. His feet were sticking to it and sinking into it, and it took great power to pull them free and move across the room.
The basement was a large open space supported by concrete pillars. In its center, there was a large black pentagram painted onto the floor. Tall mirrors lined up with each of the symbol’s five points. A black metal stool rested within the pentagram’s center. The Prophet entered the sacred circle, sat on the stool, and waited.
The shadows along the outer perimeter of the circle changed forms. Oily black figures swirled all around him now, the dark ones. His thoughts curved in on themselves as he broke through to the other side of reality. Strange shapes crawled across the concrete. His reflection in the mirrors disappeared, and a smoky darkness swam on the other side of the glass.
“Father, Schofield has betrayed us. He has rejected The Work and rebelled against us both. I need guidance. The darkest night is so close.”
He closed his eyes and waited for the Father to show him the way. Strange colored patterns swirled behind his eyelids like a vivid kaleidoscope that transcended time and space.
Then a face emerged from the ocean of colors.
The Prophet opened his eyes and spoke into the darkness. “The boy is of the bloodline, and we’ve been preparing for this day. Still, I don’t know if he’s ready. But it’s not my place to question your will, Father. The boy will be the new Chosen. The true Antichrist.”