The Price of Sin

Muffled screams echoed through the dark cave.

On the cold, damp ground, a woman lay motionless, her head covered by a coarse sack. Her fragile body trembled, the invisible shackles of fear tightening around her soul.

A hooded man knelt beside her. With precise and cold movements, he tied her delicate arms and legs, preventing any resistance.

Then, he removed the sack from her head. Her face was dirty with sand and tears, her eyes shut tight as if refusing to face reality. But even in her despairing state, she was stunning—golden hair cascading over pale skin, tempting lips slightly parted, a vision of profane beauty.

A perfect sacrifice.

The hooded man raised his hand and delivered a violent slap across her face. The sharp sound echoed off the rocky walls, and a red mark appeared on her fair skin. The woman awoke with a muffled cry of pain, but her voice was useless. Her mouth was covered.

No one could hear her.

No one could save her.

The hooded man smiled and began drawing symbols on the ground with green ink, tracing each line with reverence. His voice came low, almost a hypnotic whisper:

— Relax... It is for a greater good, young Nefertiti.

The symbol taking shape before him was a five-pointed star encircled, its lines intertwining to form a complex and esoteric geometric pattern. The man's fingers trembled with excitement as he completed the design.

— Your death will serve for the birth of the stars. You are the third virgin. Soon, the first star will be born after your sacrifice.

He effortlessly lifted the young woman and laid her upon the ancient pentagram. His eyes gleamed with ecstasy as he spoke:

— The Great Elder will awaken... and you will be an essential piece. You should feel honored.

Then, he raised his arms and began chanting inhuman words. His voice reverberated unnaturally, as if it wasn't just his mouth speaking, but something ancient, something cosmic, something beyond human comprehension:

— N'ghft mgepah mgleth, li'heeagl hupadgh, Y’hah fhtagn zhro éons nw'ghft mgepah mgleth!

The air in the cave seemed to vibrate. Shadows danced on the walls, molding into distorted figures, watching, waiting.

— Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn, Zhai’lash fhtagn, nafl’bthnk mgepah hupadgh!

The temperature dropped abruptly. Something invisible whispered between the rocks.

Without hesitation, the man pulled a dagger from his pocket and slashed the young woman’s wrists and throat. Hot blood spilled over the symbols, seeping into the ground. But before her last breath escaped, he crushed her head under his foot, concluding the ritual with a grotesque crack.

Silence dominated the cave.

Satisfied, the man left the place and looked up at the city glowing under the daylight.

A smile formed on his lips.

— I wanted so much to see my lord’s offspring... what a shame.

A young man with short dark hair, deep brown eyes, and an athletic build walked through the streets of New Osiris. The city seemed as ordinary as any other—people hurried to work that morning, while the sun shone over buildings and houses, casting shadows across the streets.

The young man walked until he reached a café. The place was simple and cozy, with a few chairs and tables set outside. The aroma of coffee filled the air, wrapping around those who passed by.

He entered and greeted the barista—a petite girl with a fierce look. Her dark skin had some white patches, and her curly hair framed her face.

— How are you, Cibele?

She, who had been absorbed in reading something, lifted her gaze and returned Laab’s greeting:

— I'm fine. — Her smile was beautiful and warm. After a brief pause, she continued: — You’d better put on your uniform soon, Laab. Today it’s just you, me, and Omar at the shop.

Laab smiled, nodded, and went to the back of the café to change. When he returned, he saw another young man entering. He had dark skin and his hair was tied back in a ponytail.

— Why didn’t you go home yesterday? — Laab asked.

Omar looked at him and smirked.

— Remember Isis...? — he began.

Laab interrupted him with an excited grin:

— Hold on, tell me later.

Omar chuckled and went to change. Before he disappeared into the back room, Laab shouted:

— I want all the details!

— Got it! — Omar replied without looking back.

Omar and Cibele were his best friends; they were his only family.

Laab had been abandoned by his parents when he was just four years old. Left crying at the doorstep of an orphanage, he remembered nothing about his life before that—except for one thing:

His name. Laab.

Omar had lost his parents to yokai when he was five and ended up at the same orphanage. Within days, he and Laab became best friends.

When they turned six, they were enrolled in a school in New Osiris, near the orphanage. On the first day of class, they met Cibele, and soon, they became inseparable.

They played and fought together. Everything they did, they did together. They were so close that, when they turned sixteen, Cibele’s parents hired Laab and Omar to work at the family’s café. Moreover, they helped the two find a house where they could live after leaving the orphanage.

Laab loved Cibele and Omar as if they were his siblings. They were his family. His life wasn’t perfect, but it was close.

Nothing could go wrong.

Laab went outside to arrange some tables. He looked around and, for a moment, felt strange, as if something bad was about to happen.

A bad omen.

He ignored the feeling and, after finishing setting up the tables, attended to a customer.

It was a middle-aged man, very tall, probably no older than forty. His hair was light and long, reaching his shoulders. His smile was slightly unsettling, and his eyes, shadowy. Some flies buzzed around him, yet strangely, he emitted no foul odor.

Even with growing discomfort, Laab maintained his composure and greeted him with a smile:

— Good morning! What would you like, sir?

The man looked up, his dark eyes seeming even more concealed under the sunlight. With a hoarse and cold voice, he replied:

— I’ll have a black coffee with sweetener and a piece of that cake.

He pointed to a cake displayed in the café’s showcase.

As Laab noted the order, he realized the man was staring at him intently, as if trying to remember something.

— Is something wrong, sir? — Laab asked, feeling uneasy.

The man gave an absurdly bizarre smile, so disturbing that Laab felt a ringing in his ears.

— I'm fine, don’t worry... — the man said, far too cheerful for the situation.

A short while later, Laab served the order. The man ate in silence and soon left. Yet, the unsettling feeling remained. In fact, it worsened.

The bad omen grew inside him like poison.

Unable to ignore it, Laab approached Omar and Cibele, who were cleaning some tables, and asked:

— Do you feel that?

The two stopped what they were doing and looked at him, confused.

— No... Feel what? — they replied in unison.

Laab hesitated.

— Nothing... — he answered, trying to push the bad feeling aside.

Then, forcing himself to change the subject, he grinned at Omar.

— Now tell me, what happened between you and Isis?

Before Omar could answer, a deafening explosion erupted.

Followed by screams.

A shiver ran down Laab’s spine.

— Shit... — he murmured to himself.

That bad feeling wasn’t just a premonition.