Read Online The Diabolist (Dominic Grey 3) by Layton Green - Free Book Online
Authors: Layton Green
Tags: United States, Suspense, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Horror, Mystery, Private Investigators, Genre Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Occult
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the throat of the sacrifice. He also knew why they had brought him along slowly, because he was familiar with fringe-group psychology: Like any perversion, sexual or violent or otherwise, acceptance and addiction required a gradual approach.
Only it wasn’t an addiction, he told himself, and it wasn’t a perversion. Satan reflected the true nature of humanity, and it was intellectually dishonest to believe otherwise. It was weak.
He wanted to be part of the Church of the Beast more than he wanted to be in alignment with his artificial, socialized Western morality. He would see for himself what the real Prince of Darkness was about.
Oak didn’t remember much from that night, due to both intoxication and denial. They had brought in a homeless man, a drain on society, and performed the Black Mass while the homeless man hung upside down from the cross. Then the new initiate had completed her task. There was no torture, just a swift kill. A simple offering. The ultimate act of love and devotion to his new Prince, Oak told himself, far cleaner than the wholesale slaughter in which organized religion had engaged over the centuries.
Oak had almost vomited when they passed around the cup filled with warm blood, but he managed to let the liquid trickle into his mouth. After the sacrifice, there was an orgy that helped Oak forget what he had just seen and done, and when it was finished Oak stumbled out of the basement and into the moonlit night, gibbering with spent emotion, his frail humanity conquered.
After that night, Oak stopped wondering whether he was evil. Not because he had come to any conclusion, but because he no longer cared.
The next night, the same night on which Matty received the letter, a man named Dante approached Oak in the shadows on the street outside Oak’s house. He shuddered as he formed a mental picture of Dante: lean and hard as redwood bark, swathed in black clothing, nose and lips and ears filled with piercings, incisors filed to points, and that awful and powerful tattoo covering his shaved head, a red pentagram stuffed with the severed head of a goat.
Oak knew the rumors: that Dante was a master with his hidden knives, the right-hand man to the Black Cleric himself, enforcer of an already terrifying organization. He couldn’t wait to see Dante slice Dominic Grey into little pieces and offer his lifeblood in ritual to the Beast.
Yet even Dante no longer struck the most fear into Oak’s charred heart. That night, Dante had told him of someone else, a man who had transcended his human shell and become something more, a man who would one day lead his followers into the mainstream and finally allow their religion to take its rightful place in the world. Oak loved the idea of a revolution, but he had not really believed what Dante had said about the man’s powers.
Oak wanted to be part of this new thing, and he was petrified of saying no to Dante. Dante outlined the plan, telling Oak the Magus would appear at midnight six days later, just as the letter had read.
This
would be his initiation, Dante had said, not just into the Church of the Beast, but into the new organization that would subsume both the House of Lucifer and the Church of the Beast. And Oak would be at the vanguard, might even be invited into the Inner Council.
Oak had played his part, still not expecting anything to happen. Then the clock struck midnight and the Magus appeared just as Dante said hewould, materializing in front of hundreds of witnesses, burning poor Matty alive with a whisper.
After that, Oak didn’t just have a church.
He had faith.
Oak held the phone in his hand before he dialed, remembering for a moment his bland Sacramento childhood, his poor pious mother, who, were she alive, would be devastated by his choices in life. He loved her still, but she was weak and had understood nothing.
Dante answered the phone with his throaty, heavily accented English. Oak felt a shiver of fear sweep through his body. He
Only it wasn’t an addiction, he told himself, and it wasn’t a perversion. Satan reflected the true nature of humanity, and it was intellectually dishonest to believe otherwise. It was weak.
He wanted to be part of the Church of the Beast more than he wanted to be in alignment with his artificial, socialized Western morality. He would see for himself what the real Prince of Darkness was about.
Oak didn’t remember much from that night, due to both intoxication and denial. They had brought in a homeless man, a drain on society, and performed the Black Mass while the homeless man hung upside down from the cross. Then the new initiate had completed her task. There was no torture, just a swift kill. A simple offering. The ultimate act of love and devotion to his new Prince, Oak told himself, far cleaner than the wholesale slaughter in which organized religion had engaged over the centuries.
Oak had almost vomited when they passed around the cup filled with warm blood, but he managed to let the liquid trickle into his mouth. After the sacrifice, there was an orgy that helped Oak forget what he had just seen and done, and when it was finished Oak stumbled out of the basement and into the moonlit night, gibbering with spent emotion, his frail humanity conquered.
After that night, Oak stopped wondering whether he was evil. Not because he had come to any conclusion, but because he no longer cared.
The next night, the same night on which Matty received the letter, a man named Dante approached Oak in the shadows on the street outside Oak’s house. He shuddered as he formed a mental picture of Dante: lean and hard as redwood bark, swathed in black clothing, nose and lips and ears filled with piercings, incisors filed to points, and that awful and powerful tattoo covering his shaved head, a red pentagram stuffed with the severed head of a goat.
Oak knew the rumors: that Dante was a master with his hidden knives, the right-hand man to the Black Cleric himself, enforcer of an already terrifying organization. He couldn’t wait to see Dante slice Dominic Grey into little pieces and offer his lifeblood in ritual to the Beast.
Yet even Dante no longer struck the most fear into Oak’s charred heart. That night, Dante had told him of someone else, a man who had transcended his human shell and become something more, a man who would one day lead his followers into the mainstream and finally allow their religion to take its rightful place in the world. Oak loved the idea of a revolution, but he had not really believed what Dante had said about the man’s powers.
Oak wanted to be part of this new thing, and he was petrified of saying no to Dante. Dante outlined the plan, telling Oak the Magus would appear at midnight six days later, just as the letter had read.
This
would be his initiation, Dante had said, not just into the Church of the Beast, but into the new organization that would subsume both the House of Lucifer and the Church of the Beast. And Oak would be at the vanguard, might even be invited into the Inner Council.
Oak had played his part, still not expecting anything to happen. Then the clock struck midnight and the Magus appeared just as Dante said hewould, materializing in front of hundreds of witnesses, burning poor Matty alive with a whisper.
After that, Oak didn’t just have a church.
He had faith.
Oak held the phone in his hand before he dialed, remembering for a moment his bland Sacramento childhood, his poor pious mother, who, were she alive, would be devastated by his choices in life. He loved her still, but she was weak and had understood nothing.
Dante answered the phone with his throaty, heavily accented English. Oak felt a shiver of fear sweep through his body. He
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