The Rituals Within Loved Is Formed

Chapter 1

The boy had his bare back to me. Chanting, I will never be able to forget. Guttural, a voice that was amplified tenfold. The boy dropped to his knees. I looked at the boy with morbid desire and curiosity. I have never seen a ritual actually performed. Even though I am the priest, I only have so much power. The rituals are performed alone. As if he was feeling nothing he just continued to chant. Monotone in nature the things he was chanting had a little ring to them. His lips parted slightly letting out a small scream. His back tensed and his chanting became more frantic, more ancient.
The boy rocked on his knees. (I'll keep my inappropriate thoughts on that to myself.)
Soon I had no idea as to what he was saying anymore. From where I was, I could see the blood vessels on the back of his arms were bursting as if they were balloons being pierced with a needle. This, was obviously dangerous in any situation.
A cloying darkness was being attracted- no attracted is what I was to this boy. This darkness was throwing itself at him. Being soaked in the darkness, his head snapped back, the muscles in his back were extremely taut. It was almost like he was trying to fight it, as if he could. The darkness covered the boy as if it were a blanket, as if the attractive male was being protected by it.
Scent filled the room. It sent chills down my spine and had me nearly vomiting on the floor. I leaned on a pillar for support, retching. This went on for what seemed to be for hours. The vessel cursed boy, screamed. A purely agonised and soul shattering scream. One only made with the upmost intention on being heard.
I wanted to run to him, to make him understand what was going to happen to him. But, I didn't even know if he was conscience. The darkness disappeared slowly like an old friend staying for one last goodbye. The last wisps of it faded away and there I saw the boy swaying on his knees. Ah, so he does have a bit of consciousness. It won't last long. Trying desperately to keep conscious, the boy made an attempt to stand up. I could see him struggling to push himself up from a pew. That was his first mistake. Sweat was pouring off of him like rain (still keeping the inappropriate comment to myself). He can't do it. Whatever the darkness was, it has sucked every last bit of fight, every bit of willpower out of him, it was all gone. He let out a scream of frustration before letting his body succumb to the exhaustion that obviously plagued his body. His second mistake would come after he fell to the ground. He murmured one word before he lost consciousness. Gerard. The hairs on my arm raise and goosebumps were prickling my skin. It was almost lost, but if I hadn't heard it, he wouldn't have made his third and final mistake.
He now had my upmost interest.