The Pseudo Semicolon

CHAPTER 17 || PART: 3

Devland laid back down on his bed, feeling pretty shitty for what he said to Todd. He knew he shouldn't but gaaah this being-aware-of-other-people's-feelings thing was not allowing him too.

'He's a murderer, shut the fuck up.' He told his mind.

He heard a sharp knock from his window and immediately sprinted over to open it.

"Hey." Akira smiled as he sat on the window sill, his eyes twinkling, "Did the Elites murder anyone?"

"No—they're actually going on a trip next week. I'm also invited." Devland explained after kissing Akira. He was particularly happy that there were no bruises on the boy's face and from now onwards, there won't be. "I have an inkling of an idea as to which ritual the Elites are doing."

"Oh?"

Devland showed him the book; the grotesque pictures and the screaming men. "The Virgin boy." Akira murmured, running his thumb under the Latin words below the picture of the shackled man.

"Weird." Devland commented before taking out the grey powder that's been drying out in the sun.

It was a particularly hot Sunday evening, so Devland hoped that that was enough. His father was out buying groceries—he suspected that he was visiting his mother though, who still hasn't shown her face.

"Jesus..." Akira sighed, "So they killed Mr. Rogers for this? It says that they need one more sacrifice." His eyes widened as it landed on Devland, "Don't tell me that they're not gonna use this trip as a way to sacrifice you—?"

"The ritual of Ancht." Devland said, "Requires a family of four, a virgin boy and a teenage sacrifice. Yeah I read the whole thing, Akira. Am I gonna die if I go on this trip? Yes."

"You refused right—?"

"Of course I refused, dumbass." Devland said, "But it doesn't make sense! They said they wouldn't drag me into this, remember?"

"Probably changed their mind. Murderers do that sometimes." Akira rolled his eyes.

Devland sighed, "If I go on that trip, then there's a chance I can find out who their next victim is."

"A slim chance." Akira retorted, "It's too risky."

"Let's just talk about something else. The powder is ready." Devland plopped down with the diary, the ziplock bag in his hand.

The two of them gathered around the diary as Devland carefully scattered the powder on the first page. Then they waited, and waited, until finally, the dust started staining the page, settling into lines until finally, words were formed.

Devland inhaled sharply.

Dear Devland and Akira,

By the time you're reading this, I'll be dead. I just want to start by saying, yes—I was in the cult. I was part of it, and I regret it. Once I realised that they were going to sacrifice me, I tried to change things; got myself drunk, had sex, whatever it took to make myself impure.

It didn't work.

Thankfully, I wasn't around for the rest of the sacrifices, wasn't around for the rest of the torture.

You're understanding where I'm going with this right? Regardless, I'll say it.

I did not kill myself. I was sacrificed.