Hushed hymns hummed through the time-worn stone. Havu stood before a gloomy entrance, from which the dead seemed to be singing — growing moans in her ears. She gripped a lantern, as one holds a sword, but the darkness refused to be cut. Her eyes filmed and watered; she had not shut them since waking. Havu set her light under the corner of the door. The blackness ate it. She could no longer trust her sight. Since last night’s vision, she could not trust anyone or anything; yet the robbery of light felt familiar, even natural. Even without seeing, she was sure what the syrupy shadows hid. The weight of “knowing” brought her here, deep under the earth, under her convent, under her sleeping sisters, under her vows, under a pious mother dead — under her life, as she thought it to be. This self-same burden thrust her into the labyrinthine tunnel. The air was warm and wet, but it carried a caliginous fire into her lungs. As intimidating as the abysmal murk was before entering, no pain compared to the brightness on the other side. Still keeping her eyes naked and wide, Havu brazed through the blinding corridor and away from the invincible white streaming from where swallowing shades had ruled just moments before. As the tunnel found a comfortably lighted coolness, distant from the insufferably brilliant portal, she collapsed down against a wall. She noticed her previously white nightgown was now black, with dirty pale streaks, and her olive skin appeared coldly Hadean and inky. Jumping to her feet, Havu stared down the hallway. Gloaming shadowiness radiated from its end, along with rasping melodies, chanting her feelings in unknown words but in shared languages: fear, shame, and dread. Columns of coruscating coffins cascaded down beyond the edges of her burning sight, but none rested. This was no holy catacomb. Great roots circled every lamenting form and seemed to squeeze suffering from them; the hairy radicles spiraled below and above her, weaving majestic ingeminate tapestries. From above, sable despairing rays rained upon her. “Havu, we all respect the conditions of your return.” A wholly luminescent figure emerged behind her. Though its voice was warm and confident, a ferocious unease bent behind each word. “As a sister, I appreciate your sacrifice.” Havu turned and bowed. “Thank you, Erifili. As One, we sacrifice, as One we serve, as One we are strong.” Erifili returned the gesture, though the movement was obviously coerced and mechanical. She retained a humanistic visage only in the loosest sense; even though she kept four limbs, and something like a head, at best she was a semi-bursting, shining mummy. “Serve. Sacrifice. Become One. Become Strong.” She raised a glimmering hand, pointing Havu to a heavy round table set below the spacious canopy of death. Thirteen chairs were set about it, eleven of them filled. A resplendent casket lay open before the group. As she began to approach them, each member rose. Not much more than general sizes could be used to differentiate the beings around the ornate deathbed, save for Rosetta, the freshest disciple; evidently newly exanimate, her human features still clung to her ethereal existence, like the last finger on a rainy ledge. Havu sensed severe regret and longing behind Rosetta’s ill-defined, diaphanous face, but she said nothing and slowly moved with Erifili to her place at the table. “Tonight, the One becomes complete. Through the blood of thirteen, we shall free ourselves from the earth, sun, moon, and stars — we shall need no separate souls, taste no private pain, and endure no lasting death.” Erifili swept up her hand. Havu was lifted into the air and floated above the death vessel. “With this final sacrifice, the spirits of the dead shall be united. For the ultimate hecatomb, we do not require the purification of many, but rather only the initiation of the innocent.” At this, every form arose. Web-like streams of energy began to drift from them up and around the hovering witch. They wormed over her arms and legs and forged a golden tiara about her head. Erifili produced a knife; it twinkled as she raised it above her. “In spilling your blood — in taking your life — under oath, I take upon myself your soul.” Havu sensed her body getting sucked into the coffin. She tried to hide the furious palpitations nagging through her flesh and fought every impulse to close her eyes. She focused on two words, which caramelized under her skull, “Not yet.” “I claim you as the final member of our coven and bind us together, under One, as One!” The spindling rootlets surrounding the assembly began to contract. They wrung energy from their captives and hounded power directly into Havu, who began to throb violently. “Tie the souls of the living to the dead. Make the dead the master of life. Consume all wills in One. With this knife, capture the living in death’s liberation.” The solemn prayer and covenant resounded deep through the mass grave, and Erifili’s asseveration danced through every personage in the hall, each repeating her words in their own language. The reverberation shook Havu’s heart out of pace. “Now, cut your tongue and kiss the blade. Seal with blood the promise you make.” Erifili calmly placed the ancient dagger in Havu’s lucent hand. Belabored by her swirling bands, Havu brought the coarse metal to her tongue and eased it deeply across. Through plashing, warm streams, she kissed the atavistic weapon. As her lips painted blood across it, an intoxicating force sprung from deep within her soul — as it broke out of her, she felt a quiet chuckle and a solitary word embrace her from just behind her eyes, “Now.” Havu let her eyelids fall. Magic poured from her fingertips. She knew the power would be intense, but she hadn’t expected it to manifest like this. Matchless ebony swaddled her in an impenetrable inferno. Heavy bat-like wings shot from the fathomless darkness and encased the twelve distressed witches. Ever-flowing rivers of power waved across Havu, but she was no longer the captive. The damp, tenebrous spiralings consumed all of the tubers running along the walls, along with the chained deceased. With every ravenous progression, Havu’s power increased. She sent thick, saccharine laughs booming over the expanse. The imprisoned coven feebly attempted to break free. With glee, Havu kissed them each fervently unto desolation, save for Erifili and Rosetta. She glided over to Erifili, expecting to subdue fury with fire; yet to her surprise, the formerly “High Witch of the Dead,” seemed to not be making any struggle. Havu waved back the coating from her face. Though her luminosity had largely diminished, Erifili made no attempt to escape. She stayed still with an eerie grin plastered under what was left of her face. “Go ahead. Try to destroy me,” as she pretended to sigh, she summoned a twitch that almost passed for a wink, “I look forward to our partnership.” Havu’s eyes smoldered as a slate smirk slid over her face. “A deal is a deal.” She opened her arms and concentrated on the cocooned beldam. “As we vowed, the dead shall be the master of life, and the living shall be captive to death’s liberation.” An incantation rolled off Havu’s bleeding tongue. It was an old spell, used only by a forgotten enchantress — the very spirit which now spoke through her — Summa Pythoness Noctis. Out from the Tartarean floor, a massive, enflamed serpent slithered up to Erifili and swallowed her whole. Anguished cries mumbled against the snake’s thick skin, letting only the slightest murmurs break into the sorceress’s ears. As the invocation came to an end, the colossal reptile wrenched in agony and evaporated into smoke, leaving a drenched, dejected, drained woman writhing on the blackened ground and very much alive.