The space beneath the altar no longer felt like a stomach.
It felt like a grave that had been hollowed out and forgotten.
Moist stone pressed against Elias's boots, slick with old residue that never fully dried. The air was thick, not heavy with smell, but with presence.
Sound behaved strangely here. His breathing echoed too clearly, while the distant pulsing beneath the floor came and went like a heartbeat that could not decide whether it was alive.
The monster remained restrained above.
Chains carved with script older than modern language stretched across the stone platform, anchoring flesh and bone alike.
It simply existed, vast and patient, its presence leaking upward through the seals like rot through wood.
Elias stood before the altar.
Around him, the souls gathered.
They did not crowd. They did not speak. They formed a loose circle, faint silhouettes overlapping like mist caught in moonlight. Children stood closest, their outlines small and uneven. Adults lingered farther back, faces unclear, emotions muted by exhaustion rather than peace.
The bride stood among them.
She did not weep.
She held her son in her arms, his form lighter now, less distorted than before. He leaned against her shoulder, watching Elias with the open curiosity of someone who had already accepted that the living world no longer belonged to him.
Elias kept his eyes forward.
If he looked at them too long, his resolve would crack. He was not built for this. He had never been. He was a man who avoided conflict, who crossed streets to escape arguments, who once apologized to a chair after bumping into it at work.
And now he was here.
He exhaled slowly.
His hands moved with care, guided less by confidence and more by memory.
The pendant at his chest warmed faintly as he touched it. The red crystal caught the dim light, refracting it into something deeper, thicker than color alone.
He laid out the materials one by one.
At the altar's base, Elias placed three objects.
First, a shallow bowl filled with water drawn from above ground, still carrying the trace of rain and iron pipes. Life that had moved. Life that remembered motion.
Second, a strip of white cloth, folded rather than cut, bearing no sigils. Clean, untouched, unclaimed.
Third, a fragment of gold ring.
Elias removed his gloves.
His fingers trembled, though his face did not change.
Cold crept into his skin as he pressed his palm against the stone.
He did not shout.
He spoke as if addressing a room where the living might still be listening.
"Those who were bound," he said quietly, each word chosen with care. "Those who were taken after breath had already left. Those who were named offerings without ever being asked."
The water in the bowl rippled.
Elias closed his eyes.
He did not know why he remembered the words.
He only knew that when he cursed the author, when he spat bitterness into the quiet of his apartment, something had listened. And now, standing here, surrounded by the cost of that listening, the memory surfaced like an old wound reopening without pain.
The prayer did not call upon gods.
It never had.
Ancient exorcisms is not merciful.
They acknowledged sinners to pay their sins.
"I do not command you," Elias continued. "I do not absolve you I do not forgive what was done."
The monster shifted above.
The chains tightened, symbols flaring briefly before dimming again.
The souls stirred.
"I am only here to return what was stolen."
Elias lifted the golden ring.
His grip tightened.
The bride's son watched closely.
Elias placed the ring upon the cloth.
Then he dipped his fingers into the bowl.
The water burned.
He traced a single line across the stone floor.
A boundary.
"This seal," Elias said, voice steady despite the tightening in his chest, "was built upon the silence of the dead."
The air grew colder.
The souls began to hum.
Elias inhaled.
"To those who were sealed," he said, "your names were taken. Your endings rewritten. Your rest delayed."
He pressed his palm flat against the stone again.
The pendant flared, brighter now.
"I return to you the right to leave."
The altar trembled.
Hairline fractures appeared along the carved symbols, spreading outward like frost creeping across glass.
The monster above reacted for the first time.
A low sound emerged, not a roar, but something closer to confusion.
The chains rattled.
The bride's grip tightened around her son.
Elias felt it then.
Resistance.
Not from the monster.
From the formation itself.
The seal did not want to break. It had been fed too long. It had learned efficiency. Souls passed through it like fuel through a furnace, and it had grown accustomed to never being questioned.
Elias exhaled.
His hand moved to his arm.
The deep red umbrella tattoo warmed beneath his fingers, pulsing in quiet acknowledgment.
"Later," he murmured internally, as if speaking to it. "Not yet."
He raised his voice slightly.
Just enough.
"By the memory of breath," he said. "By the weight of names unspoken. By the truth that death is not permission."
The pendant burned.
A crack split the altar.
A thin line of pale light escaped from beneath the stone, carrying with it whispers that were not voices, impressions that were not sound.
The souls reacted instantly.
They moved.
Forms peeled away from the altar like fog lifting at dawn. The children went first, their shapes clarifying as they passed through the boundary Elias had drawn. Their expressions softened, fear easing into confusion, then into something lighter.
The bride gasped.
Her son slipped from her arms, landing lightly on the stone before turning back to her, smiling.
His vision blurred.
Elias did not stop.
He could feel blood trickling from his nose, warm and sticky, but his hands remained steady.
The altar fractured completely.
The light surged.
Souls poured free.
Adults. Children. Shapes long warped by confinement straightened as they crossed the boundary. Some looked back only once. Others did not look back at all.
The bride remained.
She did not move.
She watched as her son crossed the line, his form growing clearer, brighter.
He turned.
He bowed to Elias.
Then he stepped beyond the space, dissolving into something that felt like distance rather than disappearance.
The bride finally released her breath.
She looked at Elias.
"Thank you," she said.
He did not respond.
His knees trembled.
Above them, the monster screamed in hunger.
The chains rattled violently now, symbols flaring and dying as the source of their strength vanished.
Elias straightened slowly.
His face remained calm.
His hands shook.
The deep red umbrella unfolded with a soft click.
The butterfly stirred.
Wings of crimson light emerged, hovering obediently above the canopy.
The monster convulsed.
Elias looked up.
The opening above was no longer sealed by flesh.
The monster's mouth had withdrawn, peeling back from the edges of the hole like a wounded animal realizing the trap had failed.
What had once blocked the exit now thrashed freely, tearing at the remaining chains with brutish impatience. Symbols flared and died one after another, unable to draw strength from souls that were no longer there.
Then the chains snapped.
The sound echoed like bones breaking inside a cathedral.
Dark matter spilled upward.
It did not flow smoothly. It dragged itself across the stone, thick and viscous, clinging to the floor as if reluctant to leave the place where it had been fed for centuries.
From within it emerged a shape that only vaguely resembled what humans had once feared and worshiped.
A dog, if one squinted.
Large enough to blot out the torches, its body stretched unnaturally long, limbs jointed at wrong angles, fur matted with black residue that dripped continuously onto the floor. Its head was elongated, skull like, eyes glowing with a dull, hollow light that held neither intelligence nor madness. Only appetite.
An imitation.
A caricature of Anubis made by men who did not understand what they were copying.
The monster did not roar.
It lunged.
Jackal cultists scattered in panic, their earlier reverence evaporating into shrill screams and incoherent prayers. Some tripped over fallen benches. Others slipped on blood they had spilled themselves. A few froze entirely, unable to reconcile the god they worshiped with the thing now turning toward them.
The monster chose the nearest.
Its jaws closed around a man still wearing priestly robes, teeth punching through fabric, flesh, and bone in one brutal motion. There was no struggle. The body folded in half, crushed and swallowed with a wet sound that made Elias's stomach twist sharply.
Another cultist ran.
He made it three steps.
A claw caught his leg, dragging him backward as he screamed, fingers clawing at the stone. The sound cut off abruptly as the monster bit down again, blood spraying across the broken altar.
Dark matter thickened.
Those already saturated with it did not die quickly.
Some were seized and chewed. Others were enveloped, bodies dissolving into writhing silhouettes before being absorbed entirely. Their screams were muffled, as if swallowed by something dense and suffocating.
Elias swallowed.
Bile rose in his throat.
His hands clenched slowly at his sides.
He forced himself to breathe through his nose, shallow and controlled, even as his stomach rolled violently. The smell alone was enough to make his vision blur. This was not like reading. This was not like imagining. This was meat being torn apart inches from him.
And yet his face remained still.
No flinch.
Just empty calm reflected back at the chaos.
The monster turned its head.
For a moment, its dull eyes met Elias's.
There was no recognition.
Only evaluation.
The thing took one step toward him, jaws opening, strings of blackened saliva stretching between its teeth. The floor beneath its weight cracked further, stone splintering as its mass shifted.
Elias did not retreat.
Instead, he stepped back once, placing his foot carefully against the broken edge of the hole.
He had already found the path.
The moment the altar fractured, the pressure had changed. The tunnel the monster once occupied had collapsed inward, leaving a rough, sloping passage formed by torn stone and congealed residue. It was narrow, but climbable. Elias had tested it briefly while the monster was still bound, memorizing the angles without thinking too hard about why.
Now he used it.
He moved quickly, body light despite the shaking in his limbs, hands gripping stone slick with dark slime. The monster snapped at him once, teeth slamming shut where his head had been a second earlier.
Elias climbed.
Above him, screams echoed.
Below him, something wet slid and shifted.
He did not look down again.
When he finally pulled himself up onto the upper chamber, his arms burned and his lungs screamed for air. He rolled once, then forced himself upright, back pressing against a cracked pillar as he watched the scene unfold below.
The monster had fully emerged now.
It tore through the remaining cultists with indiscriminate hunger, no longer distinguishing between worshiper and offering.
Those who had escaped earlier fled down the corridors, sobbing and incoherent. A few priests managed to reach sealed doors, slamming talismans into place with shaking hands.
Others were not fast enough.
Elias exhaled slowly.
The entire area was saturated now.
Neutralized.
There would be no clean investigation here. No simple report. What remained would rot, decay, and be quietly erased by the Association later.
He reached into his coat.
The umbrella unfolded smoothly, its deep red canopy blooming open like a wound made beautiful. The butterflies stirred immediately, drawn by the density of dark energy flooding the space.
They did not rush.
They hovered.
Waiting.
Elias lowered his gaze slightly, not at the monster, but at the butterflies themselves.
"Go," he said softly.
Not an order.
Permission.
They descended.
At first, it looked almost gentle.
Small crimson wings brushed against the monster's fur, leaving faint trails of light. Then the feeding began. The butterflies latched on, mandibles piercing through fur and into flesh that pulsed unnaturally beneath. Blackened blood welled up, hissing faintly as it touched their wings.
The monster howled.
Not in pain.
In panic.
It thrashed violently, claws tearing gouges into the stone as it tried to shake them off. Its movements grew frantic as more butterflies joined, covering its limbs, its neck, its face. Wherever they gathered, flesh blackened and collapsed inward, eaten away layer by layer.
Chunks fell.
Wet, heavy pieces of meat hit the floor with sickening sounds.
The butterflies did not slow.
They worked methodically, stripping curse from flesh, flesh from bone, until the monster's form began to collapse under its own weight. Its jaw snapped uselessly, teeth clacking together as its head sagged, half its face already reduced to writhing residue.
Cultists who remained alive screamed louder now.
Some crawled away, dragging themselves through blood and debris. Others stared in frozen horror, watching the god they had worshiped be dismantled by something small and silent.
Elias felt his stomach lurch again.
His vision swam.
His expression never changed.
The butterflies finished their work.
What remained of the monster collapsed inward, bones folding, cursed matter dissolving into drifting motes that were quickly absorbed. The last sound it made was a wet, choking rasp before even that vanished.
Silence followed.
Not peace.
Just absence.
The butterflies returned, one by one, melting back into the umbrella's surface. The red deepened, darkened, as if saturated with fresh blood. When the last wing disappeared, Elias closed the umbrella gently.
He stood there for several seconds.
Breathing.
Not thinking.
His legs trembled faintly.
Somewhere far above, sirens began to echo.
Elias did not move.
He only stared at the space where the monster had been, nausea still twisting in his gut, heart pounding far too fast for someone who looked so calm.
He wondered, distantly, how many more times he could do this.