Vinium Sabbathi

There was a room… very dark… no door barring its entrance… or maybe there was… the room was livid…. What’s that scent? That sound? That light?

What is this diabolical congregation?

The Mule entered the room with these thoughts in hopes of joining the Divine Cult.

The Mule had heard a lot about the group… they were famous for their nefarious activities, demonic capabilities and occult eccentricities. Every Animal in the Human Herd wished to be a part of them, but then not everyone can… there was no such thing as an induction ceremony, or an admission ritual… if you were a part of the cult, you’d knew… if you weren’t, you could just hope…

Inside the room, The Mule stood tame stuck to one corner… his eyes traversed across all that was visibly discernible in his vicinity… his ears pummelling to the sounds of doom metal that was roaring with insurmountable brawn… and that scent… it was nauseating yet invigorating at the same time… The Mule knew he was trapped in their world… but then… he had asked for it…

At a distance his eyes fell on the image of the first cultist… a silhouette of a tall lean man oscillating his head in a synchrony… indifferent to the surroundings his head kept swaying… The Mule went near for a closer observation… he saw the man had no face, only tufts of hair arising from the head touching the toes…

The Faceless Enigma held a guitar in his hand… strumming it with maddening ferocity... he kept strumming till his nails broke, his fingers lacerated and painting blood athwart the face of the guitar… yet he still played… the faceless enigma kept playing…

Moving on he saw the Second cultist… sitting peacefully on a chair, head facing the ceiling, totally enveloped in the aura of the room… he held a dagger in the shape of a Caduceus in his left hand, a tattered Stethoscope across his neck and the words ‘HEALER’ branded on his forehead… As The Mule came close, The Frantic Healer jabbed him with his dagger causing a cut on his forearms… The Mule fell on the ground… the healer rushed to him with his Stethoscope and very politely said…

“Let Me Heal You”

Then the healer got into tantrum of laughter… endless maniacal laughter…

The Mule was breathing heavily now, he had not predicted such mystical sightings and experiences… and that scent it was still there… Unfortunately The Mule stumbled across another cultist… the Third…

Another tall figure but this one was lying inanimate on a bed… He was not breathing yet his eyes were wide open and blinking… he had a crown residing on his head with the Greek inscriptions “α” and “τζ” scribed on it… in Dark Cimmerian Black…

Cobwebs covered half his body, bugs and insects had made a breeding ground. Yet still The Sloth Emperor didn’t move a muscle to clear the dirt, to show any sign of life … The Mule was curious to read the inscriptions on the crown so he went near the emperor…

“Alpha Tau Zeta… that’s AJ in Greek” The Mule thought. Further, there was something else inscribed below the “A” and “J”… which read…

“The Emperor of Sloth, of wine, and weed…

… Will rise solely, when the brothers need”

The lifeless figure of the emperor was eerie and unnerving. The Mule ran to the nearest person he could see in that dark room… and yes… sadly for The Mule, it was the fourth cultist…

A thin lifeless being… the epitome of slenderness and sadness… pale white face with big inquiring eyes… he held a basket of voluptuous juicy mangoes in his hand…

He looked hungry and starved but just wasn’t content with the scrumptious mangoes he had in his vicinity… he did not want them…

“These… are… so common” he whispered in The Mules ears, “I… will… not eat them”

Then The Mangoman dashed to a nearby chair murmuring his last words again and again… there lay a set of sewing tools… The Mangoman picked the needle up… placed it against his lips… and what followed made The Mule shiver in disgust and dread…

The Mule wanted to escape now, his eyes seeking any closest exit… out of this possessed place… this accursed, fiendish panorama…

Just then he heard a voice…

“Hey… you… come here”

“Don’t Worry… I’ll help you out”

A grim and low-toned voice... The Mule was at first hesitant but the alluring and manipulative accent of the man had The Mule encapsulated.

As The Mule came closer, he saw the fifth cultist. Ruffled up hair… wrinkled face with eyes as red as blood itself, in fact he had no eyes, his orbital fracture had blood gushing through it… he was smoking a pot the size of a tree… a miasma of smoke engulfed The Red Devil… as he spoke…

“Come…take a drag… Mule”

He laughed, sitting beside that ginormous pot, blowing thick and heavy clouds of smoke, he laughed. The other four also joined the Red Devil… in that demonic laughter…

“This is a madhouse… a fucking madhouse”

The Mule finally was able to find the exit where a tall, dark man stood stalwart in perfect peace. He looked as normal as any other man, a sly smirk traversed across his face, staring at The Mule who looked back with awe.

“I was waiting for you” he said.

“Who are you?’ The Mule asked.

“I am the sixth of the order… I am called ‘The Sage’” he replied.

“But you look so… ordinary… so normal…” The Mule asked.

“I might look normal… but I am truly, the only human on this planet that can tolerate and enjoy the companionship of the men you just met… a talent, you must admit, is surely not ordinary” The Sage replied, “I keep them in touch with reality… you see… they can be quite wayward sometimes”

“… Ok ok… just move now… I need to get away from this… this… occult sorcery…”

“I am afraid you can’t leave” The Sage replied.

“Why not???” The Mule screeched in fear.

The Sage replied…

“You see… when you get into one of these groups… there is only a couple of ways you can get out…”

“One… is Death”

“Other… is Mental Institution”

                                                        [In the honour of Partners in Crime]