53: The Inner Circle
“The hell he’s getting away,” growled Theseus, but his shot was blocked when a wall of earth tore up from the ground to absorb it. Theseus was too stunned to react and the man vanished into the labyrinth, but Katrina soon shook their designated warrior out of his daze with a horrifying observation.
“They’re cutting them open!”
The few cultists still standing had made for the sacrifices with their knives. One young man already had a deep slice across his stomach. Phoenie felt revulsion, panic grasping at her chest, when her nerves – and the screams of pain – were dimmed by a sudden flute melody from below. Kaori, crouched next to Joel, was playing an uneven tune filled with wrong notes, but its enchantment was enough to ease the mental strain on her companions.
Then the final horse-headed cultist fell to a final bullet from the unseen assassin.
Rescue those you can. Quickly.
It was finally her turn to do something useful. Phoenie scrambled down the rubble, Andromeda and Katrina close behind her. Theseus remained perched in his sniper spot, ready to provide cover if things made a turn for the worse, but how they could she didn’t want to know.
They passed a pained Joel Gibson, clutching a limp wrist. For a moment Katrina ran to his aid, while Phoenie and Andromeda dashed onward towards the inner circle. The wooden beams bearing the sacrifices grew with each stride until they towered over the young girls. The sacrifices were hung higher than even Theseus could reach! Phoenie was lucky if she could touch their dirt-stained knees.
Blocking out whimpering pleas and gurgling cries, Phoenie entered the circle, stepping over the bodies of the dead, dying, unconscious and barely conscious cultists. If she’d had the time she would have place a boot squarely in the face of the one begging her to continue the ritual, but instead she relieved him of the knife his quivering hands could barely grasp and stepped over to the girl at the centre. At least they could cut her free.
The girl was sobbing, muttering about angels as Phoenie struggled to saw through the ropes binding her limbs. Andromeda knelt down and brushed the girl’s matted, sweaty hair from her face, trying to comfort her with soothing words, but her babbling continued. And then she screamed.
Phoenie didn’t notice until the guitarblade was embedded in the man’s side, a trembling Katrina at the other end. As she pulled the blade free the horse-headed cultist wavered, dropped the knife he’d planned to strike with, and collapsed, his blood spilling out across the circle. Beforehand he’d feigned death or overcome his injuries, but now he was just another dying body – one whose actions had torn away a young girl’s innocence. Katrina’s eyes welled up as his body stiffened. Phoenie didn’t know what to say. ‘Thanks’ didn’t seem appropriate.
Andromeda helped the sacrificial ‘Mother’ stand up and wrapper her in a bloodstained trench coat before guiding her out of the circle. Phoenie wondered what they could do next when a familiar voice, breathless with anxiety, urged them on.
“We’ve got to cut these kids down,” said Ms Anderson, hacking away at the wooden beams with a short sword. Phoenie didn’t have time to ask why she was here – or why Ms Chiltern was hovering around behind her in an over-sized green cloak. They were obviously the other party Faye mentioned.
