Fading

Chapters

• 0:13 Cold Open And Book Plug
• 0:48 Stakes Set: Zack And Warren
• 1:45 Coffin Ride To Ipswich
• 2:54 A Voice In The Dark
• 5:01 Gagged For Sacrifice
• 7:02 Cassandra’s Origin Unveiled
• 10:35 The Coffee Shop Confrontation
• 12:15 Alex’s Message And The Chase
• 13:40 Warren’s Gambit With The Blade
• 16:10 Cassandra Cut Down The Drain

Transcript

SPEAKER_01: 0:13

Hi everyone, and I hope you had a blessed Christmas. Sorry I missed last week. It's been a bit difficult here, and I had other obligations that ate up my time. Before we begin tonight, let me remind you that my book, Acolyte, is on sale on Amazon. And if you love this podcast, you are sure to love this book. It is a standalone story. I won't, you know, deny that, but it does connect to the characters and stories told here. Anyway, let's get back to this story, and here's the praying for a better 2026. Thank you. A wounded detective. Dragged, bleeding, deposited in an uncouth manner by an ancient evil called Cassandra. A frightened young man. Tortured, alone, and out of options. Is there really any hope for either? Or should Zack take Silas's advice and give up? Let us peer beyond the veil that covers our senses, to look again to the darkness that Tentacle Tuesday holds. But before we do that, let me remind you that this podcast may contain images of graphic violence, child endangerment, adult situations, and naughty, salty language. Now, now to the cemetery in Ipswich. Or to the coffee shop in West Hollow as we delve into each breathtaking minute of chapter 8. Fading. Zack felt the coffin being slid out from the back of the vehicle and onto a cart. He rolled himself a little until he could see the red felt barely visible thanks to some air holes drilled through the lid. He had given up using his fist to gain someone's attention. It was clear there was no one willing to help him. Now, trying to get an idea of his whereabouts, he did his best to listen to his surroundings. Fortunately, Silas had stopped singing about 30 minutes ago as he pretended to sleep. He wouldn't lie, he was scared. And as he laid there, he thought about the ramifications of how selfish and stupid he had been these last few days, which only made it more difficult for him to ask for help. Would God even listen to someone like him? He had used dark magic to obtain something instead of waiting for the right someone. Yes, he could offer some excuses. He was lonely. His stepmom was abusive, his dad had vanished, and now, now knowing the awful truth, his dad was dead. Zach had not served his mom's memory well, and he began to wonder, what if he had continued to go to church? What if he had dove into prayer instead and God's word? Would he be here now? They continued to roll him across a gravel path, and the coffin shook, bumping him into the sides as it rolled. He managed to pick up the scent of dry leaves, that, and some various bird songs that only convinced him that he was now in the countryside. He caught the shadow of one of his captors, whoever or whatever was wheeling him, stumped. Something between a rotten sack of potatoes or a dead skunk. Either way, it wasn't pleasant. Occasionally, he would hear this man Silas give commands. Up here, to the right, along that back row! No, no, no! The big one with the iron door! Stupid! If you drop him and damage him! That was good to know. They weren't going to kill him. They needed him alive. The light from the outside began to fade as it was clear he was being placed inside of a dark room. But as he lay there waiting, he felt something, a warmth, of sense of someone being there with him in the darkness. Zach, a voice called to him. With his current and previous experiences, he was hesitant to answer. Do not be afraid. That phrase triggered something in him. He had heard it before. Many times, in fact, someone once told him that it was written 365 times in the Bible. Easy for you to say, he replied, holding in his anger and frustration. The voice did not reply. Had he imagined it, or had he pissed it off? Whatever the voice might have been, that thought deepened his depression. How could he continue to be so stupid? He had seen some pretty wild things, things that would shake anyone to the core, and here he was being sarcastic with a disembodied voice. Idiot. Okay, he finally said to the darkness. I won't be afraid. I'll trust you. Still, no answer. Then the sounds of heavy chains could be heard being dragged across the floor. Open it! And make sure he doesn't get away. No one responded, but soon the lid of the coffin was being opened, and the pale, blind eyes of the Men of Mud were looking down at him, their stench reaching his nostrils, making him want to vomit. Next were the oversized hands that descended onto him, shoving something into his mouth while their cold, wet, gritty hands pulled him upwards. He tried to spit whatever was out of his mouth, but they quickly held his mouth closed and they proceeded to gag him, making it hard to breathe as he could feel himself on the verge of hurling. Coughing, sputtering behind the gag, Silas turned back to the men of mud. Clear his mouth before he chokes to death! Bring some of that hot zan and pour it down his throat to ease the sacrifice. Sacrifice? Now wait, Zack thought. I thought they needed me alive. He started to struggle against them as they removed the gag and cleared his mouth. He bit down on one of their fingers. That was a mistake. The muddy ooze filled his mouth, a sour, squirming ooze. What the fuck? You'd be better off giving in to your fate boy, Silas sneers. Why are you doing this? Because you were made special. If anything, you should blame him. He points to the sky, as if pointing towards heaven. If you hadn't been made a demon eater, none of this would be happening. A demon what? Eater. Don't worry, it didn't happen. We stole that from you. Now we will use that unique body of yours to house our master. Strip him! Anoint him! Oh, and before I forget, regag him! The creatures moved in and tore off everything. Silas then approached with a bowl of blue and black liquid. He started painting Zack who could only stand there cold, naked, and afraid. If a coffee house could or wanted to vomit, this coffee house definitely would. The mere emergence of Cassandra via the pipes and out onto the bathroom floor, all while carrying the body of Warren Stevens, did not serve it well. Yes, Warren had done everything he could to keep an evil entity out. He'd even borrowed some holy artifacts and set them up in a pattern that would offer protection in most cases. But Cassandra was not most cases. Cassandra is something old, born at the dawn of creation. She was made of the afterbirth of Ada, daughter of Cain. Ekmalak, unable to create on his own, took what was meant as waste, a byproduct, and infused it into a dying descendant of his own, Nama, who had been struck with an infliction that was rotting her physical form. She was fed that afterbirth, and a new human demon hybrid came to pass, not born of anything, but spliced together by Ekbonlach's force of will and dark desires. It was ultimately his blood and his spirit that made Cassandra tick. It allowed her human form, it allowed her unpassable beauty, but even then the form would burn through a human body quickly because she was full of hate for anything living or born of man. Thus Cassandra began to seek new skins, new forms. Her ultimate goal was to find a human form that was compatible with her own. She thought that she had done that with Maggie or Nicole. She had killed their mother, seduced their father, and proceeded to feed them her blood, all to have it fail. Undone by a human boy named Jonah. And then this. This human had done something worse still. He had killed her. Something thought impossible. She had only been managed to be brought back by chance. Mark, who she had killed. Mark, who she had discarded as a nobody, had been reanimated by Silas by order of Malus. They realized that Mark had her blood inside him. And that little bit of blood, that tiny bit of life, like a small cinder catching paper and making it burn, she was able to take over his corpse. His scientific mind, it was what saved her. Through him, she was able to find a suitable girl. A dying girl, a forgotten girl, left to rot in an insane asylum for over 40 years. He took her blood and fused it with this dying girl. Ironically, Casey had been meant for this, but Devin Williams, in his eagerness to become a demon, damaged a girl. But now, now she would serve a new purpose. She gave birth to a new Cassandra. She gave birth to mankind's end, starting with this hated man, Warren Stevens. She secreted him out and onto the floor where he lay mostly lifeless. Ah, a shame the little miss isn't home. I presume if I wait. A phone begins to ring as Warren heaves himself across the floor, pulling himself towards his office, towards his desk. The answer machine picks up, drawing away Cassandra's attention.

unknown: 10:27

You have reached the way we're at the coffee shop. Where are we at the moment?

SPEAKER_00: 10:32

Please leave a message. Dad, it's Alex. They've got Zack. And they're headed to the old cemetery in Ipswich. I'm in pursuit. Dad, you were right.

SPEAKER_01: 10:45

They plan on using him for a vessel for Cassandra out of annoyance shot another tendril across the room and into the phone. That accursed girl. You had to rescue her. If you had just left things alone, you wouldn't be suffering right now. She said, turning back to where she had deposited the man, but he was gone. But a trail of blood and goo made it more than easy enough to follow. Still have enough strength to try and run, hmm? How pathetic. I never suspected that the man who drove me to death, to the waste, was really a mere coward. She followed the smear on the floor. In just a few minutes, Warren had crawled up onto a quaint desk in a small office. But this chase, if you could call it that, was over. Warren lay lifeless across his desk. Cassandra approached triumphantly. She would lift his body, snap his neck, and hang him on the wall like a trophy. Warren silently listened and waited. He needed the time this perfectly. He had hoped she wouldn't notice. The spiritus' day lay under him. He could feel it pulsating as he gripped the hilt harder. He had been told by McCall that he should never touch or use his blade. This one, because she spent so much time in between existence, would not mix well with your spiritual makeup. If anything, Warren, it may kill you on the spot. But it hadn't killed him. If anything, he could feel his strength returning. He would play possum just a little longer. Cassandra's cold, wet hand slid down around his neck. Ah, you're still alive, she growled. Let me tell you something, Detective. She starts to lift him in the air. Warren can feel her grip tightening around his neck, making it impossible to breathe. With you out of the way, there's nothing left to protect that girl. While I would have loved to have seen the look on her face when she found your rotting corpse, I instead will make haste to join Silas. He's been looking for a reward, and Alex should make a nice tasty treat for him. Don't you think? Her eyes were so focused on his, on causing him pain, that she didn't see the sword. She felt his body go taut and presumed that he was struggling to breathe, which he was. But in reality, he was pulling back his arm, the blade aimed at her center. It wouldn't be enough to kill her. He didn't have that type of strength, but it would slow her down. Warren smiled for a second, choking out, You underestimate us, Cassandra. The hot, piercing tip of the blade punctured her as he drove it forward, ramming it through. She dropped him instantly, clutching at the wound. Her hand burned at the touch of the sword, flesh melting off the bone where she touched it. Warren slowly got up. He wobbled over to Cassandra, the hilt sticking out of her stomach, the stench and wound grotesque. She looked at him in shock as he pulled it out of her. This time it was her turn to crawl across the floor, pulling herself, trying to escape whatever this new blade was. It did not burn like the Eos Delektion. Nor did she sense it. The blade itself seemed to be an anomaly. Warren followed her, the blade hanging at his side. He hated that he could barely keep up. He hated that he barely had any strength. He could see Cassandra's arm grasping onto the edge of the drain on the floor. Lifting the blade, he aimed for the wound. Give your dark master a message for me, Cassandra, he said, as she was already congealing, beginning to slip away. Tell him I'm not finished yet. The blade came down, severing her in half. The upper part slid into the drain while the remaining part smoldered, leaving pieces of bone amidst a black pick. Warren falls to his knees, his body on fire. He had failed to get Silas. If anything he had done, he had gotten himself mortally wounded. Now he would need to find a way to get this blade to Alex. She'd need it. Double checking his pockets, but he still had his car keys. He stumbled his way to the exit. A ghostly figure caught his eyes in the mirrors hung behind the coffee bar. Who? He turned and looked, staring at the figure across the room. It was no figure. It was him. A strange light now surrounded him and through him. The blade hadn't killed him, but it was clear it was doing something else. And as a result, Warren Stevens was fading. I see. He didn't panic. He opened the door and climbed into his car and set the aggression to the GPS. Lord, please, let me make it. He would put his entire will into that objective. Alex needed him, and he would not fail her. Zack, stripped, prepared for sacrifice, Warren, a mere ghost of his former self, using a sword meant only for Alex. How will this resolve? Will the detective make it to Alex before he vanishes? Or will Alex face Silas, Cassandra, and whatever Zack may become all by herself? As we turn to the next chapter, which apparently has nothing to do with any of that. Instead, we rejoin our old friends Maggie and Jonah in chapter 9. One step behind.