Chapter 24: The Ritual
The grand ballroom of the estate was a masterpiece of light and sound. DI Miles Corbin, standing in the heart of it, felt the world slow to a crawl. He saw Leo Croft, the perfect canvas. He saw The Puppeteer, the smiling artist. He saw his path to them blocked by a hundred oblivious souls. His earpiece was dead. He was alone.
He started to move, to fight his way through the crowd, but it was already too late.
A sharp feedback squeal cut through the music, making the guests wince. The lights in the ballroom dimmed, all except for a single, harsh, theatrical spotlight that snapped onto the main stage. The music died. The exits slammed shut with the heavy, echoing thud of magnetic locks. The guests murmured, confused, thinking it was part of some poorly judged performance.
The Puppeteer walked calmly onto the stage, holding a microphone. His voice, now amplified, was as smooth and charming as ever.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "Thank you for attending this very special gala. You were invited to witness the end of a career. Instead, you will bear witness to the beginning of a god."
Panic began to ripple through the crowd. On stage, The Architect and The Pathfinder emerged from the wings, dragging a struggling Leo Croft and a defiant, spitting Dame Eleanor Swift with them. They forced them into two chairs that had been placed centre stage. The Oculist and The Echo took up positions on either side, like silent, dutiful acolytes.
In the security room, DC Harris watched on his monitors, his hands clenched into fists. His betrayal had not bought him a quiet resolution. It had bought him a front-row seat to the apocalypse. He saw Corbin trapped in the crowd, trying to push forward, a man trying to hold back the tide with his bare hands.
"We are artists," The Puppeteer continued, his voice resonating through the terrified hall. "And every artist knows that to create something truly beautiful, you must first destroy. We have gathered the perfect components for our masterpiece, and now, we shall see them harvested."
He turned to Leo Croft. "Let us begin with Structure."
He nodded to The Architect. The hulking brute stepped forward, grabbed Leo's arm, and with a sickening, wet crunch that was amplified by the microphone, snapped the bone. Leo screamed, a raw, agonised sound that was drowned out by the first true wave of screams from the audience.
"Instinct," The Puppeteer announced calmly as The Pathfinder pressed his gut-hook knife to Leo's throat, silencing his screams. "The will to survive, so potent, yet so fragile."
He gestured to the large screens behind him. They flickered to life, showing Chloe Sterling's vibrant Instagram profile. "Identity," he said. The profile was deleted before their eyes. He then showed Ben Carter's Strava account. Deleted. Jack Thorne's hospital staff page. Deleted. He looked at Leo. "Yours is next."
Corbin was fighting, shoving, screaming for people to get down, but he was just one man in a panicked, stampeding herd. He was helpless, forced to watch the nightmare unfold.
"Perception," The Puppeteer said, his voice soft. The Oculist stepped forward, his Graefe knife glinting in the spotlight. He tilted Leo's head back.