"Raise your voices, O Children, for now cometh our hour! Praise to The Reveller, and praise to our soon-to-be Child of Lust!"

The sonorous voice of Jordai bounces off the small room's walls, reverbrating in my skull like the city's bell. Beautiful lines of molten gold trace the compact man's torso as he strides across his stage, back and forth, back and forth, waving a heavy twin-bladed axe from left to right; its twin, still stuck in the sacrifice's flesh, raises a counterpoint of frantic, pleading screams that are left buried beneath a chanted chorus. My own voice, too, is lost to the psalm, but in a way that finally makes me feel like I'm a part of something.

The front rank of cultists, their bodies utterly bare except for silken masks across their faces, kneel down to present their bodies to the great fiend known as The Reveller, whose spirit cries out for a new host so it can re-enter the mortal world and lay waste to the filthy order that mankind insists on following. As is only just for a demon of this magnitude, their rebirth shall be heralded by droplets of blood falling like rain upon their supplicants and praises wrung out from the tortured flesh of heathens.

The poor sap on the sacrificial altar lets out one final, agonized scream before arching their back, as if their body was being pulled upwards by some great force. A vaguely humanoid face forms from the heavy incense swirling around the room, opening its fang-filled maw to allow a faint stream of silver light coming from the sacrifice to enter; a serpent-like tongue flickers out from the shadowy figure when the light finally fades, drinking in the fear and awe from the assembled cultists.

Jordai forcefully yanks the axe from the victim's chest before clanging the heavy pair together in a shower of blood. "Yes, this is our time! Let the Child of Lust be chosen, and The Reveller come forth!"

A cultist on the front row stands up and begins convulsing. Long brown hair erratically waves around through the air, hands twitch at their sides, and just like the sacrifice, their back arches as the leering face in the twisting smoke stares down at them. Our chant falters for a second when all notice the look of malicious contentment on the face, whose tongue once more flickers out to touch the cultist in the direct center of their forehead.

Thunder booms, the whole world seems to shake, the scent of blood becomes so strong it threatens to choke the air from my lungs; yet even still my voice, like all the others', erupt into a psalm of celebration in words we cannot understand. When I can finally see straight, the song has ended, allowing me to look up at the altar where the Child of Lust towers over us all.

Though I say tower, the woman chosen is actually quite short, rotund even. Full breasts still splattered with blood, hair unkempt, and now an image of a demonic claw burned into their chest right above the heart. Red eyes, so vivid you could imagine fire trapped behind their glassy cage, are set above a gentle and matronly smile that's so teasingly familiar...

Before I can stop myself, it feels like words are torn out of my aching throat. "Sister... is that you?"

Those blazing orbs turn my way and the smile warps into a condescending sneer. The Reveller's voice is like a mixture of gentle falling rain and the rasp of steel against stone as they speak, "You stupid girl, claiming kinship with me? You forget your station. I think it best if I aid you in better understanding the one you claim to worship."

Yet as their hand rises, beginning to shift into something else, another convulsion wracks their frame. Thick, black bile pours out their mouth with a disgusting retch and the red eyes disappear, replaced by bloodshot green that I most assuredly recognize. Zenovia's voice, only slightly scratchy from the whole ordeal of the night, carries a tinge of confusion as she asks, "Little Liz, what are you doing here? You're supposed to be at home!"

"That was my question! You told me you were going to a merchant's meeting in the next town over!"

Zenovia takes a moment to steady herself before climbing down from the altar, scanning the room as the other members of the Cult of Revelry begin to stir at the sound of voice. It's only know that, following her gaze, I see the devastation around us. The small cave we had been using for the ritual, some relic of an ancient barbarous civilization, had collapsed utterly to smother most of the cult. Bodies lie broken under tons of rubble, and others are surrounded by pools of blood that slowly grow as their trapped sources waste away from mortal wounds. A few of the more lucky cultists still clutch shattered limbs, limping their way to The Reveller's new host.

I have somehow survived without much injury, though whether this was some twist of fate or unconscious boon of Zen's unconscious mind protecting me, I can't tell. Hell, I can't even tell if what I'm seeing is actually real or a fragment of my broken mind, since this could all be some sick dream thought up as I die in real life.

Big sister's smile is as warm as it could ever be in reality though, and she steps forward to cup my cheek in one hand. "Oh Elizabeth, why would you ever... No, that's not important. You need to leave, now, before-"

A burst of mad laughter interrupts Zen's words, and her eyes once more morph into a pair of ruby-red orbs. "How precious, a cute little sister right in my clutches from the outset. Mayhaps this is a sign my new conquest shall finally succeed," the Reveller says in that unnatural, fragmented voice.

Another convulsion. "Don't even think about it, you disgusting fiend. I will tear our body apart before I let you touch her."

"If you think yourself competent enough to stop me, do so. A hundred years is not so long a wait, and I'll have your shattered soul to entertain me in the demon world for all that time."

"Oh, I'll follow you into the darkest hellhole you crawled out from to make certain neither of us ever escape again."

The other cultists arrive in our little circle of protection, unmarked by falling stones or burning magic, to find their chosen host madly arguing with herself, the two wills inside Zenovia's body struggling for supremacy. A much deeper voice suddenly booms out, "Great Reveller, are you with us once more?"

The succubus inside my sister finally manages to wrestle away control, their fiery eyes latching onto Jordai as he stumbles out of the darkness. "Hm, what is this now? Are you the one responsible for my offerings and followers greeting my return?"

Jordai the Oppulent runs a hand along his frayed robes, though he himself is untouched by injury; I suppose his magic protected him from the cave-in. "I am the Master of this cult, O magnificent fiend. Joyous is your return, and I would-"

"Shut up, already. I don't care to hear the prattle all your mortals lavish upon your betters in hopes they find you appealing. I have been given new life, and there is destruction to commence! Let us not waste words," the Reveller responds, and as we all watch, my sister's body begins to change. She grows taller and the flesh begins to stretch, becoming so slender and graceful that it no longer seems to have come from a human. Jagged horns erupt with a spray of blackish blood and reach up to the ceiling, and a long tail snakes down from their spine, its barbed tip scraping against the floor. A snake-like tongue emerges to lick at new fangs, and the predatory gesture forces many of the cultists around her to back away in fear.

I, however, step forward with clenched fists. "You don't want to waste words? Fine then, I demand you let me speak to my sister!"

The Reveller laughs, the sound a crude mashup of beautiful chimes and horrid wailing. "I admire bravery and devotion, child, but only if it suits my cause. Otherwise, 'tis a feeble and foolish thing that causes naught except annoyance. You shall make an appetizing first meal, such that when I finish drinking yo-"

Before our eyes, The Reveller gives a wrathful shriek as her body reverts back to my sister's, all trades of demonic corruption vanishing except for the charred claw that now stands out on her chest. She sways for a moment, clutching at her head, and shouts at everyone who surrounds her, "Begone from my presence! I must speak with Jordai and my sister alone."

Most of the cult breaks away, already pushed to the breaking point by The Reveller's presence and their wounds, while the remaining few wait only until the Cultmaster nods his acceptance before they, too, go running off into the night. Jordai, for his part, remains stonefaced as he looks at Zenovia, no hint that would give away any of his thoughts on the unprecedented rebellion of my sister.