26 dicembre 1777 Venezia Amun Badawi has almost bled to death.
Louisa ties another tourniquet. Smiles as she leaves him dangling, dripping blood. The other acolytes undo his gag and force the end of his severed penis into his mouth before re-gagging him.
Swallow or choke. The choice is his.
Ave Satanus
The congregation dip their fingers in bowls of his blood, anoint themselves and smear it over each other.
Dominus Satanus
Frenzied intercourse begins. A demonic race to climax before the sacrifice dies.
No one is to miss out. Everyone will enter – or be entered by – someone else.
Except for the high priest.
His Diabolic Holiness abstains.
Nothing must distract him from the duties he still has to perform. He ignores the writhing and groaning of his followers and raises his cloaked arms. 'It is time, my brothers and sisters. Acolytes, attend the sacrifice.'
Bodies disentangle. Hands grab cloaks and straighten masks.
The high priest winds his way to Amun's pale body.
'Lord of lords, god of gods, we offer this sacrifice in glorification of you.' He raises his left hand. In it is a small pointed blade. 'Grant us your wisdom and divinity.' He plunges the knife into the crown of Amun's head.
'Grant us vision.' He stabs the blade into the middle of the forehead.
Amun snorts the last of his breath through his nostrils.
'Grant us the voices of leadership.' He digs the blade into the throat.
Amun barely feels it. His brain is shutting down.
'Grant us love and understanding.' The knife slides between Arum's ribs and punctures his heart.
'Grant us fortitude and strength of ego.' Entrails pop through a fresh wound in his stomach.
'Grant us self-gratification, promiscuity and fertility.' The priest holds the remaining stump of penis and saws it off.
He shifts his grip on the knife.
Holding the blade skywards, he reaches between the dead man's buttocks towards the end of his spine. 'Finally, lord of all worlds, grant us salvation.' Slowly he drags the blade in a vicious U-cut all the way to Amun's scrotum.
Ave Satanus
The officiator moves away from the mutilated offering.
Ave Satanus
Two acolytes advance with identical ceremonial knives.
Ave Satanus
The knives are passed. The wounds counted out.
Six hundred and sixty-six in total.
The ground is sodden with blood. The corpse hangs like a butchered carcass in an abattoir.
'Cut him down,' shouts the high priest. 'Place him on the altar stone.'
Amun is laid on a slab of red-veined marble stolen from the top of a sarcophagus.
'Bring me his instruments.'
One acolyte carries a silver Etruscan casket. Another, a bucchero bowl. A third, a sculptress's clay modelling knife. A fourth, a small oblong object, wrapped in a long roll of silk.
Even the most devoted followers in the curte grimace as he sets about the grisly task of removing Amun's liver.
A whoosh of gas comes with the deep cut high into the right side of the abdomen. More intestines snake through the wound.
The officiator hacks away unwanted tissue, slices out the liver. He trims veins, fat and other residue and slides the organ into the casket. 'Children, make the offering.'
Wood is thrown on the two fires, bringing them together into one giant, crackling pyre. In the orange light of the spiralling flames the fourth acolyte unfolds the silk wrap and removes a precious silver tablet.
A third of the famed Gates of Destiny.
The engraving of the demon stares up at the high priest.
He kisses his fingertip and slowly traces it over the horned deity and the serpents that fill the precious tablet.
He raises the artefact above his head.
'Behold the true lord, Lucifer, etched in his own precious metal six centuries before the rocking cradle of the Christ child. Great Satan, we pay homage to you. Now for your glorification and for our salvation we dedicate this sacrifice.'
He lowers his head and extends the tablet so it points at the butchered corpse of Amun Badawi. The four acolytes grasp the dead man's hands and feet, then swing him into the roaring flames.