Examination

I had no expectations as I went to the meeting, prepared for anything. At least, that's how I felt, as the Master had said everyone would be there. The five men and Jessica sat around the table, looking serious. Arriving last, it felt as if they were holding this meeting just for me. In the silence, I felt uneasy until I couldn't bear it anymore and began speaking. No words of accusation came out of my mouth. I also didn't ask about the release of the photos. My plan was to reassure them and behave in a way that I believed they perceived me as predictable. I wanted to appear normal again. The only logical behavior from me seemed to be asking about the library and showing a natural, simple interest stemming solely from harmless curiosity.

So I asked, "The Master had promised me that I would learn everything. But first, I needed to gather strength. Please tell me how to do that. What must I do to be able to handle the knowledge of fate?"...

The Uncle spoke very kindly to me and explained that a man needs courage and strength to look into destiny's cards. One could see all the beautiful things that life has in store for them. However, if one's vision is detailed, they can also see what one finds unpleasant, requiring strength for that...Sometimes, one must defy fate as well; otherwise, insight into one's own life is meaningless.

He then wanted to know if I had passed the test, but I knew nothing about any test or what had happened with the five thousand marks that obeyed a growth spell. He mentioned a growth spell? It must be related to African medicine men that I have read about before. I told him the story of the horse race track...

The uncle's words came out sharp and critical. "You are confused, weak, and lacking in faith. Your actions have proven this to be true. If you had strength and a strong spirit, you would have risked everything and come out on top every time..."

"You could have bet on every race and emerged victorious. You missed out on a golden opportunity because of your lack of inner strength. No matter how you would have used the money, it would have grown in value. Instead, you wasted it on trivial pleasures and used it without passion. A person like you is not ready for the wisdom that life could offer. What good would it do you to know such valuable insights when you lack the maturity to handle even the simplest decisions?"

His words made me feel very ashamed. He had a great spirit within him, facing life with a different attitude than mine. I felt small and shabby. Once again, I collapsed internally. I began crying, feeling desperate over my weakness, proving once again that I was a coward. I took his hands and sobbed, admitting he was right.

I asked how he could help me, and how I could grow internally and gain strength. With gentle, comforting words, he stroked my hair and said today was my big chance. Today I could change my life. He wanted to help me because he saw that I was like them. Providence had chosen me to have a lot of strength. I just needed to realize that it didn't matter if the strength was mine or someone else's. My vanity demanded that this power must be mine, but I couldn't grow beyond a certain stage of development with that mindset. He also believed that my parents were to blame for my unhappiness because they made me believe that it was wrong to take something from another person. He saw it differently. If I had the strength to take something from another person, then I had rightfully acquired it and could dispose of it as I pleased without any qualms of conscience.

Tonight, I could experience this through my own experience. The only requirement was that we swear never to speak with anyone, not even amongst ourselves, about what would happen. He was ready to show me how to inherit another's strength. If I wanted to moralize or raise a single objection, then I should leave them forever. I should cut the ties that held us together for eternity.

As he spoke, a solemn atmosphere arose. He was undoubtedly right; I needed to give my life a new direction. I needed more strength than I currently possessed. I couldn't afford moral objections, and honestly, in that hour nothing else mattered anyway. If there was a price to pay, then I wanted to pay it no matter how high it might be.

I felt something significant wanting to enter my life at that moment; without hesitation, I agreed. I also swore not to disclose the secret of transferring power from one person to another.

The light was extinguished. Candles and oil lamps were lit, incense burned, and we stood up. The uncle spoke an oath formula which each repeated six times while looking each present in the eye in turn. It was important that no one avoided their counterpart's gaze while speaking the oath:

"I swear by my life and by my soul never to reveal what fates bring me this night. If I break this sacred oath, my friend, I hereby give you solemn permission to extinguish my life and my soul."

All seven spoke the formula six times each with seriousness and great devotion. It was an uplifting feeling to belong to a community sworn to death and destruction. My body vibrated as if all nerves were set in motion. I was connected to no one else as intimately as those people, whom I loved, admired, hated, and despised from the depths of my soul at the same time.

After the conspiracy ceremony, they extinguished the flames and turned on the electric lights. Someone suggested that they should eat first. Jessica asked who liked which pizza flavor. She noted down the preferences and ordered through the phone from a pizza delivery service to an address in the neighborhood. After hanging up, she left the house.

The uncle and the master gave me short lectures on techniques used by native sorcerers. Such measures were practiced quite naturally in our culture two thousand years ago as well. The Incas were true masters of energy exchange, and now I saw how something like that worked. I supposed I had nothing to fear; everything was for my benefit. Everything was incomprehensible to me. But by then I was used to it. So I let events unfold around me.

I looked forward to the promised increase in power. After a while, Jessica returned with a young man carrying a stack of boxes that smelled deliciously of pizza. The uncle greeted them both, happy that they were finally there. We were all very hungry already. He offered the young man to sit down for a moment while he went to get money. In the meantime, he could have a refreshing drink. The delivery guy accepted gratefully and drank a large glass of an exotic fruit cocktail in two gulps.

A tanned, strong man - probably very athletic, tall, and broad-shouldered - exuding confidence and joy for life, obviously a student earning some extra money on the side, he seemed intelligent and nice. Such a guy must have been successful with women and everything he tried.

The pizzas were transferred onto plates and distributed, and the young man grew tired and fell asleep. Had they poisoned him? I felt horrified. The uncle reassured me that he was only stunned, and we should eat first. Only one person should drive the delivery van away.

We calmly ate the pizzas, cleared away the dishes, and brought the pizza delivery guy to the basement. Our men then tied him to a metal frame in the middle of the cellar room. The frame was made up of twelve metal pipes screwed together in the shape of a cube, about two meters long. The construction looked very stable and was bolted to the floor.

They put strong leather cuffs around our prisoner's wrists and ankles, strapping him to the frame so that he hung in the cube like a crucified person with his legs spread apart. They gagged him before we left the room.

We went back upstairs, where the uncle and master continued discussing Inca and Celtic Druid rituals. They did not go into detail about their practice, only mentioning that they existed and still do, and that they were natural processes performed by priests with secret techniques passed down personally to selected adepts.

They talked about how it was a millennia-old tradition for everything to be done under oath of secrecy, a rule applying for eternity. We then put on loose white nightgown-like robes before returning to the basement where our prisoner awaited us.

By then, he had regained consciousness. We sat around him. The uncle said he belonged to me now, and I could take as much power as I wanted from him. He then handed me a large knife and made an inviting gesture towards the bound young man. I understood it was the same situation I had recently experienced when I had to reveal my perverse side.

Now, I was in a stronger position. This man had to endure what I did back then; everything became clear to me. With great malicious anticipation for the next few hours, during which I could pass on all humiliations, I slowly and enjoyably began playing with the knife on my victim.

When he looked toward me, fear and disbelief sprang from his eyes but were quickly suppressed. It seemed like he was trying to fixate me, showing me that even though he was at my mercy, he was still stronger personality-wise. It was as if he wanted to prevent me from doing what I intended through steady eye contact. In fact, he succeeded in making me feel uncomfortable. I clearly noticed that he handled this situation differently than I did back then.

I took a deep breath and began tearing his clothes apart, which sexually aroused me to the extreme. Piece by piece, I destroyed the last protection he still had through the clothes that covered his nudity and weakness. It was fun for me. I was pleased that the people who witnessed me in the most degrading moments could see that this time I was in control. The time of my triumph had come. I took my time until I cut off the last piece of fabric from his body.

He had a well-trained body, evenly tanned and harmoniously proportioned. He simply looked good. His genitals were strong but not erect. Mine, on the other hand, was fully erect and clearly visible to everyone under the robe we were naked under. When I saw that he was not sexually aroused, memories of my past experiences of this kind came back to me. Back then, I was highly potent, which I felt ashamed of because I perceived it as a weakness. He did not show this weakness. I felt inferior to my victim who was completely helpless in front of me. That's why I hated this unknown young man so much.

I cut across his chest with the knife. He bled, but he seemed to feel no pain even though I had cut deeply. Or he did not show it at all. He did not even flinch. The only reaction was a look around at the audience present, which I interpreted as an invitation to free him from this madman - meaning me. This look expressed incredible arrogance to me. How could a person in such a situation look so cheeky? The message in his eyes got through to me.

Jessica stood up, approached the bound man, looked deeply into his eyes, and gently stroked his arm with a lascivious movement down to his loins. She touched his thigh with her palm and admired his toned body. She looked at him as if she wanted to make love with him. Even this did not cause any reaction in his genitals. He was strong and that's what she admired about him. I boiled with envy and jealousy. She had touched him tenderly and thus showed her admiration for this brave man in front of everyone. She did not even shake hands with me when she left the room. In my petty pride, I felt humiliated by this scene.

Now I wanted to push the man to his limits. I will now break his pride. He too should be humiliated. He too should show himself weak and vulnerable. I would make sure of that.

In blind frenzy, I stabbed him in the arm with the knife. He would have screamed loudly if the gag in his mouth hadn't prevented him. The violent movements he made because of my stab gave me satisfaction. An erotic feeling of strength enveloped me as I discerned the emotions he felt. A sense of greatness arose within me that intoxicated me. I wanted to increase this feeling and enjoy it for a long, long time. I had to ensure that he did not lose consciousness through my torture. I rationed his pain, starting with small pains which I gradually increased. Between each new sadistic surge, I took my time. He needed to learn that every pain I inflicted on him would be more intense, stronger, and more tormenting than the previous one. He should fear between the tortures—panic fear must consume him. His entire thinking must be focused on relief from the torment, but only I determined whether and when he would be freed. I was the only one who knew when the pause between the torments should end and what torture my sick mind had devised for this unfortunate soul. He belonged to me, and I would destroy my property with satisfaction.

So, I began cutting the skin of his feet. I stabbed the tip of the knife under his toenails. I stabbed the blade into his toes from the front and cut open the nails from inside out. He twitched and writhed in his restraints but could not escape the cuts through any movement. Tears ran down his face.

I had broken him.

However, I was not entirely sure if what was reflected in his pupils was not just anger at his helplessness. I prodded around in his wounds with a knife when something unexpected happened. He turned pale, breathed in short gasps, and lost consciousness. He hung in his restraints and did not move. This triggered desperation and anger in me like a spoiled child who could not assert its will. I screamed at him to come back to consciousness immediately. I was beside myself, angry, and slapped him in the face. I gave him one slap after another. I did not stop hitting him in the face. Faster and harder each time. I hit him on the head with an open hand. Even when his senses had returned, I continued hitting him and screaming at him with a shrill voice.

This must have been what despots of ancient times and later eras were like - those who had acquired their absolute power not through battle or bravery, but through inheritance or as a gift of fate. I wanted to see him suffer. I wanted him to experience firsthand what I was doing to him. I wanted to be superior. He could only avoid suffering if I allowed it. How dare he try to escape from pain by losing consciousness? He could only lose consciousness if I allowed it. I became consumed by a power obsession that filled me completely. I felt a sense of power, hatred, and revenge. The world lay at my feet. This strong, brave young man was my sole property. I felt like a god. My wild eye bore into his tortured, panicked gaze. He looked at my face as if he were seeing Satan himself - yes, me - and I would now and here make hell on earth for him. He should suffer for the crime of my weakness and averageness. He should pay for all my shortcomings; he should pay dearly.

This hour was the hour of my victory; he was bleeding, and my originally white garment turned red; my hands were bloody, and probably also my face. I was on the verge of an orgasm as I began to continue to slit my victim open. I stepped on his pierced feet and took hellish pleasure in increasing his pain by shifting more and more weight onto his bleeding feet. He contorted his face and made gurgling sounds, screams that were held back by the gag - this increased my feeling of power. He could not relieve himself of the pain I caused him by screaming; he could not escape my cruelty.

I stood firmly on his battered feet and pressed my hard penis into his genitals to let him know that I took pleasure in his suffering. I wanted to humiliate him and at the same time inflict new pain on him by squeezing his testicles with my cock. I embraced him, brought the blade to his buttocks, played with his anus, and pushed the metal into his sphincter without deeply injuring him, feeling his movement against my penis.

On a whim, I spat in his face and watched as the saliva ran down his cheeks, reminding me of semen. I wanted to absorb this image and have it burned into my memory forever. I never wanted to forget that I had succeeded in leaving the role of the humiliated behind. I wanted to always be aware that even someone stronger, bigger, and more beautiful than me could have something ahead of them, a man who deserves more admiration than me, who was probably better in every way than me. That I could be superior to such a man - that should be my lesson.

Everyone could see it: with pride, I looked at the spectators and actually received approving looks. They sat back, relaxed, and let me do as I pleased in my delusion - no one spoke. They looked friendly. Now there was no stopping anymore. Here I could prove everything to myself and them. I stabbed once again into the blood-soaked victim's anus, now standing behind him. He shouldn't know when the next pain came. I cut into his back, drew figures on his skin, and tore strips of skin from his body. He trembled and shook with pain. I was in a frenzy; not a single thought had room in my head; I was out of control, seeing white flesh under the skin filled me with ecstasy. When I stabbed into his body and blood flowed, I rejoiced with pleasure. I had a sadistic streak, and here I could let my perverse urges run free; I no longer saw my victim as a human being; the slaughter had taken on a life of its own. And I acted as if in a trance. The bloodlust became intense.

I cut off his fingers with slow, deliberate movements, one by one. Occasionally, the wretched man would lose consciousness, and I would take a break or wake him up by pulling clumps of his hair. I discovered that I could bring him back to consciousness after a short recovery period. I stabbed him to make him bleed, putting the knife in his forearm and twisting it until a strong, dark red stream of blood poured out. I licked the wound and drank the blood, taking special pleasure in occasionally pressing on his eyeballs until he lost consciousness and vomited into his gag. I reached into his wounds with my hands and pulled out small pieces of flesh. My penis throbbed the whole time, but I refrained from satisfying myself, wanting to take the feeling of ecstasy to the absolute peak. I occasionally lifted my cloak to show the others my massively swollen genitals, feeling proud, horny, and wild. His penis never got hard, even when I rubbed against him, and I felt insulted and punished him by cutting off his foreskin with a quick slice. I also cut open his glans, creating a particularly beautiful flow of blood. I don't know how many hours I indulged in torturing him to increase my pleasure.

Time flew by for me, but for this person, or what was left of him, the tormenting process must have felt like an eternity. The mixture of pain and horror that I inflicted on him was without any hope of an end, but with the certainty that he would never return to the life he once led.

I had to destroy any spark of hope within him. Perhaps he still believed for moments that he could at least escape with his life intact. But then he would have to live mutilated and crippled for the rest of his existence. I was taking everything from him now. I wanted to take away his family; he should have no children. He should never again experience the joy of loving a woman. With gleaming eyes, I celebrated his emasculation. He knew what would happen next. I grabbed his testicles and squeezed my hand tightly around them. He had been sweating all this time, but now it seemed like even more sweat was flowing from him, as if awakening strong resistance and a fighting spirit that had been suppressed by severe pain before.

I took my time with castration, eventually slicing open his scrotum lengthwise between his testicles and removing his gonads with my fingers. The slimy interior of the scrotum looked disgusting. I ate his testicles, biting into them and swallowing them down. Before me hung a tortured eunuch. With a sense of triumph, I locked eyes with him. Even though I physically emasculated him, I still discovered the brave man in his gaze. Deep inside, he was a man full of courage. I wanted to take everything from him, and I would take everything from him. I still saw in him the ability to love, even though he hated me. But he lived and was strong through and through in his essence. Even the loss of his testicles did not change that. Now I would give him the rest. I stabbed into his chest; the knife plunged deep as I looked into eyes wide with terror - the expression of a person who saw death standing at the threshold as a flash of lightning flared up...Jessica was back again; it was unclear how long she had been there or if this was her first photo taken amidst my frenzy. It didn't matter to me whether she took photos for potential blackmail; in my euphoria, such thoughts eluded me entirely as a voice urged, "He's dying, quickly, now."

One of the men who had been patiently watching jumped up and snatched the knife from me. I thought they wanted to prevent me from carrying out the final consequence of my actions. Again, I screamed like an unruly child whose toy was being taken away from them. But my scream choked as the man made a deep cut across the dying man's abdomen. He grabbed my wrists and forcefully pushed my hands into the hot, gaping wound.

______

My heart raced in a lustful blood frenzy as ecstasy peaked when I grasped the pulsating heart of the still-living man and tore it out of his body, consuming it while it trembled and vibrated within my grasp. As soon as I swallowed the first bite, my semen sprayed into my blood-soaked garment. Like a sleepwalker, they led me out of the room to the bathroom where they stripped off my robe and put me under the shower. One man lathered me up thoroughly and rinsed me off before dressing me in another robe in silence. At that point, we moved to the living room for drinks. My high lasted long, with a strange feeling of confidence and strength spreading through me - feeling healthy, capable, deeply satisfied, comfortable, and very good overall.

The uncle was the first to speak after a long silence, which I enjoyed this time. He noted that the body was not decomposing as quickly as he had expected, and for that, he was grateful. I could have stay in the basement. Meanwhile, Jessica and the master needed to handle the cart and ensure our victim wasn't forgotten. He said, "Our victim." We were all in the same boat.

His way of distributing tasks and giving orders made it clear to me that something like this had happened before in this circle. Jessica and the master left the house. I went back to the basement with the man assigned to me. The sight that greeted us was gruesome. What I did there far exceeded a normal person's imagination. A mutilated corpse hung on a rack, covered in blood and slashed open. Everything was full of blood, with severed fingers and toes lying around along with pieces of flesh.

This was once a strong, lively young man whose future was suddenly cut short; he had suffered incredibly. But now he had peace, and I had his heart. This person lived within me; what gave me power for evil was once his strength...

We hung up the lifeless, heavy body. My accomplice brought two motor knives and a jigsaw as we painstakingly dismembered the corpse. We carefully separated flesh from bones, and it smelled disgusting. We put the flesh and innards in a plastic tub and placed the bones in a smaller tub.

The moment when I separated the head from the torso was particularly gruesome. The head lay between two plastic tubs with two wide-open dead eyes staring at me. The uncle's seemingly approving remark that he had experienced situations like this before but never seen someone commit their first murder in this way hadn't lessened what my shameful act would mean for my future life.

The person whom I killed, and whom I cruelly tortured for my own pleasure, will now haunt me for the rest of my life. He has become a part of me both physically and mentally. He gave me his strength and now exists within me in a terrible way. I feared the nights when his soul would overtake me, just as he was unable to escape from me in his final hours. Now, I am at his mercy, forever bound together to torment each other with hatred. However, I am worse off than him because I live with soul-wrenching agony, knowing that I am responsible for his demise. He simply fell into a trap from which there was no escape; his downfall was his failure to anticipate where his path would lead him.

Those who could read in the book of fate were immune to such traps because they knew what lay ahead of them. I too have only recently learned that there is always someone bigger from whom there is no escape. We ground the flesh through a grinder, we sawed the bones except for the skull into matchbox-sized pieces, and it was an unimaginably time-consuming task to dismember the body into such small parts. The gruesome task of removing soft tissues from the skull bones fell to me.

Although horrified and disgusted, I did not vomit. I worked diligently and tirelessly to erase any traces of my heinous actions. We threw bone pieces into an electric grinder, mixed shavings with ground meat, packed them into small freezer bags, and placed them in the freezer. Finally, we thoroughly cleaned the room, which took us a long time, even though everything smooth surfaces lost all sense of time after long, arduous work. The body was disposed, and only the clean flesh boiled down remained. My helper said we would still need it.

We showered again and put on our regular clothes. I was exhausted and felt empty. However, not tired, just empty. I couldn't even say whether this feeling of emptiness was pleasant or not. It was the feeling you have when you achieve a goal after a great effort without ever having thought about what you wanted to do beyond that goal.

By now, it was broad daylight outside and others were sitting down to eat. We joined them and ate with them. We chatted casually about this and that. No one spoke about the events of the past few hours. I also didn't ask what had happened to the car or what else they had done to cover up the murder.

I was aware that I was dealing with professionals who took no risks. That's why Jessica had ordered pizzas from a different address where she probably intercepted the delivery person and lured him to us under false pretenses. I trusted that they were well-prepared this time as well and had a perfect plan.

The uncle said I now had enough strength within me to wrestle secrets from fate itself. But first, I needed to rest. I should go home, get some sleep, and come back whenever I wanted to. Someone would be there for me.