It is time.
The circle of acollytes parts to accommodate their master’s entry
In his hands, a package wrapped in cloth and a knife
At the center of the circle, a cauldron.
He beings to unwrap the package.
The chanting heightens in volume.
He sets the items down, rolls up his sleeves, and kneels.
Then he begins to unwrap the package.
An acolyte gasps at the sight of it, swiftly covering their mouth.
The master intones, in gravelly bass, as the cauldron contents swirl
“Hallowed master, potent watcher…”
He points the knife at his wrist.
“Hear now our plea.”
“How the fuck does this goddamn thing work!? If you don’t tell us I’ll gonna end it right fucking here!” The package, a tome, sits atop the cauldron, austere: “Beginner’s Guide to Cyborganize”
A face materializes in the cauldron
“git good nub”, amidst a glossoliac stream of syllables, is clearly audible
The face vanishes
The knife clatters to the ground
“That mother fucker!”
The master’s hands are fists