The Autopsy
( 5 )
(Tw: Graphic Autopsy scene. Includes medical gore, a deceased person, and descriptive clinical diagnosis.)
The morgue smelled like ethanol, cold stone, and secrets.
Johannes Cabal stood in silence at the head of the steel autopsy table, staring down at Katherine Bishop’s body. She looked smaller now—without breath, without fire. As if death had stolen her size as well as her soul.
He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves with the kind of meticulousness that had nothing to do with vanity and everything to do with ritual. Precision mattered. Respect mattered. Especially when the body belonged to her.
Kass stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, blood still drying on his knuckles. His face was set like stone, but his eyes hadn’t stopped moving. They hadn’t stopped pleading.
Cabal didn’t look up.
“You don’t have to stay.” he said quietly.
“I’m not leaving.”
A small nod. “Very well.”
Cabal pressed the recording rune on the wall. The arcane glyph glowed pale blue. A soft chime echoed. The room adjusted—lights sharpening to surgical clarity.
“Autopsy log, October twenty-second. Subject: Katherine Bishop, age thirty-three. Time of death: approximately one hour prior, during observed cardiac event. Subject suffered acute myocardial failure—suspected end-stage cardiomyopathy.”
His gloves snapped into place.
“Subject had long-term exposure to demonic influence. Also present: high concentrations of ethanol, amphetamines, and pain suppressants in bloodstream. Preliminary conclusion: death was not a singular event, but a convergence of progressive cardiac deterioration, substance abuse, and occult parasitism.”
Another breath. Then the scalpel.
The first incision broke skin with a wet sound. Cabal moved efficiently—sternum to abdomen, parting the layers with practiced ease. But his jaw clenched slightly when the ribcage gave more easily than it should have.
“Bone fragility noted. Severe tissue wasting. Indicative of long-term internal strain. Muscle mass is diminished. Signs of stress far beyond normal degradation.”
He peeled back the pericardial sac, exposing the heart. He paused.
“Cardiomegaly. Late-stage.” He touched it gently, reverently. “Dilated ventricles. She was failing slowly. Probably for months.”
Cabal lifted the heart from its cavity. As he weighed it on the hanging scale, his eyes narrowed.
“Exceeds expected weight by nearly forty percent.”
He slit it open. What came out wasn’t just blood—it was sludge. Congealed, tar-dark, laced with threads of black grit.
“Sulfuric ash.”
He leaned close.
“Infernal transmutation—intentional. Blood altered by pact magic. Demonic ash fused into myocardial tissue. Not residue—this was metabolized.”
He moved to her arms next. A lightstone passed over the veins, illuminating faint, sigil-like burns—barely visible to the human eye.
“Subdermal rune scarring. Mephistophelean binding marks. Evidence of . . .energy draw?”
Then Cabal moved to her shoulders. Her back. Her thighs. Her breasts. He stopped.
Bitten flesh. Large. Ragged. Ugly.
One. Then another. Then another.
He counted out loud.
“…Thirty four… thirty five…”
Kass’s voice came, tight.
“Keep going.”
Cabal blinked. His gloves hovered mid air.
Then he did. “…Forty one… fifty… sixty two… sixty eight.”
He stepped back, breath shallow.
“All the same size. Spacing varies, but each one healed over. Half-scabbed, half-scarred. None were fatal. All were deliberate.”
He stared at them. The map they made. An outline. A tally.
“This wasn’t feeding. It was record-keeping.”
“A ledger.” Kass muttered. “He was counting her kills.”
The room went silent. The rune hummed softly, the only sound left.
Cabal stared down at the body again. His hands trembled once, then steadied.
“He marked her every time she took a soul.”
“Even the ones who deserved it.”
“Especially those.” Cabal said. “She let herself believe that made it righteous. . . And each bite was her just punishment for them all. . .It didn’t.”
The necromancer turned away, suddenly needing distance. He moved to the sink, running cold water over his gloves, lost in the rhythm of it.
When he looked back—Kass was gone.
The door stood ajar.
All that remained was Katherine’s body, the sulfur curling from beneath her fingernails, and the cold truth that nothing about her death had been accidental.
@mortesadversarius @imthehottwin
