Work Text:
Black cloaks. Torches flickering. The smell of the underarena hits me hard. It’s the smell of death, long since passed from this mortal realm. The shuffling of the underarena’s ghouls just out of reach of the light. I reach up and fiddle with my piercing absentmindedly taking it all in. It’s hard to tell who’s standing around me with the cloaks on but I know who we’re missing.
“Richmond,” I whisper. A small furry paw grabs my hand and I look down. Hobbs is standing there, smiling up at me. I think it’s meant to be reassuring but as we walk through the depths of the abyss I question if anything can reassure me.
Is this the right thing to do? They took Richmond from us but is that enough to force our hand? They took Lachlan. Fuck, they took Ty. But we were willing to let her go. We had to let her go. There wasn’t any other way until Bates found that fucking book. Brought it to Dot and they took it from there.
“We’re here.”
Dot turned around and my eyes struggled to focus. They glowed with an intensity I had never seen before. They motioned towards the altar and took their spot at the head. We all shuffled around it, forming a loose circle. It was easy to see who we were missing now. Each spot opened those old wounds again. A stabbing grief that could never be fulfilled.
“We all remember the ritual?” Jesús asked. I looked at him and saw that same intensity. A fervour in his eyes that froze me to my core. Everyone had that same zeal as I looked around the room. Even Morse had a malicious expression pasted onto his face as he stood there, hand on the altar and teeth clenched. It terrified me.
Ty, is this what we wanted? Are we doing what you and I came here to do?
Jenkins throws the sausages into the middle of the altar. Cut, bleeding still. His ‘good eye’ was concentrated and black. Staring into it was like staring into the darkness of the underarena, like staring into a rogue umpire’s eyes. I looked away and Hobbs grabbed my hand again. Everywhere I looked I saw hatred. Everyone’s hands were already on the altar as they stared at me; waiting, watching, wondering.
Hobbs tries to pull my hand up and I see a flash of where this would bring us. The Talkers disseminating into other teams, spreading the word. Trying to get other teams to join us in dark rituals. The umpires getting even angrier. Declaring the third strike. The rise of a new blaseball. Jaylen.
I snapped out of it and pulled my hand from Hobbs’ paw. I shook my head. No. Deep breaths. Taste of death. Smell of rot and blood. The growls of unspeakable horrors.
I placed my hand on the altar and stared at Dot, nodding. Even if it’s not the right thing to do, fuck does it feel good to smite the Gods back.