celadon vian (mythology) created by menis
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Description

cw: gore, snuff

Comm by Menis as part of their ongoing goretober pieces.

Celadon had caught wind of a new cult. He, of course, thought it was just a bunch of nonsense... That is, until people started to disappear. Rather than be scared, Celadon was delighted. This was perfect! Put his money towards this group of nutjobs, and have his enemies go missing... At first, things all went according to plan. Until Celadon making more and more demands, of course. Celadon just thought the cult was eager to take on more victims, clueless to the fact that he was becoming a problem. After the cult collected their latest -- and largest -- payment, they journey to Celadon's casino for a private meeting. He greets them, along with two henchman, and head back to his private office.

Or so he thought. Somewhere along the way, the cultists manage to overpower not just him, but his two henchman as well. By the time Celadon comes to, he finds himself stripped and tied to a chair. The cultists stand before him, his two henchman now very dead, their heads severed from their powerful bodies. Celadon immediately begins to beg. To plead. To try and charm his way out of this one. But, midsentence, the cultist before him draws forth a shotgun and shoves it into his mouth without warning. Seconds later, there's a loud bang as Celadon's eyes go wide. The shot tears through his skull instantly, the life leaving his eyes as the brains he thought to be so cunning splattered onto the wall behind him. The force of the blow knocks his eye out of his socket, as he slumps back in his chair. Dead.

The cult unties him, bringing him to a cool, metal table, and throwing him atop it. They place the henchmen's heads at the head of the table, Celadon's shattered head hanging limply off the edge of the table. They slide a cool, metal ring around his cock, adorning it with a playing card for good measure. And now, their chanting begins as they start their next ritual.

And through it all, no one heard the shot. Or the chants. Oblivious to the carnage below thanks to the loud, cheery din of countless slot machines.

Blacklisted
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