April 7th, 1723
Praise her, the veil is torn open, reality’s womb spilling forth a perfect creature. As promised with book and ritual, I went down to the larder as was joined by the compatriots, those loyal to our cause, and began the ritual. It is unnatural to perform such a ritual hidden away, it should be done in the starlight, under the moon and trees as sacred as our Mistress, but the necessity of hiding our actions forced us into this hole.
The ritual was a simple matter really, we placed Paulo in a tub and I carved sigils and alien signs into his flesh, made more difficult and more rewarding by his writhing and tears. I explained to him as I cut, that pain was a key indicator of life, and so long as he felt pain it meant he had the greatest gift. Atohi licked her lips at the violence I was doing to his flesh, and I wondered how many times she had already abused him, her lust, a complete bestial thing now, straining to be unleashed on any, but I had a greater gift in store for her.
I chanted phrases from the Das Buch des Kindes, and without warning them, I guided Gilberto to cut the throats of those supplicants who attended the ritual. All great endeavors require sacrifice, and it was their calling to pour out their life essence to ease the birth pains of the universe. We filled the tub to the brim with their life essence, Gilberto slaughtering and holding each one in place as they emptied out, before tossing their husk aside without any deference to the life they once held. Paulo drowned in the blood. thrashing and moaning until his mouth was covered.
The thick liquid began bubbling almost as soon as he ceased his struggle, I had to shout the words over the sound of the steaming boiling blood, and finally, with a final syllable all fell silent.
What arose from that tub was perfection. Standing so tall as to need to crouch in the room, the creature was humanoid but so much more than any human could ever hope to be. It was covered in thick black fur, matted to its skin with the blood of our sacrifices. From its head sprung 4 ram’s horns at impossible angles, and it’s five eyes glared at us from a face that seemed to morph and flow between man and beast, human and goat every moment. I swear, with some joy, that I could see Paulo’s screaming visage in there. All of the survivors fell to our knees, our work was done, and now we could only bathe in the radiant glory of the Thousandth Child.
As any divine thing, it knew its purpose, it ignored us, and our chanting, grabbing Atohi up off the ground and had her. We few survivors of the ritual stayed, of course, it is so infrequently one gets to watch the conception of such holiness. As the Child coupled violently with Atohi, we chanted, blessing the moment. Praise Atohi, Praise the Mother!
April 18th 1723
Atohi is with child, and the creature that I can only refer with most holy deference as ‘The Child’ did not stay in the larder, of course. We could no more have held him there than we could stop the winter, or bar the wind from blowing. He moved with purpose into the forests taking Atohi with him. While my part at this mission is done, I will follow after them, the natives will take to The Child and his consort, I have no fear of that, but I will follow and administer to the offspring. I will guide the spirit of what will become a new people. No longer with the mission, but I will always be a Missionary.