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Andrew stood anxiously at the bottom of the ziggurat. His arms were bound behind him, his freshly cleaned body exposed for all to see. Before him stood a purple-robed cultist holding a bowl of dark liquid.

The hooded figure was hynotising to the ferret - the dark face hidden, but somehow forcing the ferret to look into that shadow. As the bowl was raided, Andrew's head tipped upwards, his mouth opening. Soon, the foul tasting fluid was running down his throat. Just has his breath was running out, the pouring stopped. He panted through the next few breaths, still unable to tear his gaze away or spit out the horrid ooze in his mouth. Slowly, his vision began to tunnel, his body feeling weak as he slowly fell forward.

Opening his eyes, Andrew found himself tied down to a cold stone table. His wrists and ankles were tied over the sides. His head felt too heavy to lift. Above him, he could see that same deep purple-robed figure, hands raised. Unnaturally pale, furless flesh showed. The hands moved higher - a signal for the ritual to begin.

Two other cultists approached, one holding a black dagger.

"Get the fuck away from me!" the ferret shouted - tried to shout. Nothing escaped his lips except a small murmur of air. He pulled on his bondage, thrashing his head around - but lay still. Even his breath was steady, calm, unnatural. He could hear his heart beating - louder than it should.

ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump...

The dagger was raised above him, slowly lowered to just below his rib-cage - then plunged into his flesh. He screamed from the pain - but again, no sound reached his ears. The dagger cut deep, severing the muscles of his abs. The straight incision continued down, past his navel, into the start of his pubes. Extracting the dagger, the larger cultist reached two hands inside the wound and began pulling the flesh apart. The ferret closed his eyes, the only part of his body he had control over, at the sensation of those cold hands invading his aching flesh. The pain was beyond comprehension.

His vision shifted, the darkness of his eyelids fading and revealing his body from above - from the viewpoint of the cultist standing over him. He could see the hands pulling apart his belly, exposing the coiled intestines below. The second cultist, the shorter of the two that had approached the alter, peering into the gaping wound. She (how do I know that's a 'she?') extended one finger to poke the quivering guts, then placed her finger on her tongue. She raised her right hand. Several other hooded figures in the crowd did the same. Some signal, the ferret assumed.

The figure holding the wound open withdrew his hands, then raised the blade again. Soon, the ferret was open from groin to throat with two more incisions going armpit to armpit. Strong hands pulled back the skin and muscle, exposing his breastbone and ribs, as another pair of cultists approached. It was agonising, and his viewpoint from above his own body just made it worse. He could see his chest rise and fall evenly, his guts quivering slowly but naturally. Whatever dark magic was keeping him conscious was making sure his body stayed functional despite the grievous wounds.

The cultist wielding the dark blade cut out the ferret's intestines, carefully gathering them up and placing them in a bowl on the ground before stepping away from the alter stone. The newcomers approached another man and woman pair. This time, the male was holding a hammer and chisel. Placing the chisel against the ferret's breastbone, he struck the hammer once - a clean blow that cracked the bone open, his ribs pulling apart and exposing his stomach and beating heart - still beating evenly, its pace unchanged. The female came forward, poking his liver. He could feel the burning cold spreading through him as the organ visible convulsed under her tainted touch. She removed her finger and raised her left hand. Few in the crowd did the same. Seizing the large brown organ in both hands, she tore it from his chest. A fresh howl roared through the ferret's throat - silenced by his strange paralysis. Tears streamed down his face, tears he could see matting down his fur from his out-of-body viewpoint.

How am I still alive? Why won't I die? What did I do to deserve this?! Is... is this hell? the ferret thought, once again squeezing his eyes closed to escape this torment. His liver was held high, the cultist turning around to show it to the crowd. More hands went up, mostly left ones. The lead cultist raised his hands a little higher - the signal lost to the ferret as the cultist threw the liver into another bowl surrounding the altar.

Finally, the lead cultist lowered his hands. They came to rest on the ferret's cheeks. A strange warmth flowed into his body, the pain slowly fading as he felt the heavy robe now cloaking him. As he felt his furless skin touching the warm pelt of the sacrifice - as he realised he was feeling everything the cultist did.

You're doing so well. The voice boomed inside the ferret's mind, painfully loud as it drowned out his own thoughts. _Such a vibrant soul. Such a pure body. The Perfect offering. _

The ferret's groin stirred, the arousal the cultist felt slowly working its way into the ferret's body. So warm. So... alive.

Those grey hands slid down to the ferret's shoulders, then over the pulled-back flesh around his gaping chest. The thrill made the ferret's body shudder - the only movement that had happened during the agonising ritual. By the time those hands reached his hips, he was at full mast. He could feel every nerve ending as it pulsed and sang in time with his steady pulse, every slow throb of blood as it rushed through his dick. All the pain, all the distractions, fell away - but still that thumping heartbeat sang in his head. He moaned - just as the cultist moaned - in pleasure. Pure pleasure. He felt so alive! The blood rushing through his heart - his pulsating heart that was exposed for all to see, felt so invigorating. The hands retracted, moving back over the ferret's chest. Then reaching in, those cold grey hands took hold of the beating heart. The touch was otherworldly, the biting cold touching his heart as warm flesh filled his hands, feeling both sides of the contact. His dick jolted, jolted again, then burst forth with wad after wad of cum - his balls aching from the magnitude of the orgasm that racked his sundered body. His breath was still regular. His heart still beat as normal. But his head swam with euphoria.

ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump

He barely noticed as his heart was torn free form his body. The pulsating muscle was raised up in the cultist's hands, still beating, still living. It wasn't even slowing down. He could see his lungs, rising and falling, inside his hollow chest. And as he listened to that pounding muscle, he realised he could feel each throb within those cold grey hands - the cultist's hands.

The cultist turned around, the ferret's view of his own body disappearing. He could still see his heart beating in the cultist's hands, but now he faced a brazier. Thank you for your offering, the voice inside his head said, just as the heart fell into the burning coals. His chest erupted in agony once more, his eyes going wide - facing the dark sky above his bound body as one last gurgled scream tore its way from his open mouth. He could feel it, feel the broken bones and torn muscles. The fire burning his heart as it beat erratically.

*ba-DUMP, BA- - ba-ba-DUMP, ba-DU--- - --- -- - *

His lungs deflate, no ribs or diaphragm to keep them inflating. Whatever spell had kept him quite had gone, his world turning dark as consciousness slipped away - quickly followed by his life.

The lead cultist raised his left hand. The gathering began to murmur, the cultists turning to each other with questioned glances beneath their hooded robes. The omen may have been unclear to some, but it was decided. The sacrifice was now dead, the signs were now read. All that remained was to burn the remaining parts of the offering and prepare for what was to come.