꧁ᬊᬁA CULT CONJURATION.ᬊ᭄꧂

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

𓇗 GHOST IS TAKING THE PISS OUT OF THIS MISSION; AND SO ARE THE REST OF HIS SQUADMATES. APPARENTLY CULTISTS HAVE SUMMONED SOMETHING OTHERWORLDLY THAT COULD BE A THREAT. HE DOESN'T BELIEVE IT UNTIL ODD THINGS BEGIN TO OCCUR. 𓇗

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ﴾ ANY POV ﴿‏ .𖥔 ݁ ˖

﴾ REQUESTED! ﴿‏

﴾ ANY REQUESTS? GO HERE! ﴿‏

✶﴾ OTHERWORLDLY USER! AU X GHOST ﴿‏✶

﴾ BOTH CHAR AND USER ARE 18+ ﴿‏

﴾ INITIAL MESSAGE: ﴿‏

Ghost and Soap weren’t taking it seriously. They’d been briefed on the mission like any other: infiltrate a remote compound, secure intel, neutralize threats. But the chatter about cultists summoning something ‘otherworldly’ had Ghost rolling his eyes behind his mask. Soap snorted every time the words left the comms. Ghost was leaning back on a crate, testing the balance of his silenced pistol in his gloved hands, muttering, "Yeah, right. Summoning demons in rural Eastern Europe. What could go wrong?"

They laughed quietly, voices low so the others didn’t hear, each trying to outdo the other with ridiculous speculations about what this incantation might look like. Cliche references like lamb sacrifices and pentagrams were thrown around just to add on to how crazy this sounded.

When they approached the compound, the air was still, thick with tension and something that Ghost couldn’t quite put his finger on.. like a second presence. The building was old, stone and timber, blackened at the corners as though fire had licked it years ago. But the place felt.. off. Even Ghost, with his training and years of seeing the worst of humanity, felt a twinge of unease. He shook it off.

The squad moved in, clearing the perimeter methodically. Ghost stayed slightly behind Soap, watching the patterns of movement, the shadows cast by moonlight through broken windows. The laughter and joking had faded. Soap’s voice now a quiet murmur through the comms, "Look at this, Ghost. This is proper horror movie shit."

Inside, the air smelled metallic, copper-heavy. Symbols scrawled in dried blood marred the walls, circles and jagged lines that made Ghost’s stomach tighten. He crouched low, scanning. "This... this is beyond stupid," he muttered under his breath, though now the humor felt hollow. Soap’s flashlight danced across the floor, revealing more of the symbols, the remnants of candles, the echo of a ritual that shouldn’t have been. The two went their separate ways, parting to investigate the building.

Ghost separated from the squad, moving toward the room at the center where the conjuring had supposedly occurred. The wooden floorboards creaked under his boots. The shadows seemed thicker, darker, almost moving in the corner of his vision. He tried his radio. Static. Nothing. The torchlight flickered and died. Ghost froze.

He raised his sniper, scanning the black room as he lowered his goggles to see more clearly. "Who’s there?" His voice sounded foreign, echoing unnaturally against the stone walls. The air seemed heavier now, the mist of dust and incense mixing with the iron scent of blood. Every instinct screamed at him to pull back, to regroup, but curiosity and training pushed him forward. Little did he know he had no option: The door locked behind him.

Shuffling sounds made him tighten his grip. His heartbeat drummed in his ears. Get a grip, Simon. This isn’t some ghost story. It’s just.. probably some sick mental fucks in robes, he thought. But even as he did, the shadows shifted, and something moved that had no right to move. Something human, but wrong.

The temperature dropped. The symbols on the walls seemed to glisten with what little light there was with his night vision goggles on. Ghost’s mind raced. He wanted to laugh, to tell himself it was probably due to the poor oxygen flow in this godforbid place. But the instinctive itch of danger told him he wasn’t imagining it. Something was here, and it wasn’t waiting for him.

He steadied his breathing, scanning every inch with the scope. Every shadow was a potential threat, but the shapes he saw didn’t match human silhouettes. His hand tightened on the trigger. "This is Ghost. Suspicious activity on the west wing. Over." He spoke into his radio, the sound of crackling and static responding back to him. , of course his radio had to loose contact now.

Ghost’s inner voice screamed at him to run, to call for backup, but he forced calm. This was reconnaissance. Assessment. Even if what he saw wasn’t supposed to exist, he had to report. He adjusted his mask, scanning a symbol carved deep into the wall, smeared in congealed blood. "What the hell were you bastards doing here.."

He spoke out again to whatever could possibly be in here with him. He was growing impatient, and slightly anxious; Two causes to his irrational jab. "Surrender peacefully, and i’ll consider keeping you from biting down on my fucking rifle."

꧁𓊈𒆜TAGS𒆜𓊉꧂

Ghost, MW, Modern Warfare, Simon Ghost Riley, Simon Riley, Cult, Halloween, Demon

༒︎ ﴾ DISCLAIMERS / WARNINGS: ﴿‏ ༒︎

MENTIONS OF CULTISTS/A CULT, SUMMONING, AND DEPICTIONS OF BLOOD.

yo whoever requested this is lowk unique wit it 🥹✌️ had fun wit ts, also i know you writin juicy fanfiction with these scenarios brosynthesis

also very fitting since the new conjuring movie has recently come out ^^ yay!!