In the spring of 1936, a woman named Elizabeth Marcone fled Chicago with a ruby that didn't belong to her — though it had briefly belonged to her brother. The Blood of Apophis, carved from legend and pulsing with an energy that whispered to her in the dark, had consumed Tony's thoughts since the moment he learned of its existence. But Elizabeth had seen something in the stone that her brother could never understand. Not profit. Not power. She saw communion with the old powers — the fallen things that have prowled the dark since before the first word was written. She stole it while he slept.

She traveled west, following whispers and old maps, until she found what she was searching for — a cabin deep in the woods of central Washington where the trees grew old and close and the silence had weight. Others came. Women who had felt the pull of the old powers. Women who recognized in Elizabeth a kindred hunger. Together, they became the Coven of the Iron Goat — on their quest to summon the ancient sentinel demon Baphomet, the guardian of thresholds between worlds.

For nearly ninety years, the Coven has waited in these woods, performing rituals beneath the moon, speaking in tongues that were never meant to be spoken. The Blood of Apophis sits at the heart of their work — not a tool, but a key. Tonight, the alignment is perfect. Baphomet stirs, hungry and ancient, and the sisters of the Iron Goat Coven are ready to open the final door with your blood.

The cabin stands abandoned to the world — weathered wood, broken windows, a structure left to rot in the forest. Those who wander these woods, drawn by curiosity or chance, find the door unlocked. Inviting. Inside, a cage awaits. Not obvious. Not threatening.

But once you step inside to explore, the door closes. And locks.