Monday, August 29, 2011

Interlude 3: Sister ÆGLÆCA

The strike from the whip against her back felt like a hundred scorpion stings against her young tender flesh, its crack echoing throughout the house, throughout her mother who feared her husband too much to interfere, as well as her younger sister who had felt their father's wrath before. The powerful blow brought her down onto her knees, her arms spread out over the end of the bed, clutching at the sheets with each lash. The pain was fierce, so much that his words rang deaf in her ears. He shouted obscenities to his daughter as his whip lashed out, one, two, three more times. Her back cracked and split in blood-streaked lacerations, growing more intensely with his beating the more she refused to scream. Her eyes closed, retreating to a place she could be free from her father's grip, where her body grew numb on the outside and soothed itself on the inside. Here, she could be normal and be a teenager like those at school, whose father would encourage them, shout for them at their volleyball games, cheer them whenever they did good things. She looked up to a multicolored sky, streaked in crimson and bleeding down the horizon, each crack of her father's whip a thick bolt of lightening across the oceanfront of her subconscious. The beating would end soon, her wounds would eventually heal and her scars just a reminder that life was not always a guarantee of joy, but a canvas of opportunity to change when change finally came.

For her, this change came on her sixteenth birthday. She had not expected much from her mother or father, being that they had never given her anything for her birthday before, unless you counted a lack of beating her father forgot to give her on two occasions. She recalled the time she asked her mother why her father had done this to her and her sister, "Your father loves you. He is just...not right in the head. Hasn't been right since he returned from the war." She told her. War, such a poor excuse, she thought, for a father to forget what it meant to be a parent to two girls who were supposed to idolize their father, see him as their protector no matter the cost and love him unconditionally. She had not known the love of a father or how to love a father and this was a unexpected defense, when her father came to her on the eve of her sixteenth birthday.

The light from the hallway crawled into her dark bedroom in slivers, growing thicker as the door opened. She felt her mattress compress with the weight of another, stirring but not waking from her slumber. She then smelled his breath, heavy with the unmistakable smell of alcohol, vodka being his preferred taste, and the cold grip of his big powerful hands at her wrist. He then heard him close to her ear, "It's time you became a woman." he whispered. She then felt the leather of his whip around her throat. On instinct alone, she returned to her place of peace and serenity, the crush of blue waves rushed up along the shore and wet the ends of her feet, sitting in the sand and waiting for the calm of the storm to pass. Her sky was not multicolored as it had always been before, but vanilla and pure of chaos. In her bed, her clothes were wrestling from around her dead heavy legs, but here, in her place of protection, she could never be anything more than what she chose to be.  The last words she heard were from her father; "Lie still bitch."

She sat on her beach, toes wiggling in the water, feeling the sand run between her toes back out to sea. The skies were now a mix of emotion, one side vanilla and the other a dark mass that continued to overpower the remaining open air with its insidious existence. The waves were cold and gentle, slowly reaching higher over her legs to her kneecaps, comforting to her old scars removing the dirt back to sea. Shortly afterward, the water began to heat up, a lukewarm feeling now tickled the bottoms of her feet. Part of her had become terrified at the change in temperature, but the other half, the half her soul resided in, reached out and took her gently by the hand. A bright glow opened up beside her, about the size of a volleyball, hovering above the sands. It too emitted a warm glow that felt much better than the water at her feet. She smiled at the light and turned her head back to the sea.

     "This is the first time he has been able to reach me here." She said.

A tear developed in one eye, building until her ducts could no longer contain it. The teardrop rushed down the side of her cheek, dangling at her chin, dropping into the hand of a new presence there with her.

     "Why do you cry?" A voice asked that sounded more like soft music in her ears.
     "Because, if I were to cry elsewhere, he will have won."

     "Your father?"


     " a bad man."


     "Why don't you resist? Fight him and remove him from you?"

She thought about this for a long moment before answering.

     "Mother tells me that he does not mean it. She says he is ill, a living casualty of war."

     "Your mother lies with the beast. Instead of standing by you, she has become lost to this world, consumed by her own guilt for allowing it to continue. Your mother dwells in purgatory, but you...there is still hope for you and your sister."

     "My sister...will not be there when I wake. He..."

     "He needs to repent. His sins have offended the father and at His request, I have watched over you, given you this place; however, this place cannot save you from him now. Only you can keep him away."

The waves grew larger now, nearly covering her legs, roaring onto the shore. The no longer appeared as waves, but flashes of the past when she would fall to his mercy and feel his anger on her back, her, legs, her arms and even her face.

     "Can you help me?"

When the light did not answer, she asked the question differently. "Will you help me?" 

     "If I do, you must in turn help me, but my favor will not come soon. And, what I ask of you will not be easy. Do you trust that I will not guide you wrongfully in your journey from this day forth?"

The water just inches from covering her legs, its weight heavy enough that she began to imprint in the sands. She had always thought this place were just a figment of her imagination, to escape the horrors of her life, but the ball of light was not of her own making. It was not like the cerebral manifestations of the ocean, the skies, and the sand beneath her. This was something else entirely. And though she could not understand why, she did trust it, implicitly.

     "Yes." She cried.

Her father spread her legs with his own as he fell on top of her, kissing sloppily at her face, almost licking her as though he were a dog in heat. She braced for the moment he would enter her only to feel the weight of him lift. The room exploded in a bright white blinding light that filled the room. Her father shouted, gripped by hands he could not see, flailing in the air above his daughter's bed. Her mother ran inside the room, catching her own screams in the palm of her hand. Her husband hung in the air, slowly spinning, panicked and reaching for his wife to help him, who stood frozen with fear. She turned to the bed, where her daughter lay, shouting to her to come to her, appalled by what she was seeing and not entirely for those reasons she should be. The unseen presence in the room reached out and took hold of her mother by her throat and pushed her against the opposite wall, lifting her from the ground. She gripped at her throat as the air was cut from her lungs, kicking her feet out as she tired to find stable ground.

     "Close your eyes child, and do not open them no matter what. Return to your safe place until I come for you."

She eyed her mother a final time, closing her eyes as instructed. Both her mother and father looked in utter disbelief as their daughter sank into the bed and disappeared. Then they each witnessed the power of the being before them. The light exploded in the room, brighter than anything they had ever seen, causing them both to see nothing but white all around them.

     "Please...God! Help us!" The man shouted.

     "God? God, you say? Do you truly believe that our LORD have mercy on the pitiful sick minded sheep who lay hands upon innocent children, especially those of blood! How dare you speak blasphemy in asking for His mercy. And you, the mother of all blessed seeds, you watch this monster conduct such incredulous punishments? No. For you two, The LORD thy God isn't here. There is only I, your judge, jury and executioner. And I sentence hell."

A great pressure swelled in both their stomachs. The pain was unbearable, feeling as though a rope had been tied around their necks on one end, and bind their feet together at the other pulling with a single mighty jerk that left them both beheaded on the bedroom floor, but not before witnessing the giant armor clad archangel, holding the end of each of their ropes in his hands with a dreadfully sad face. Their white infinite existences turned black and cold and forever.

She felt the Angel at her back. His hand was warm and kind upon her shoulder.

     "Are you ready?"

     "Will I see them again?"

     "For your sake, I hope not child."

Something stirred high above. Sounds of crashing and drilling could be heard for what seemed like days, when suddenly it was all quiet once more. The body woke inside its darkened shell, the screams of the innocent still rang loudly in its ears. It had found peace and solace inside its safe haven, keeping it alive and well beneath the earth, but now the Lioness stalked impatiently down below in her hole.  A square of light opened up above, a human-like figure basked in the light from outside.

     "Jesus Christ!" A voice said.
     "Is someone down there? Chief, I think we have found a survivor inside the church. Get me a medic!"

A hand touched the cold blade at her side. It was time the Lioness went on the prowl.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Interlude 2: Marquis Sabnock

The sound of the Bishop's fading heartbeat could be heard echoing the length of the Church of the New Order. The Bishop choked on his own blood that filled the cup of his holy communion and run down the side of the alter, once the chalice was full, where it pooled at the feet of the Assassin. He held the bishop as he slowly died, by his bloodstained clerical, clutched within a powerful fist that held his weight effortlessly in one hand. Satisfied that the Bishop was fully drained, he tossed the body to the side, which plodded against the wooden stage with a thud, echoing throughout the nave of the church. The Assassin stood before his peers, each of them united by an oath and vow of silence only the pontiff's ears could listen to, glistening in the pale candlelight of the vigil behind him. Those who watched from the pews winced and knee-jerked at the brutality before them, their stomachs wretched and twisted at the gore. The Assassin remained quiet and still as the blood of the Bishop slowly dried on his olive-skinned hands. He wore the tunic of the Templar Knights, the unmistakable red cross blazoned on the shoulder of his cloak, along with a second symbol that only a few among them recognized. Had it not been for the piercing red glow of his eyes, he would have been considered merely a madman with a thirst for blood on his tongue by the Priest, a random act of violence that their beloved bishop had stepped blindly in front of...but this being was clearly more than a mortal man.

The unsettling gaze skimmed over each one of the Priest, sitting among the pews closest to the sanctuary. There were a total of ten, with a dozen nuns witnessing from both the east and west transepts, mourning, praying, weeping, fearful for their lives and for the lives of the fathers. One nun in particular, sat and moved her hands slowly beneath her habit. The cold steel at her feet soothed the fires of battle within her as her fingers coiled around the end of the blade. She felt the warning hand of Mother Strange at her leg, shaking her head as cautiously and surreptitiously as possible. If the Assassin were to notice the young woman, all would be lost.

Among the Fathers, only four mattered. The voice of the Assassin, resonating the consciousness of the four Fathers, growled angrily. Eyes like those of a Eagle zeroed in on those four who shuttered frightfully as it spoke. "Ah, the sheep." The voice said.

    "Do not fear me, for those who deserve to die have already been carted to the underbelly of the world. Your chosen leader has failed all of you, among his church. The sins of the Father have gone on for far too long without judgment. I am simply the executioner. There are those of you (the four of among you who have eluded detection are no longer sheltered by His grace) in need of forgiveness of which there is none to give. Those you confide in are no longer your friends, but your enemies. The world outside these doors is no longer the world of man...or the living. Your pontiff is no longer the champion of your LORD and your Priest no longer the purest among man. Your blessed mothers are but whores with dark secrets." the Assassin turned his attention to the west transept. His sight perverse and inhumane, molesting each of them with his demented stare, their blood warming, their skin crawling with guilty pleasure, even as they tried to resist him.

The Assassin leaped down from the alter and approached the first line of pews.

     "Know this. Brother Death sits beside each of you. It is only a matter of time before he shakes your diseased filled hands. (To the four, Marquis Sabnock request your presence. I will await you outside.) Oh," The Assassin said turning for the altar. "One last thing-" He moved his hand in front of him, producing the chalice from the alter in the palm of his hand. "The blood of sin shall rain down upon you, my brothers, my legion of the living and brethren of the Dark Father."

He threw the cup high into the air. The blood spilled out from the cup into the air and spread among the pews, and then hesitated for a few long seconds, as though the blood sought out a desired target, raining down in a crimson drizzle over four Priest, caking them in the blood of the bishop without a single drop touching anyone else. The four were spread out among their peers making this more than just a freak coincidence. The Assassin smiled and turned for the large wooden doors that lead through to the vestibule. The body of the bishop caught flame and burned with an intense fire that only burned the body and the trail of blood leading up the altar, removing the evidence as though all they had witnessed had never taken place. Once Mother Strange was convinced the demon had left, she took the young woman by the arm and whisked her out through a side door beside the sanctuary that lead to the sacristy. Here, she would pull back the shag rug, revealing a trapdoor. She knelt down and took a key from her habit, unlocking it. She then motioned for the young woman to climb down inside. "No matter what you hear, do not come out from here until the 6th day!" The door shut and the young woman was immersed inside the darkness.

Moments later, she could hear faint cries and shouts of tremendous grief echoing above.

The four piled inside the waiting limo outside, saying nothing to the Assassin across from them. The death of their Bishop meant that he had once again failed to produce his end of the bargain, and his arrangement with the Dark Father was not one of second chances. The limo sped off into the night as the church erupted in a series of explosions in its rear-view mirror that leveled the home of the once proud and honorable Bishop, Antonio Verrelli.

Thursday, August 18, 2011

Interlude 1

They reached from their dark graves, swatting at the angel's muddy and bloodstained feet, begging for his mercy, to release them from their personal hell, the rotting flesh hanging from the bone with a permanent look of agony fixed to their dead faces, screaming for relief and receiving no pity from the angel making his way through the yard of the damn towards the dark towers ahead. He came to a massive grave with a stone obelisk jutting up from the soil that looked as though it had been freshly dug, a featureless head had been carved into the stone facing with the letters INRI chiseled beneath it with wreckless hands, as though added after the initial construct itself. Beside the grave sat a demon, stripped of its flesh, its skull polished to a fine sheen with two large black circles that refused the light devoid of gaze, yet were aware of all things around it. The demon held a long bone flute between its hands, forever fixed to its lips and played for its theater of misery, and as it played its song of sorrow the graveyard calmed to almost a whisper. The angel then heard the bells tolling high above in the towers. Slow gongs resonated out across the gardens of hell, an invite from the inhabitant within. The Flutist stopped playing its song, but quickly started once more at a glance from the Angel who respectfully asked it to "Continue playing." with the wave of his hand. The request scorched the demon's dark soul, easing the pain once the chilling music played that also forced the dark shadows in pursuit to retreat back inside their lost tombs. The Angel eyed the obelisk, his eyes heavy with sorrow and tears as they rest upon the lettering, somewhere inside the dark tower he would find Grigori. Somewhere inside, he would find the answers he had sought for over years. Somewhere inside, he would find Baphomet and his doppelgangers waiting, a deal signed in blood long ago waiting for closure and an executor. Somewhere inside, he would find her waiting for him. Most importantly, somewhere inside the dark tower he would find his Son, The Genesis Seed.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Coming Soon!

It all started with a Motel. Unexplained things had happened there, people disappeared, others died, some were murdered, a few had been given a second chance; but, only one was chosen by God, and even he had his own secrets. The men who knew of its existence harnessed its power and utilized its potential, spreading mixed signals across the land. Those who knew, also thought the mystery of the Motel could be contained to their own dark agendas. Those who knew were very wrong. After the fallout, the darkness swarmed, the hero reborn from the fires of Christ, pit against the enemy of Satan in an eternal struggle that scorched the Earth, slaughtered its sheep and swallowed the world inside the leviathan's mouth. The serpent that never sleeps, coils itself around the Lady of Hope and squeezes her. And even now, as the Lady weeps, the hero scours the burnt wasteland in search of solace. Blessed by the Almighty only to fail in the end. He seeks answers, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. There can be no mercy, without the Angel he whispers into the ear of the dying. In order to restore humanity and slay the Leviathan, one must go beyond the veil.

You see, I have discovered the origin of the Motel and it is not as they all thought it to be. A simple manifestation that attracted sheep as the nectar of a flower attracts a hummingbird. The Motel is only a fabrication, a vessel from the world of man into the lifeless den of the damned. It is here I will find the answers I seek. It is here that I will find you, my friend. I will free you from your hell and shatter the binds that have kept you grounded all this time. I will save you, Grigori. This I swear.

September 15 2011. LORD have mercy, for the Angel will not.