by Mark Tufo
The doctor worked as fast as he could with a look of hopelessness. He had never seen anything so heinous throughout his whole career. He’d seen war, plague and murder but nothing could prepare him for what he had to do, now.
The last stitch in place, he slid the sheet over the woman’s body and turned so that he faced the four men, whispering, “It is my guess that she will not live long.”
Louis let out a groan and covered his face with his arm. The three of us remaining let the tears fall silently while we listened.
“I don’t know who – or what – did this to her but it is a miracle that she was still breathing when I arrived. Infection will set in and she will suffer. May God have mercy on her and take her sooner than later.”
The surgeons head dropped and he rushed out, leaving us with the remnants of the beautiful Isabel. Looking at her from where we stood, she appeared for a brief moment to be sleeping – dare I think it? – peacefully.
BROKEN - ISABEL
Being held captive in her own body she was tired and battered and had had no idea how to fight the evil she was possessed with. She could hear the whispers night and day. The voices kept her awake even when she looked like she was asleep. Knowing she had to reserve her strength, she’d eat whenever she could and sleep when they’d let her.
The weakness had taken its toll on her. She needed Miriam’s constant assistance but knowing that the woman endured punishment for her every kindness, made Isabel overcome with guilt. The voices played with her fears, building them up, and using them against her. She was sure that Miriam would die for helping her unless Isabel could fight through this. When she was able to pray, the spirits within her would scream and make her ill, but she never gave in. She would let her family know she was still there. Somewhere. It took all her strength to move. Broken and bruised bones made it nearly impossible but she would exert all her will to move and signal those waiting beside her.
Sometimes she could hear their voice. So different than those in her head, and so far away, it was all she could do not to drown in despair. The sting of her fingertips throbbed with the missing skin and fingernails that no longer protected the nerves. Her throat burned from the constant screaming and howling. She didn’t understand why God allowed this to happen to her but she had faith that it would all be revealed if she remained steadfast and devout.
The temptation to believe that he had forsaken her were strong on some days, but she held fast to the fact that, that was exactly what Lucifer would have her believe. Marciel’s presence was always felt whenever he was near. Her heart and soul was convinced that he would somehow be the one to save her from all this. Perhaps, all this was for him? She’d sigh inwardly, at the thought. It was just conjecture. Simple guesses. No sign had been given to the meaning of this all but she knew that God had a plan. He would not give her more than she could endure. Even if he desired her to come home to Him – all of this would not be in vain.
It was those thoughts that gave her the strength. But the Beast was persistent. He’d growl and laugh within her, chiding her ridiculous thoughts.
“Dear Isabel, do you not see?” his smooth voice purred against her ear.
From outside, Louis was on watch never to leave her bed. He would see his sister’s head twitch to the side. The former Knight was a shadow of his former glory as he leaned forward.
“Isss-abel” this time the Beast rolled the “s” off the tip its tongue as if savoring the sound of it in his mouth.
Isabel focused her thoughts and silently recited a prayer of protection. The Devils laugh roared in her head and she could feel her ears burning in pain. Being jerked up suddenly, she listened helplessly as Louis shouted for help.
The Beast gave her sight behind the mask and she was forced to watch while her spirit floated above her body which was being maneuvered like a rag-doll. She stood rigid now, before her brother. The fear on her sibling’s face made her weep from within. He tried to reach her but was pinned to his chair, unable to move.
Forced to watch the systematic torture of his sister, Louis was losing the battle and hold on his sanity. The usual scent of Jasmine was replaced by the pungent stench of sulfur and death. Isabel’s head twitched into awkward positions and stubby fingers reached upward to Heaven before the unseen whip cracked against the air and found its home against her back. The skin already fragile, ripped like dry parchment. Bone and cartilage could be seen as she flinched, causing the blood to spill.
The unearthly voices cried out again from her mouth, “Save her!” they chanted, mockingly.
“This one is OURS! She will be a whore in Hell!” Each heinous outburst caused Louis to moan in agony, defenseless to do anything but watch. He struggled with all of his might but it was futile. He might as well have been pinned by the Earth itself. Another lash and the flesh of Isabel’s back peeled and rolled down, hanging there. More lashes cracked through the air, tenderizing the muscle of the frail woman, dealing its irreversible damage.
Louis’ sanity finally broke. He thrashed and cursed, pulling against the imaginary binds that kept him glued to the chair. He felt scratches and bites tearing at his flesh and screamed out until blood filled his throat and his voice was lost in a gurgle. The candles that were lit around the room fueled with the rage and fear, shot upward like pyres and filled the room with blazing heat and light. It looked like the room itself was on fire. Louis turned his head to shield himself from it and from the corner of his eye saw Father Raphael emerge from the lapping flames untouched. The slender man’s robes were alive around him and the wooden crucifix that swung from around his neck was now facing downward. Blood dripped down with each cadence of his steps from the weeping eyes of the Lord.
Louis tried to back up and push his chair away but he couldn’t. He was a trapped, caged animal at the mercy of this unholy man. The slick smile of the approaching priest was like oil against his features, he was there to initiate more pain and humiliation to the siblings who had been faithful and loving servants of God. Behind him, Louis noticed movement and though all sense told him not to look, he could not help it. The two nuns and the clergy of Vatican priests proceeded in and on their heels, the most hideous creatures he’d ever seen; hellhounds. Their muzzles swung low with serrated teeth that gnashed and snapped at the scent of Louis.
Louis could feel his bladder empty, filling the room with the stench of his urine. The Hellhounds were roused by it, tugging against the large chains that drug behind them. Father Raphael slid his hand through the mane of one and it sat obediently, still growling in Louis’ direction.
“Not now, Zelios. He must watch first then you shall have your snack.” The hound hunched down digging talons into the stone floor beneath it. Its maw salivated at the prospect of having Louis’ flesh within its grasp.
The two nuns moved forward and dropped their robes, standing shoulder to shoulder before the dark priest. Their bodies were covered in scars and lacerations that still wept with infection due to neglect. Their dry, cracked lips pulled back in deviant smiles, both vying for their Master’s attention. Meanwhile, Isabel still hung in the air just out of reach of the crackling flames that stretched toward her, wanting to engulf her. When Father Raphael turned his attention away from the twin Harlots, they hissed and wailed in jealousy.
The clergy of males moved behind Isabel and lined up awaiting his command. It was that single wave of his hand that signaled them to begin. They moved forward and ripped her ragged clothing off, violently, giving no care for the fresh wounds. It was so fast and careless that they took some of the hanging flesh with, discarding it on the floor with a sickening wet slap against the stone. The dark priest then turned to the Harlots and barked out a command, “The Altar.”
The women once more showed their disgust at his choice and slithered off to drag the stone slab altar that sat in the corner of the room for Isabel, or her family, to pray. The items were shoved off with a sweep of their arms and landed with a crash on the floor. They didn’t seem t
o notice as they walked through broken glass with bare feet, using inhuman strength to drag the altar into place.
Father Raphael moved to the head of the altar and one of the priests stepped forward with a chalice. Isabel’s body was then dragged over and pinned to the altar. Beginning the ritual, he’d discard his robes and Louis gasped in horror at the demonic symbols and runes that were etched into his skin with black ink. They were perfect, as if they were there when he was born and part of his natural body. Father Raphael’s long black hair was free and loose, hanging down past his shoulders as he chanted softly in a hushed whisper. Louis could not decipher the words.
They were no language he’d ever heard but it caused his spine to tremble and he felt the world around him bear down. The pressure in his head was enough to make him try and scream again.
The pain in his raw throat shot down the length of his neck and Louis found enough strength to struggle again. Once more, the Hellhounds growled and snapped but never did Father Raphael waver. Isabel now seemed to gain consciousness as if waking from a dream.
Staring around her, the confusion was obvious until she pushed through the haze and realized this was really happening. All the pain and suffering she endured in her silent prison, she now had a voice and she screamed in terror, “God help me!!”
The Devil’s laugh was deep and ominous as he lunged forward and grasped her by her thin neck. His lips parted and the tip of his tongue inched forward, the pink flesh dissolving into a black, forked tip that he ran over her lips. Isabel jerked and struggled to get away but she was no match for him. Shifting her gaze she caught sight of Louis and lost her will to fight. He was a broken man. Once a strong Knight of the Templars, he was a shadow of that, struggling to free him of unseen binds. The tears streamed freely from Isabel’s eyes and Father Raphael hissed in pleasure. Her suffering was feeding his power. He lapped the tears up with his tongue, bringing the chalice to her face to capture a few drops before whispering down against her mouth.
“I told Father I would have you.” He said. His breath was like sulfur and stung her nostrils. She didn’t understand it all, this was madness. What was happening and why? He could read her thoughts, and he responded as if she spoke the words aloud to him.
“Because, Little One, it is all part of the plan.” Isabel could only stare at him in horror. There was no way God would allow this to happen. She was dreaming. Yes, that was it. She was still held prisoner and the voices were tricking her. Closing her eyes, tight, she struggled to wake up and escape the scene; praying through cracked lips for God’s mercy.
“Still think it’s only a nightmare?” he asked, then leaned up again and handed the chalice to one of the priests beside him. They began to chant their unholy song and Father Raphael shoved open Isabel’s legs. Louis’ chair rocked and splintered as he fought and Isabel jolted, struggling against the hands that held her pinned down.
She screamed out in protest and choked, feeling the air cut off. Wide eyes peered up above her seeing the face of one of the Harlots who had pressed a leather strap over her throat and pressed down on either side of Isabel’s head. Still struggling, Father Raphael only smiled, using his finger to trace over her pelvic bone to the stitched wound at her side. “I watched as they pierced him” he spoke, reminiscently. “His blood flowed like wine.” His fingernail grew out and he snagged the stitches, ripping them open one by one. Isabel tried to pull away and cry out but she could only gather enough air to barely stay conscious.
The Hellhounds were dragging their chains closer to Louis but he didn’t care. He knew he would die anyway. He kicked and rocked the chair, trying anything to break free. The more he struggled, the more damage he was dealt. Shadows converged on him, stealing fresh bites of flesh, causing the scent of blood to fill the hounds’ nostrils. They were nearly in frenzy as they clawed closer.
Father Raphael, amid the fire and the chants took the chalice again and held it to Isabel’s freshly open wound. The blood flowed thickly, filling it with her life. Isabel felt consciousness slipping slowly but she was not so lucky. Whenever the Harlot saw her eyes roll up, she’d release the strap, allowing precious oxygen to pour in again. The adrenaline and sudden rush of air would wake Isabel up and the strap would be tightened once more. When she got the second wind and saw the scene before her, she fought with her heart and soul, arching up off the stone slab. Father
Raphael threw his arm out, backhanding one of the priests that had lost his grip on the woman. His amusement turned to fury; Father Raphael threw his body onto Isabel and mounted her. He gave no hesitation as he thrust himself within her. The untouched woman screamed against the strap on her throat, feeling the tearing of her virginity shoot through her like a hot sword. Father Raphael let out an ungodly cry and arched his back, losing all façade of the dark priest. Flesh began to peel away like melting wax, revealing the black and red musculature of the demon within.
Louis let out one final cry and tore his arm free of the chair, leaving half the flesh of his arm behind to reach out for Isabel, “NO!”
The Hellish Beasts finally broke free of their restraints and descended upon him with the ferocity of a pack of ravenous wolves. Snarls and barks from the Alpha caused the others to cower but they continued to rip at whatever they could get of the man’s body. His limbs were being pulled away; masticated within the immense jaws of the demonic beasts. Isabel was forced to watch as her brother was devoured alive, her own body being violently defiled while she bled and choked on her screams. Turning her head she caught site of the crucifix that hung on the wall and cried. Her thighs burned as the Beast continued to ravage her near lifeless form. He impaled her over and over to the chants of the men around her until she finally felt the grasp of death. She was so weak and defeated; dying would be a welcome end to this suffering.
“Sanguis bibimus” they sang, “Corpus edimus!”
The Devil, now free of human flesh watched as Isabel’s eyes flickered of life. He snarled and reached over her to grab the Harlot, throwing her against the wall near the other priest. Her body broke before crumpling to the floor on top of him but still she slithered toward her Master’s feet like a disfigured animal. Once free of the strap, Isabel pulled in a tattered breath and coughed violently, trying again to free herself. The Devil in his full glory now, pinned her beneath his bull-like form. Thick, sinewy muscle, sticky with discarded flesh, strained as he thrust into her again until he froze and loosed a primal howl and released his seed into her.
The walls trembled at the victorious cry but there was something else trailing behind it. Reality seemed to shudder and jump. The pressure of the air changed again. Lucifer pulled away from his prize and roared. His knees snapped forward, pushing through more human flesh so that his animal-like legs were more pronounced and formed. Ripping through the dead feet, his sharpened hooves twisted into the floor like he was preparing to charge.
From either side of his head, long black horns spiraled up and forward. Isabel’s tears were thicker now; salt water turning to blood, streaming from her eyes and into her hair which was matted against the stone beneath her.
Thunder ripped across the sky and she looked toward the Heavens. The clouds rolled in thick with lightning snaking through the darkness burning her eyes with its light. She felt ashamed and dirty, causing her to turn her eyes away from God’s wrath. In the distance she could hear the banging against the door through the chaos. Marciel, Felipe, and Miriam had been trying to break in the entire time. She watched as the hinges reverberated with each bang. There was no more hope, Isabel thought. Her brother’s devoured body lay just mere feet away from her and she was nearly dead on the stone behind the hideous beast that had molested and violated her.
A trumpet sounded from the skies and the Devil bellowed in response. His whip-like tail lashed around his ankles and the clergy gathered nearer to him, their robes flapping behind them until they were transformed into feathery black wings. Their metallic eyes burned with hatred for the sound that
echoed through the air. Isabel could feel the presence of Heaven’s army and its impending arrival in every pore of her crippled body. The Devil stood defiantly awaiting the battle that was to come. The ominous chanting continued from the dark angels that were once his clergy, their staves gnarling into weapons. Isabel felt her stomach twisting and churning until she grew ill. Rolling to her side, the spilled out a black liquid that looked like congealed blood and tasted like death on her tongue. She curled into a fetal position only to feel the swelling in her abdomen.
The door burst open and Marciel flew to the ground with the momentum of their final impact. Getting to his knees, his eyes grew wide at the sight of his brother; once the most beautiful angel in Heaven, his form now a mangled mass of flesh; half beast, half angel. Lucifer laughed at his brother’s reaction. “Brother! Are you not happy to see me?” he growled.
Marciel went to his feet, his human heart fluttering in his chest. Fear gripped him from the depths of his soul and he no longer felt Heaven within. Gone were his wings, his armor, and his sword.
He swallowed hard and pushed his spine erect, facing the monster before him and prayed “Dear Father, grant us your mercy. By your will, defend me. By your might, defend my cause.”
Lucifer howled in rage, “Will you slay me, Marciel?”
He snorted through flared nostrils, taking a few steps forward, his hooves grinding on the stone beneath his immense weight, before he leaned in close, “Poor, helpless, Marciel. No wings, no weapons! What shall you defeat me with?”
Marciel had little left for dignity at the humiliation of his brother and all that he had borne witness to. He turned toward the skies that screamed with the sound of wings. The angels of Heaven were coming. His eyes fell to Isabel and saw her lying there curled up with arms grasping her belly which had grown full and round. The full scope and magnitude of the severity of the situation finally dawned on him. She was pregnant!