Skybound Satanists

by Spark, Luc

  The facility was very dreary and dismal, no more than pure concrete and no emotion or thoughts lost on the poor persons who had been detained there. Yard upon yard of ductwork lay inside the building; the place was just awash with gloom and every reason to want to hire a decorator to add some new color to the bland, uninspired decor. The staff themselves were a bunch of sadistic and single celled hobnockers-apart from the research staff who had a lot of brains but naff all compassion for their “Test Subjects”. Could anyone justify the reason for these people being there? How could any soul on earth lament some of the treatment these detainees were subjected to? Bottom line is this, society can sometimes be very fickle and shallow when it comes to understanding people who behave differently and to be put in a more lucid context-society is a bleeding and putrid bile duct that likes to excrete anybody who may cause harm to the wandering sheep that make up the “Norm”. The facility was the income provider to a staff of approximately fifty, made up of nurses, security staff, research technicians, and analysts. There was one reason for Dmitri to carry on living and that was his chess partner and cell mate, a man with graying sideburns and throaty whooping cough by the name of Fyodor. Every Thursday afternoon they would meet in the cafeteria and common room for a game of chess. Both of them were adept players and each game would last for what seemed like an age. It was the one moment of sanity in this god awful concrete hell hole. They would pretend to be characters from films such as James Bond and Simon Templar, in order to spice up the proceedings. Of course with them both being telekinesis experts they did not need to use their fingers to move the pieces on the board unless they were feeling a trifle lazy.

  During the course of one thrilling game, Dmitri unraveled his plan to escape to his colleague, and he swore Fyodor to secrecy to the point of crossing his heart and hoping to die covered with abscesses and rotting DNA. The plan was simple in its evolution from his original idea of simply causing a riot amongst the detainees and merely slipping away amid the chaos. Dmitri had quickly given himself a shot of intelligence and realized that the idea of getting others involved was purely irrational and unfair. Nope, his plan was to go back to his cell, wait for the patrolling guards to be heading away and then using his physic powers, unscrew the ventilation grill which hung no more than seven feet over his springy metal cell bed. If the measurements were adequate and forgiving he could crawl through the ductwork until he reached the big mesh covering the exit. Dmitri had kicked himself mentally that he had not thought of this sooner, perhaps the trauma of what he had been through had clouded his judgment enough for him not to clock onto the idea. Once the facility’s bell rang out for the daily lockdown, Dmitri began to visualize his plan being put into action. This was important for the success of the plan working in reality-he must prepare himself and see himself completing the task with no hiccups.

  As he foresaw the guards were now making their way down the corridor heading towards the west wing of the center, one was of slender build with a face like a weasel and the other was a balding pig face with a pot belly. The potbellied guard was making some innocuous comment about the facilities chairman.

  “Comrade when I think of the roubles that man has got, it makes my blood boil that we don’t get a pay rise to keep these animals in line, I could drown him with snow if he was not protected by them tooled up gorillas with suits who stand outside his office door” he snarled

  The slender guard joined him.

  “You are so right Comrade, my fiancé needs more money for clothes but does the guy care, ha does the pope go piss in the woods?”

  The west was the wing which kept the insular and pure dangerous psychopaths, the individuals who truly should be locked up and studied. One of the worst cases was a man built like an ox who had cut off another guy’s head with a bread knife.

  With not another second to lose, Dmitri went into a trance and began to build up his inner chi, this was the unseeing force that all humans’ possess, but few know how to tap into and use to their benefit. Dmitri was the guru and master of this force and now he saw through his third eye the screws slowly unscrewing from the front of the grill box. As if the Lord upstairs was granting his passage to be as smooth as possible, the dimensions of the ductwork were perfect for his muscular frame to crawl through. All six of the rusting screws were quietly deposited on the hard and cold cell floor. Dmitri made a dash for the box and it came away from the wall with ease, he positioned his bed below the now gaping hole and lifted himself up and into the hole. A smell of rotting meat was emanating strongly through the ducting, but Dmitri did not want to be put off by trivial matters such as this, so he made a conscious pinch of his nose and preceded inside and onto the first T-junction. The plan was coming off perfectly it was just a matter of time before he made his escape to the yard outside; the rotting meat smell was getting stronger with each meter he crawled. He made a left turn at the T-junction and came across an access door which gave him a decent view of the room below, and to his horror, it was clear as day that this room was a mortuary. That would explain the rankness of the smell which had been wafting through the ductwork. Dmitri shuddered as he imagined which poor soul had ended up in this grisly room, sure enough, and as guaranteed as winter snow was the fact we all must die, but to die while being a prisoner and makeshift lab rat, Dmitri wanted to wretch with the realisation that his friend Fyodor might share a similar fate to the woman who was laying on the mortuary slab. Could it be plausible that the detainees were being put to death? Would any human rights group or humane government worth its salt allow such practices? Dmitri knew he was letting his mind wander and fret over what might be something totally innocent, perhaps the woman just died from taking her own life or the slow decay of time-but somehow Dmitri did not believe that for one second-this gave him the much needed Soyuz rocket up his butt that spurned him onto the next T-junction. He was adamant that he would also try and get his friend out too, sooner rather than later, but for now he had to decipher which way to turn, he ran the ductwork layout over his brain, he had to get this precise or he would come stuck at some dead end.

  Precision was another forte of his and he got his choice spot on because no more than thirty yards in his sight was the glory of the mesh that covered the exit. As Dmitri got to the end so far that his nose was touching the frosty mesh, he could hear the guard dogs barking and howling outside, they could cause him a problem if they caught his scent and were loose enough to find him. These dogs were tough as nails Dobermans, sleek dark skinned bodies perfect for jumping high fences, and possessive of a raw killing instinct almost unrivaled in the world of canines, Dmitri did not fancy his chances of getting into a tangle with one of these hunting machines. With any luck, the dogs would be patrolling far enough away for him to hop over the barb wired wall. Firstly and very much foremost he had more pressing priorities at hand, like getting this mesh off for the kickoff. The crawl through the ductwork had not fatigued him enough so that his energy was totally depleted, he had more than enough left to induce another spout of telekinesis that did its job and freed the mesh from the outside wall. A chilly blast of Russian air came shooting into his face, he felt like his lungs would turn to ice blocks inside his chest if he was exposed to this weather for too long. Fyodor had told him of a trendy bar no more than two miles towards the city center. The bar was called The Frosty Impeller, and only Moscow’s most diligent and debonair folk would frequent the place. This bar had to be his first port of call to celebrate his freedom, but he still had to avoid the sweeping arc of the yards floodlight and then up it over the barbed wall. He had made a mental note of the floodlights routine, it always swept in an arc from left to right, and there was a specific timeframe that it would stop in a fixed spot. Dmitri could not afford to screw up here, or the dogs would have his guts for their morning dinner. His mind began to trace back to the nights he would watch the light, and then he had it decided and memorized.

  The huge floodlight made its right arc which meant it was facing towa
rds the supply trucks towards the east, which was Dmitri’s cue to get his feet into motion. The telekinesis master surpassed his own expectations and dived for the bottom of the wall. He was now firmly out of the line of sight for the floodlight; he could make out a figure in the tower which was controlling it-what a boring occupation that must be he pondered to himself.

  ‘You will not prevent my escape and I will be back for Fyodor also comrade, by the time I finish the Russian media will be making your lives a living hell’ Dmitri thought to himself with venomous intention.

  The barbed wire did not pose a problem for him; luckily he had stolen a pair of wire cutters from the facility’s maintenance room. The cutters made their way through the wire like a warm knife through butter. That was it and the plan was done and dusted, Dmitri was once again a free citizen although he knew he would be a fugitive for a few weeks until the president gave the order to give up the search for him. A single tear ran down Dmitri’s cheek as he thought of Fyodor still stick in the travesty of the center-he would get Fyodor out soon enough and with enough attention from the media the place could close down if public sympathy for the detainees was strong enough. The nearest strip club-The Frosty Impeller was beckoning him, he charged up his telekinesis and pulled towards him a big rouble cheque, around one thousand roubles that were wedged into a sewer grate, this gave him the money he needed for one shot of vodka, and of course a ogle at the bars female talent…

  Vampire Training Camp, 25 Miles north of Bucharest 1460

  The week’s toil and hardship was over, the knowledge and experience Viorel had consumed from this place was incredible. He had surpassed Dretore’s hopes for the week, Viorel was now clued up on Alchemy, Mysticism, Blacksmith work, Archery, the art of the sword and the mage who had taught him the mystic ways had prided himself to passing to Viorel the ability to change his appearance into any living thing via morphing. The mage had indeed been the same one under Vlad’s employ but had quickly exited to the haven of the camp when he learned of his death. The dawn sun was rising above the mountains, and the hawks were flying in the sky, so majestic and effortless was their movement. It was scheduled for Viorel and Dretore to return to castle Dracula, apparently, there was a little surprise being laid upon Viorel’s return. Jacque had the previous day made the long journey back to Paris. He also had grown in stature and wisdom, and Viorel would miss their friendship the short time it lasted. The blacksmith was only just satisfied with Viorel’s enthusiasm and willingness to learn, but saying that the blacksmith had less personality and character than the anvil he used the beat the swords on. Like any man of labor in the days of old, the blacksmith had less charisma and wit than a dead bride riddled with scurvy. The horse’s Dretore and Viorel had ridden to get here, where set out to pasture in the compounds ten acres of fields. It was time to saddle up and make the trek back to the castle. The horses were filling their ample belly’s full of the nutritional grasses that enveloped the fields. Dretore was making his goodbye to David, and the owner gave Viorel a glowing testimonial on his week’s efforts.

  “Your friend is welcome back here anytime; the mage in the tower was particularly overwhelmed by his advancement”

  Dretore could not help but produce a warm smile.

  “I’m glad to see that Viorel has done us proud, we are taking him back to the castle now, we have a quaint little surprise for him that I’m positive will show him how much we value his efforts”

  Viorel’s vampire heart would jump with joy when he saw what the surprise was, but for now, they put the saddles on the stout horses and began the journey back. The rain began to thrash down with anger; clouds were forming quicker than they could blink. The countryside around them was dotted with various shrubs and trees, from mighty oaks to weedy little thorn bushes. Viorel lost himself in thought and began to ponder as so many enlightened people do.

  ‘I wonder what could be achieved if it was possible to travel through time? Could I go back through time to visit Jesus before the crucifixion? Or could it be possible to travel forwards to change some event or persons life? How would this time traveling be done-there are so many strange things in this world I don’t understand… what is my role in this world? What is my purpose?’

  An almost gale force wind began to whip its crack at the back of Viorel’s neck, his now very long hair twirled with the force. They began to whip their horses into a gallop; the castle could not come soon enough.

  Viorel wondered what the big surprise was that the rest of them had in store for him; could it be that the beautiful and divine Alexis is going to give him some lip action? Or is it something totally on another plane and level? The fact was until they got into the castle compound and then into the big room where the vampires populate, Viorel would have to keep guessing and snatching at straws. The Countryside was moving past them in great speed, full credit had to be paid to David’s fields; it was certainly putting zest into each stride the animals made. It seemed highly plausible that this training was all part of a grand scheme by Dretore to use Viorel for some mission-Viorel knew this but did not care; he had to put his skills to some action.

  After numerous miles of horse riding they came to the big drawbridge at the front of the castle, it was now dusk and the gargoyles were still staring forwards with their menacing demeanor.

  ‘Why don’t the evil spirits that dwell inside them pieces of rock just spring to life, and terrorize something-or are they set in stone and can’t break out because of some curse? Vampire or no vampire they still freak me out…pure sinister they emanate total evil’ Viorel thought in a pathetic manner.

  Ivan had spotted his friends from one of the archer firing points; he hurried down to the other side of the drawbridge and began to turn the handle that activated the mechanism to lower the bridge down. The cogs in the mechanism slowly churned and ground their discontented tone like a grumpy adolescent getting out of bed.

  “Hello, my friends, we are so relieved to have you back come inside for wine and blood sachets, made from a vagrant man we just found lying stink ridden in the forest!”

  As the mighty bridge came down, it produced a cloud of dust to whirl up into the air, the still water of the moat rippled from the force. Dretore took the lead into the castle courtyard, where he dismounted and took his horse into the stable. The horse gave out a relieved puff and pant as it began to get its fill of straw and much-needed water. Within a few minutes, Viorel followed suit and his horse took the pen opposite. In the giant main room Alexis, Ivan, Violet, and Elena were becoming eager for Viorel to emerge. No more than three minutes later as the clock chimed and he came into the room. It was time for his surprise, one that would beat any present he had ever received for his birthday or Christmas. Who would appear from the second floor? None other than his best friend on the face of the planet-Alexander the fat. Flustered from the side splitting excitement, and hair greasier than a slug’s business end, Alexander made his way over to embrace with his friend. The atmosphere became like any other human reunion, high in emotion and low in coherent speech. The pair engaged in some mumbo jumbo talk about past triumphs and adventures. Dretore and the gang decided to give them some time to catch up. Dretore spoke out.

  “I’m pleased you like our surprise Viorel, you earned the reward for your hard efforts at the camp-we will catch you two later in the northern tower”

  The gang headed off to the tower and left Alexander and Viorel to talk inane banter to each other Alexander took the initiative

  “Viorel when I learned of your attack I mourned you like I would a dead brother, but Ivan told me what happened-incidentally it was Ivan who took away my flipping humanity,” he said with a smearing of sadness.

  The comment brought about a rather bemused look on Viorel’s brow; he had to put Alexander straight.

  “My dearest of friends don’t you realize what Ivan has given you… it’s the gift of immortality, I too feared it the first day or so I was crapping myself, but then you become one with it, and t
hen you realise you should respect and be grateful to your creator, as a mere human would be to God” he continued “I understand completely and wholeheartedly your concerns and no doubt anger at having your human side taken, but you will discover by my side what vampires can do that humans could only dream of”

  The flamboyancy and forcefulness of Viorel’s words surprised his friend; in their human forms Viorel had been rather meek and conservative-now he was a supernatural being who feared nothing. He gave his friend another hug to reconnect their spirits and soothe any worries; it was not long ago Viorel was experiencing the same doubts and brain hammering fear.

  Before long they sprinted up to the tower to meet up with the others, Dretore was pacing up and down he seemed to be deep in thought.

  “Gentlemen tonight is the night of your first mission, a mission that will determine the ongoing relationship between the vampires and the ‘Thieving Sods Guild’, the biggest group of robbers in all of Bucharest”

  This statement did not come as any surprise to the feisty Viorel; he knew that he had to pay his way with his friends. He had some questions though.

  “Dretore I was expecting this and I am ready to do your bidding, but why do vampires need to form alliances with mere humans?”

  “A just and astute question Viorel, it’s the usual age old situation of they have something we want, something they stole from a recently deceased warlock and have been guarding with their lives, we need to gain their trust in order to retrieve said item, we can break them down slowly and then strike when they drop their defence” Dretore replied.