Skybound Satanists

by Spark, Luc

  Like some alarmed bird trying to outsmart an eagle, the aircraft banked this way and that, the wind buffeting the wing tips-making them look incredibly vulnerable. Around two thousand feet below them was a black Bell X-1, the American forces prototype jet engine aircraft from the post war era. Piloting the plane was a man by the name of Voltar, a disgruntled Moscow stockbroker and part time cannibal. This guy had been one of the big shots during the birth of the Russian oil boom, unfortunately for him and his sanity, he had suffered complacency during one floatation and lost a rather substantial amount of roubles. Standing at an imposing six feet seven, and having his teeth sharpened to be tough enough to devour soda cans-he was always game for a fight. He turned cannibal when his wife decided to leave him for the local gingerbread baker.

  Alas, She did not leave him and instead honored her vow to be with him forever, or at least until he visited the toilet for a call of nature. Once he had chomped up his wife with salt and pepper, and strong lethal Russian vodka-he decided to move out to the Siberian wilderness, and now he was living as a hunter, who just happened to have a Bell X-1 at his disposal, how this was the case remains unknown.

  Voltar was studying his plane’s radar to get the precise position of the enemy’s aircraft, the blip he figured must be the plane, he knew this because this radar only picked up aircraft… it said so in the instruction manual.

  “You will not get away from Voltar, I have you in sight… it’s time for my supper comrades, I already have ze condiments ready!”

  Voltar picked around his in-flight bag to find the mustard and gherkins he had brought from his shack. The mustard had frozen cold during flight; this did not make him a very happy bunny.

  “Ah confound you all to hell, my mustard has frozen like an icicle, I will use your blood as ketchup instead then, I will now ready my rockets yes?!”

  Above our crazed Soviet cannibal, the general was starting to doubt whether he should have taken the job to escort Jürgen to the base. The salamander’s radar showed quite clearly what looked like an Inferior and stupid American Bell X-1 trying to gain altitude to fire what looked like, two scaffold poles with dynamite strapped to the ends. The radar on board this plane also had a camera which could bring into view objects from miles beneath, and the general could not believe what he was seeing. The camera showed the Bell X-1 with what appeared to be scaffold poles doubling up as makeshift rockets, but in the cockpit was what seemed to be a crazed human wearing a stockbroker’s shirt and a codpiece around his groin. The human was making obscene gestures with its fungal infected hands, the general could make out the universal sign for ‘Screw you’.

  In the meantime, our emotionally crippled and intellectually gifted professor Jürgen was going about his business being sick into the hammer and sickle. This was the Rain Arcane’s pet name for their sick bags, someone thought it would be humorous, to rip to pieces their own international identity… by letting pilots puke on it. Jürgen’s face was turning a rather striking shade of green, he looked like an apple picked from a slumberous tree. Despite all his sickness in the head, Jürgen could not stomach the concept of what was going on. The base was finally coming into range, close enough for the salamander to begin to lower its landing gear. Voltar would not let these two preys make their landing, not on your Nellie comrade. He was now in a perfect position almost parallel with his victims; his dog fighting skills had brought him fortune.

  “You will be crippled beyond repair and salvation now, missile one target lock on… fire!”

  With the pressure of a nagging wife, the missile screamed away with its modified engine, the target was the salamander’s fuel tank.

  “Holy mother of Stalin, comrade we are about to take a direct hit… and in the worst possible place, get the heck out of the plane… ejector seats engage!” shouted the general. Seconds later he smashed open the glass covering the ejector seat push button, and with his dexterous hands punched the button like a heavyweight boxer. The canopy above them broke away with incredible force, and they were propelled skywards so fast Jürgen’s guts almost fell out of his mouth. The clouds around looked so solid, that the general imagined that they could be the seats of heaven, but they weren’t and they fell straight through the stupid clouds and began to hurtle towards the frozen tundra at around three hundred miles per hour. It dawned on them that perhaps a good course of action would be to open the finely manufactured parachutes they had strapped to their backs. The general confirmed this to his passenger via the intercom.

  “Comrade Mixope would you be interested in opening your chute It might help you live longer?”

  Jürgen replied “General that is a great idea, you must be an educated man, and can we get to this base… I need to write out my last will and testament, somebody has it in for me; it’s becoming rather tedious for me to be in your country… I could have been an artist!”

  The impudence of Jürgen did not concern the general at this moment facing possible death, in a rather jilted synchronization they opened up their chutes and began the preferable and more gradual descent to the Siberian tundra. Above them, Voltar was not best pleased that his targets had enough mental horsepower to defy him. Although the momentary lapse in his confidence did not deter our sick and crazed cannibal, a setback was rife in life-he never liked this Bell X-1 anyway… chocks away.

  “Oh you have to be testing my nerves comrade!” said the general in a panicked tone.

  Jürgen looked up to one o’clock, and like some clutching housewife, the cannibal had abandoned his aircraft and was heading their way.

  “Nein… sods off will you, I don’t taste too well… I have a fungal infection on my feet” cried professor Jürgen.

  The frozen ground came up to meet them, and they hit it with a resounding thud, the force was enough to sprain the ankles of both men. The self-indulgence of Jürgen was not convenient for this scenario; the general grabbed his passenger by the shoulders and pushed him towards the tree line. As the two men entered the wooded area, they caught the sight of Voltar making his landing-which was in a much more refined and graceful manner. This guy was obviously the member of some parachute society, the general and Jürgen envied the cannibals foresight. The general was back on his radio, calling in for backup from the base, the cackling was going to give their position away to Voltar… but you have to take the rough with the smooth.

  “General maintain your course and expect a search and rescue team to rendezvous with you in five minutes,” said the cackling voice. Voltar was picking up his pace determined to get his meal, the crash of his stock market shares really made him hungry. The night was drawing in fast, the light was quickly dissipating and this made navigating the forest a lot more taxing to the senses. The dimming light did not make any odds to Voltar; he liked being one step ahead of his prey. He was now within ten yards of the two runaways. Suddenly out of nowhere like some unwanted pimple came the muzzle flash of Soviet armed forces. The fire rate of their AK-47s lit up the forest like flares. The general’s quick timing on the radio had just saved his and the squirmy professor’s life. Voltar fell to the ground like some stunned beast, he began to writhe and twitch uncontrollably, his life was beginning to seep away from his evil physical being-not that his prey were innocents of course, and Jürgen was one sick mother trucker. The Soviet forces surrounded the fallen cannibal, like wolfs around a lost lamb… the point man took aim and stuck a bullet right through Voltar’s temple. The job was done nice and clinical, and with the crazed guy now out of commission the forces began the task of escorting the general and Jürgen to the base.

  The base came within view after ten minutes of trekking, the most striking sight being the two hundred foot high radio mast, which had a hypnotic red light emanating from its peak. The ground was almost like walking on glass, the ice was so shiny and thick that it made the event of walking along the base a task in itself. Although the soldiers made short work of it-Jürgen was facing a constant battle just to stay upright. The group pressed on
and came to the main steel door which led to the control center of the base. To both sides of the steel door was two rather large and frost covered water towers, professor Jürgen pondered on how many gallons of water they could hold. A couple of Scorpion tanks and three jeeps were dotted in various positions, and Jürgen also happened to notice the sight of a sinister looking R-17 Scud Launcher, its presence must have been an insurance policy in the event of an aerial ambush. The steel door had on its face a retinal scanner, and a fingerprint scanner to double up. The general pressed his face against the door and told Jürgen to put his hand on the fingerprint scanner. After a minute of antics, the barbaric looking door began to open, from inside came the welcome gushing relief of warm air.

  “Comrade Mixope during your brief stay at the other camp, we took the liberty of having you fingerprinted, we then faxed these prints over to our guys here and voilà now you have access to the control room… resourceful fellows are we not?” said the general with a smirk.

  “But what about the retinal scan general?” inquired Jürgen

  The general lead his colleague inside the door, and they began down the main staircase, during which the general gave his final speech.

  “Comrade your talents will be of great service to the Soviet people and our allies, we have to think with foresight in order to keep great men like you… the retinal scan will accept you, almost like your its brother, come on it’s time to get you a comfy chair to park yourself on”

  Our sick and unfortunately for the sake of humanity… immensely talented professor sat himself in his custom designed chair, it had a portrait of Napoleon weaved into the leather… he felt like a Triton amongst minnows in this world, what more could a depraved and socially inept genius like him ever need?

  Marcello’s Apartment, Milan, Italy, 1979

  The debut service of his religious career had gone down a storm amongst the congregation; he had held himself with great assertion and poise. During the service, he had increased his natural enthusiasm by thinking of the Vatican and what it would be like to be a sitting cardinal on the verge of being elected pope. His inner ambitions might come to fruition in the future-or at least he hoped that day would come.

  After the service had elapsed and the congregation began to file out of the church, he was aware that somebody has just tapped him on the shoulder. Marcello swung round to greet the attention seeker, but to his shock, there was nobody there, his glance guided him to the cathedral floor. On the floor was a folded up piece of paper, impeccably neat like it had been folded using great care. Marcello took a hold of this paper and carefully unfolded it-the note read as follows.

  ‘Father we have become aware of your presence, you are required to come to the nightclub MOIRI DAB LUCIFER-one of our associates will meet you there, have no fear father for we approach with friendship, the time and date is Monday at one am’

  The hastiness of the note gave Marcello a chill up his spine, who could want to meet him in a seemingly Gothic nightclub? And why did they approach him in this cloak and dagger style? Instincts would have told him to be very vigilant and cautious, but something in this note roused him to want to delve deeper and find out what was going on. He decided that once he closed up the church he would find this club and do some outside surveillance, give it the once over and go from there. He began into a jog back to his pristinely kept apartment, once inside he changed out of his vicar’s robe and kitted himself in something slightly more casual and trendy. A mug of coffee was required to pump his system into full gear, so he clicked on the kettle. The years of drinking in coffee houses had taught him a few tricks or two about coffee making. He opened his fridge and grabbed the semi skimmed milk, it was almost empty but there was enough milk to knock up a quick latte. He began to shake the milk until it turned into a froth, the kettle boiled and the latte was done.

  ‘Moiri Dab Lucifer-why does that name fill me with thoughts of foreboding, who could be watching me?’ He began to ponder.

  Outside his apartment, the sky was turning a fine color of crimson, a beautiful and inspiring sight to any sentimental soul. Marcello could imagine the flocks of women all becoming weepy at the sight of the sky’s wonderment. Sometimes the earth can produce wonders that people never appreciate, shame we all are too wrapped up in our work to take a minute to stop and gaze. Overhead some crows were fluttering as they went about their search for shelter. Marcello stepped out onto his balcony and looked out into the bustling street below; his apartment was in a prime and central spot for Milan’s nightlife.

  His old fashioned phone began its rather annoying ring, considering that it was beyond nine pm he could not fathom who would be bothering to disrupt him. This phone was entirely molded in plastic which gave it an unorthodox appearance-still Marcello had bought it because he had an appreciation for items of nostalgic value. He went over and picked up the phone, he was just about to speak when the line clicked and then went dead. His normally sedated and relaxed heart began to do somersaults and Highland jigs inside his chest. The adrenaline was beginning to pump, harder and harder-he knew this had to be the same people who had left him the note in the cathedral.

  ‘Why are they trying to freak me out… what have I done to offend anyone?, I serve God and stand for only justice and honor, I have not trespassed against anyone… yet these people want me to be frightened… confound them and damn them all to hell… right that settles it, I will see them now and find out once and for all what has bitten their bun’ Marcello thought to himself frantically.

  He made his way towards the apartment door, he quickly donned his squeaky clean and dapper shoes, and like a man rushing to catch his wife on an arriving train, he shot out of the door and onto the nightclub.

  Castle Dracula, Romania, 1460

  The discussion was indepth and very headache inducing upon the groups return to the castle. How were they to locate these supposed scrolls of prophecy? Why was Viorel charged with the quest to discover these scrolls? Barring the brain curdling questions, the prospect of finding out the ‘truth’ filled Viorel with intense excitement.

  Dretore was holding court in the main throne room and gathered the entire group together.

  “Okay my friends the time is nigh to reveal just how all these duties have been bestowed upon young Viorel”

  Viorel could feel the adrenaline and apprehension reaching fever pitch.

  Dretore continued “Many moons ago our kind the race of vampires were created and brought to this planet by an alien species known as The Alset. This species had wisdom beyond anything humankind can fathom and the technology to create life akin to God himself”

  This announcement by Dretore shook Viorel to the very core. Could it be that there was no god? And if this tale was to be true then where did these aliens come from and where are they now? Viorel needed some answers

  “Okay so if what you say dear Dretore is true then where have these aliens moved on to?” he continued “Where did they fudging originate from?”

  “Furthermore how does this relate to me being the blinking chosen one as it were in regards to me having to find the scrolls of enlightenment?”

  Dretore not to be flustered came right back with the answers without hesitation.

  “Okay get your gray matter around this, Way up in the heavens and beyond the known stars lays a star system called Alpha Centauri and this is roughly where we believe our original ancestors came from. They prophesied upon the early days here on earth of a vampire being that would one day be called upon to save mankind from a fate of annihilation. This vampire would be discovered around this time and in this part of the world. Although not so much of a hero as more of an anti-hero. To answer your question of where they are currently residing we could honestly not tell you for we believe they are watching over us and wanting us to grow and evolve as a race”

  “If the humans are to be wiped off the face of the earth, why is this a big dilemma for our vampire race, what does it matter to us?” questioned Viorel.
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br />   Dretore came straight back with the obvious answer “Isn’t it obvious Viorel? If the humans cease to be then we will have nobody left to feed on other than animals and that my friend is not an option I would want to even remotely consider”.

  The next question on Viorel’s agenda was the images he had been having during his sleep and also in day dream form.

  “I have been having visions in my dreams and sometimes during the waking hours, these visions are as clear as crystal and yet fill me with confusion. Why am I having such psychic experiences?”

  This did slightly throw Dretore’s flow of answers ajar.

  “Alas Viorel that I cannot give you an answer for with true conviction, I would hazard a guess that perhaps it could be our mighty Alset ancestors, attempting to communicate with you in some way via the power of telepathy”

  The throne room was so silent you could hear a spider spin a web. The whole notion of an advanced and powerful alien species as the creators of vampires seemed very far-fetched. If this was to be the case then it would pose a serious argument against the existence of any spiritual gods to be the creators of humans.

  The most outlandish of all the possible induced images was of the time traveling horse.

  How in the love of all things flipping holy could this be even legitimate Viorel now put to the group?

  Ivan took care of this one

  “The Alset sent hypothetical dark matter although we cannot see it, crashing to earth via a meteorite which came to an end not far from our current location. Dark matter is thought to be one of the most powerful elements in the known universe that came into creation right at the very beginning of time and could just so happen in theory to be strong enough to produce time travelling properties to whomever or whatever came into contact with it, however be aware that there is no scientific proof that it even exists and even if it does nobody knows in what form, this is all merely theoretical”