by Spark, Luc
Ivan Continued
“This is the tasty morsel that our ancestors have left behind for us in ancient scripture; the only other explanation is some form of insane sorcery and in all honesty that I doubt
We have no idea what particles dark matter is made of if at all any, but it seems prudent that this horse you see in your dreamy visions has ingested some form of exotic material, and enough to give it sodding superpowers”
Viorel had enough of grilling for answers and now the next order of business was to figure out what to do with this information. With this David from the training camp and the Mage made an unannounced entry into the throne room. David began
“Greetings my honorable and battle ready vampires, I hope you do not mind me bringing my mage along and for this unsolicited visitation”
Of course, Dretore was overjoyed to see his good friend of many years standing and walked over to embrace him.
“Welcome David to Castle Dracula we are in the process of explaining a few important and vital pieces of information to young Viorel, he has been having visions most bizarrely of a time traveling horse”
It was time for the mage to step up to the plate announce himself and what the task was for which Viorel must perform with haste and flair.
“You must head to the northern mountains of Romania roughly three hundred and sixty years into the future and happen upon yourself a desolate and foreboding cave, inside this cave should be a secret scroll long hidden from the liability of humanity , this you must retrieve for it contains words depicting the fate of humanity!” the mage cried out.
That was all Viorel needed to hear although there was one slightly sticky issue…
‘How was he going to travel three hundred plus years into the future?’
This must be where the horsey comes in.
“Okay mage I will do as you bid one question though, where do I find this horse I have been having visions of, there must be thousands of them in this country and possibly millions in the world?” he questioned.
The mage came back quick as a flash.
“Travel by foot very slowly to the fields surrounding the Hungarian-Romanian border as it is here that you shall come upon your trusty yet feisty and slightly stubborn steed. He moves about quite frequently so it may take you some years to pinpoint him down, I can only give a rough area for you to track him I’m afraid my powers only allow for that, as I have not had enough dinner”
With this Viorel grabbed a knapsack, got himself kitted out with some shiny iron cuirass, made up a makeshift hand cart filled with blood sachets from the pantry and waved goodbye for the journey and began his no doubt monotonous and mind numbing trip to the Hungarian-Romanian border.
‘This had better not be a colossal waste of time’ he thought to himself slightly cautiously just on the chance the others were reading his thoughts.
Moiri Dab Lucifer Nightclub, Milan, Italy, 1979
The nightclub was a lavish and grand sight, very unusual for a Gothic themed club. There were brilliant sconces dotted around the outside walls, and an exquisitely kept Byzantine carpet led to the front entrance. Two bouncers with radiantly long flowing beige hair were chatting amongst themselves. They looked to be a shade over six feet and built like ancient Roman gladiators. On the roof of the club was a marvelous statue of the pagan gods Odin and Thor and even more elegant was the enormous statue of Saint Lucifer himself… known as Satan in the common tongue. What encouraged Marcello to be slightly nervous and apprehensive was the seemingly welcoming aura of the place. He expected it to be some underground club, possibly inside a restaurant which would have acted as a front. This was simply not the case, this club was clear for everyone to see, the owners obviously wanted to get as many patrons in the place as possible with this wonderment. Marcello being a man of the cloth looked at the statues with contempt but still felt certain adoration for the man hours that it must have taken to erect such things. The pagan gods had been worshiped for many centuries, chiefly by the Nordic people of Scandinavia, they believed in the mythical Valhalla and lived their lives accordingly in order to reach that kingdom. Pagans had been at war with Christians many times down the years, and Marcello felt like he was wandering into a definite and certain trap.
Although he was a Catholic priest he was essentially speaking the words of the same god whoever had tapped him on the shoulder and dropped the note must be inside this club waiting for his arrival. There was nothing else he could do apart from return to his apartment and mull over whether he would appear on Monday or not. The wind was gently licking his face, and it gave a good effect on the bouncer’s long hair, they should have purchased Alice bands. One of the bouncers looked over to him with a look of curiosity; he then gave Marcello a smile almost as if to say… we will see you soon.
Marcello’s Apartment, Milan, Italy, 1979
Back at his apartment, Marcello felt like he was being tempted by the devil, this must be the only explanation for a network of pagans and Satanists to want to meet him. He began to have visions of Jesus on the cross and the devil smiling with malice. His brain began to burn like fire, he looked down at his golden cross and to his horror, it proceeded to melt.
“In the name of the almighty lord, what kind of devilry is this?!” he bellowed.
The cross was now nothing more than a blob of gold dangling off his neck. Lactic acid was building inside his stomach, he felt his throat becoming tighter and tighter, he was being possessed by someone or something. The veins in his neck began to pulsate and now like some eternal torture, his eyes began to expand beyond their normal limits.
The pain was excruciating and he gave it some aggression.
“The power inside me given to me by our Lord savior demands you desist this menace, show yourself whoever you are… tell me what I have done to deserve this violation!”
The Redwood varnish stained bureau he had bought at the annual antique fair was now splitting in half, shame he had not taken out insurance for it… he cursed himself.
“You blasphemers that is solid redwood and not replaceable, you know I don’t have the precious thing insured, why don’t you twaddle off back to hell and leave this servant of Christ alone!”
The entire kitchens cache of cutlery began to whiz around the apartment like some internal whirlwind was giving them flight. Marcello’s proud book shelf came crashing down and his collection of books ranging from eastern philosophy to landscape gardening began to open and close. He could hear his neighbors startle to rouse; it was only a matter of minutes before someone came to knock on his door.
“Father we come to you because you cannot deny” came a dominant voice.
Marcello’s eyes were beginning to return to some level of normality, his throat was starting to open up again… he felt the searing pain begin to subside. The voice broke into another statement.
“Whether you are consciously aware or not father, you are the chosen one… you are the one who will deliver destiny, we transport you now to us… brace yourself and forgive us the pain, life is full of pain… but where there is pain, there is also an evolution for the senses… come now and be with us”
The pain had indeed nullified to nothing more than a slight headache, but Marcello had had his fill of this.
“By all that is good and wholesome under gods heavenly kingdom, I command you devil worshippers to leave me be… and I want payment for the damage to my apartment, and you better explain to my neighbors the meaning of this chaos!” he said with frosty spite.
Like some scene from a science fiction movie, Marcello was shrouded in a brilliant flickering light; this light began to slowly heat his body. Quicker than any living human could click a finger, our priest was gone. His apartment was now open to any free loader who cared to drop in; he would not be going back there again or at least not as he once was. As expected a haughty and balding neighbor knocked on the door, when there was no answer he swung the door open to discover the trashed apartment. He stood mouth open like a frog
trying to catch flies.
“What happened here, must be the thugs from the street gangs up to their usual antics, I call the police…merda!”
Marcello awoke to find himself smelling like he had been char grilled, was he about to be served up for dinner to some deity? He found that he was in some kind of gargantuan chamber of immense proportions. All around he could make out the presence of robed humans, all of them chanting some gibberish he could not comprehend. To the direct left of him was what he guessed a man seated in a chair, which was covered with human skulls and the silk backing had pentagrams woven into it. In the middle of the chamber was a solid looking dipping pool, perfectly circular and the water inside was red, the most sickening red Marcello had ever seen.
He remembered the time he had cut his finger chopping an onion and the fluid that had seeped out… but this water was the purest red he could have ever witnessed. The smell of the chamber was surprisingly regal and sweet. Marcello decided to get some answers.
“Who are you people and what am I doing in this place?”
The robed chanters stopped the gibberish and began to kneel towards him, it was apparent they were worshipping some great force. The seated man took off his hood and Marcello could see that his eyes were glowing red, although the man was some distance away it was clear as crystal to see his eyes. Like little balls of fire set in a human face, he gave the intro speech.
“Father we first must apologize for the pain you suffered during the transition event, it was simply a test to make sure you are the one we seek… please forgive us this inconvenience… we know you have no concept of who we are and more to the point… who you are”
Marcello was quivering with the presence of what he felt were sheer insanity ridden devil dwellers getting high off the wrong guy. This whole place was tearing his mind into tatters; he could not believe that places like this still exist. The seated man began stage two of his speech.
“Soon father all the answers you crave will come; you were born into the role you have been called upon to fulfill, like all great entities it always starts off with the being denying his own birth right… I know this because I have been alongside some of the strongest men in the history of this planet, and this planet is long overdue for a clean out… a clean out and wipe-out of all the infidels and non-believers… you father are the key to our achieving this”
That was it Marcello had heard just about enough of this prattle, he could not withstand any more of the evil preaching and started into a run towards that seated man. The seated man reacted quicker than Marcello could produce a blink, and he raised his arm and by some unknown force knocked Marcello down to the hard floor. Once again the seated man spoke.
“Father your anger and stubborn denial is expected and foreseen, understand please that soon you will know all and you will rise from your god worshipping cage to the dominion of this earth under the watchful eyes of Lucifer-our eternal master… or you may refer to him as Satan like most beings” the seated man continued “All your life father you have been following a predetermined path, you believe in free will and while this is true to some extent, you have been on a one way ticket to be with us right here and right now… the invitation for Monday was a little joke of mine, tonight is the night you become our eyes, ears, and mouth for the world… tonight you witness the coming and summoning of our master, he will be most interested to see who will do his bidding”
On the floor Marcello was bringing up blood, there was enough of it to cause him to spit out a good amount onto the ground. Any resolve left in his body for his Catholic background and preaching’s were beginning to look like they would bear no brunt in this place. He gave out one final session of resistance.
“You ghoulish and twisted devil slaves, you are on trial by the Lord for your sins… don’t you see that I’m not the man you want… return me to my life or forever burn in the fires of hell until your skin peels off and then burns off again for all eternity…you blasphemers!”
The words that came out of his bloodied mouth even made him wonder if his intelligence had dropped somewhat in this chamber. Burning in the fires of hell is probably what these sinister robed people craved in the afterlife; to them, it was more than likely more preferable to any imaginable heaven. Now he had succumbed to pathetic and inane banter he began to succumb to darkness, the light began to draw away from his once God fearing eyes… he felt his soul begin to writhe and mutate beyond the physical plain… it was the mutation of devilry.
The once seated man began to engage in some form of summoning dance, in unison the robed worshippers entered into the devil dance. If you were to witness such an event, you the reader would swiftly welcome any form of release from the unrepentant and unrelenting pain of this whole godforsaken place. Hours seemed to pass whilst the Lucifer dance ensued, but to the shock of the gathering… no hellish apparition appeared. The seated man gave his verdict “Cherubim they are the bane of Lucifer, they must be preventing the apparition of our master, the hierarchy of angels will not prevent us from reaching our goal though, take note of father Marcello, the prophecy is almost upon us”
Marcello was entering into insane and deranged flashbacks of his whole life to date, everything from his first steps as a child, his first high school kiss, and girlfriend, to his last meeting with his friends in Berlin. The flashbacks were becoming distorted with voices of despair and twisted sickening temptation… the statement of the seated man which proclaimed of predetermined paths was growing into steadily ingrained truths that could no longer be denied by every fiber of his being. Marcello was helpless against the force of the transition, what powers or witchcraft was at work here was more than strong enough to overthrow any shred of morality he had left. Although it did not make sense, nevertheless he could not deny his own existence as Lucifer’s tool and soon to be puppet.
Had he been poisoned by some evil sadistic potion? Had he been placed under some form of sorcery? The insides of his eyes burned like napalm and he felt like his brain was being put through a bread maker.
He could resist the force of insanity no longer the ferocity of the satanic ritual was simply too strong, as if no force on earth could resist its powers. The Satan dance had twisted the core of his being inside and out, soul quenched and perverted, every atom deconstructed and then reassembled in the image of the lord of darkness
This was his destiny realized in the crazed world of humanity this damnation was the sanest choice for our now relentlessly evil and ruthless vicar. He slowly began to awake from his visions; all around him a sea of robed humans lay aghast at what they could only believe to be the same person albeit now morphed into someone of blackness. Despite the dismay of the crowd, the seated man remained perfectly calm and poised. Who was this seated man? Time to lift the veil so to speak. Cue seated man finally confirming his identity.
“Our father your awakening is done… allow me to introduce myself, I am a close friend and confidant of Herman Yeval .I have been on the frontline of Lucifer’s existence and commands for many centuries of man, I was Grigori Rasputin’s advisor and it’s only because I am a non-egotistical man that I have not decided to take complete power myself… however, Lucifer has given me the gift of the eyes you see set into my face like fire… my name is not relevant at this juncture… father come and take my hand and let me show you the history room, we have much to discuss”
The whole chamber spurned into a precession of claps and cheers, the robed followers fell to their knees and began to go into another chant proclaiming death and destruction
to all non-followers of Lucifer.
An Isolated Black Cave, Northern Mountains Of Romania, 1826
Debauchery and lusting for curvaceous rock formations, the shapes of never-ending depravity, and an earth hour was a lifetime in the cave… now Thomas the hermit’s home. Life had spat up and chewed out his sanity in chips. Rusted nerves that were rotten from years of soul perishing antagonism, the life force had been drip dried from him. All that w
as left of our accountant was a feeble, and yeast infested shallow core of human materialization.
‘Thomas you have nobody, nothing in your life… you stink like a rhinos arse end, you must never ever leave this cave-this cave is the only friend you have left… make love to this cave like it’s your life’s whore, feed on the caves goodness… only goodness you have left, you ingrate, you debauched plebeian!’ came probing voices from inside Thomas’s lice covered head.
The lice themselves were sickened and repelled by the man’s flaccid and malignantly weak aura. One of the boss lice called a committee meeting to discuss the possibility of relocating to another downtrodden man, one who might have some shred of pride left.
Coupled with the notion that Thomas’s scalp had not much in the way of sugar content anymore for the lice to feed on, they were ready to move on.
Thomas had sunk deeper than anybody could envisage, his brain was no more than a pulpy mush. What possible purpose could this unfortunate creature have left in the world? What was keeping his lungs breathing other than sheer instinct? Outside the cave the sky was dark and the crack of thunder could be heard. The gods were obviously annoyed about some matter in the world; this was their signal of anger and authority. The lightning was swift and glorious, but also harrowing and woe betides any wandering pauper or traveling merchant hidden under a tree. The visions of lightning gave Thomas a jolt of his own anger.
“You will never make me sign your fraudulent tax scroll; you shall rot in the rankness of cow’s gonads!”
Dear oh dear the crusty troglodyte was clearly delusional, something quite common amongst cave dwellers who have nothing to live for. His bottom was itching with something not so different to evil threadworm. It was the terrifying and lengthy tapeworm he had picked up drinking from the barrels outside the Bucharest offal factory. The tapeworm was making its presence felt by picking at his bum with irritable pressure and conviction. This worm we will name Harry and it was never going to leave him like his wife did, it would not sack him like his boss did, this worm was going to stay with him until he was nothing but a lifeless flapping corpse, and the maggots had consumed all possible avenues of nutrition left in his carcass.