by Sergio Black
Nefarious walks past the perverse General and rips the bloody, white surgeon gloves off his smooth hands before throwing them into the steel trash bin next to the solid oak desk. He then turns on his heels, kneels on one foot and takes the General’s hand, then kisses it as a show of hierarchy. The General nods her head with slight approval and deciphers the Doctor’s face with hiked eyebrows, curious as to the change in nature; she doesn’t take him as the submissive type. She is hoping he will be different from the men before him, not like the other overly eager cucks she has killed throughout the centuries. Still not entirely over the rebuff from the Doctor, in her tone, she displays her venomous disappointment.
“You may stand…” General Bathory wears black heels, a short sexy trench coat that shows off her perfect cleavage, with 3 stars embossed on each shoulder, a Totenkopf belt fastening the coat, and a lone white swastika on the back with the white word ‘Einsatzgruppen’ underneath. General Bathory is a tall, gorgeous woman with violet hair, an athletic figure, and a tight round ass. Despite being older than most Superiors, she still has the appearance of being in her early 20’s. Her youthful vigor, she attributes to bathing in the blood of virgin Superiors, believing her skin soaks in their radiance, granting her prolonged beauty and life.
Nefarious stands and meets her eyes as Bathory speaks. “Your reputation precedes you, Dr. Wirth. No need for introductions, obviously. Your charming assistant has been telling me how excited you are to move forward with the Weaponization program.” The General motions to the red couch where Jaime sits doey and blue-eyed, basking in the General’s praise like an over-achieving daddy’s girl. The General loosens the Totenkopf belt that encircles her lean stomach, letting the trench coat fall open, exposing her perfect naked body, in hopes of sexual enticement. Bathory is on the prowl.
“I usually loathe men but, in this case, I can get behind a man who takes up his sword for the sake of Country. We need more guys like you and your late father, with those kinds of minds, anything is possible. I hear you’re not afraid to get dirty and roll with the pigs, which is good, because we are at war, and for the first time in history, one cause has united humans, heedless of age...” The General pauses momentarily, “I’m going to make myself more comfortable.” Bathory seductively opens her coat to reveal an abundance of perky cleavage, and subtly flicks her tongue over her plush, pink lips, then pulls a long cigarette from inside her coat. She produces a camouflaged Zippo lighter from the other pocket which reads, Protection Squad. Nefarious stares at the General’s cigarette with escalating irritability. The General readily lights the cigarette without any sympathy to those in the room and slaps the Zippo shut, then flags the cigarette as she lightly puffs a large column of rank smoke. The General nods and continues where she left off.
“Anyway, like I was saying, regardless of political affiliation or religion, what brings mankind together is extermination and I feel we can use this to our advantage. We, as human beings, for the first time in history, face annihilation as a whole species all because of that Nefarious Warstar. What a ridiculous name. Although I must admit what is a woman to do with all that man. We should take a page or two from our Master country, Neu Germany has the right initiatives, mass genocide of any fratenizers and non-conformers, human or otherwise.” The General hikes her eyebrows and crookedly smiles, revealing a set of jagged teeth at her emphasis of what she’s proposing. “The Minutemen and their affiliates need to be taught a lesson, all the way from law enforcement in Neu America to the Reichstag in Neu Germany. If we work together, we can eradicate the international fanatic fascists that threaten the Regimocracy and win the approval of Hitler, and possibly win a one-way ticket to the glorious motherland. God knows I hate being in this dump.” The General changes her seductive tone and becomes deadly composed.
“So, let’s get down to business. So, Doc, if this works, we can strip the second soul from any Superior, regardless of age, skill or ability, and bottle it like a soft drink, then consume those second souls, like Cola.” The General raises her hand and touches Nefarious on the cheek with a gentle lover’s caress, before continuing. “Neu American President, Mr. Trump has seen the progress reports and this looks promising. We can finally infiltrate the Minutemen, then from beyond the veil of secrecy, we will take this to the motherland. Together, we’ll abolish all those who threaten the liberty and prosperity of Neu Germany. Now all this being said, it would be appropriate to give the first selection to those who make this all possible. With the right terms, I will increase your funding.” Bathory smiles with the intent of implying a bribe.
“Now, we can level the playing field and exterminate those abominations. They call themselves Superiors, what a laugh. Superiors didn’t build this world, Neu Germans did!” Bathory roars chilling laughter and grabs her fit stomach as if she’d just heard a joke from Tran and Helle. Nefarious stares through the General’s cold blue eyes and into her desolate soulless heart. The General’s laughter slowly decreases to a sputtering stop. “Oh c’mon, Doc, please don’t tell me after all this time with the Reich, you still have condolence for them. They’re not people like us.” Nefarious drops his eyes to the floor, lingering on the Einsatzgruppen General’s hateful words, then shifts his gaze upward, making eye contact with her.
“Yes, Bathory, you’re right, they’re not people like us. They’re so much more... Your perverted ideological Regimocracy is what’s wrong with this world. Fools like you hide behind your walls of hypokrisy and immoral armies. You control public opinion with blankets of fear while buying rank to dominate the masses with sheets of hatred. I would share in your laughter if I were the good Doctor. You’re very accurate in your assumptions, General. We’re at war, however, I believe you’re on the wrong side of it.” Nefarious’ vocals give way and he can no longer mimic Eduard’s voice due to the overload of frustration he feels, but instead is restored to his original cold, monotone voice that's electrified from the internal lighting Nefarious uses to zap his vocal cords, resulting in a pitch that's mechanical, amplified and downright fearsome.
The General is stunned, shaking her head questioningly, she is now scared, not out of fear but of uncertainty that she is still the cat. “Your voice, it’s umm… Not human, who are you?” The General stares at Nefarious, confused, but she is sure that he is not who he portrays himself to be, looking at the cigarette in her hand, she lets it sizzle out. “Jig is up, whoever you are, you can show yourself.” Nefarious bores into the General’s eyes with a sense of unnatural calmness that puts the General on edge.
“Take a look, General, everything is not what it seems.” The General hesitates, then slowly swivels her head around, auditing the room. Nefarious stands in place, and pinwheels the third ray in his eyes, clockwise three times, lifting the false reality cast from his ocular prowess and begins to body warp to his former formidable self. The General looks to the red velvet sofa where the figment of Jaime Anthony slowly dissipates like a faded illusion. In shock, the General is not stunned by the horrid sight but by the fact she had been played to such an extent. She hesitates to turn her head toward Nefarious, for she fears that his life is nearing a close, but quickly loses her train of thought by the horrid sight she witnesses hanging from the ceiling. Bathory breathes in deep. Behind Nefarious are the cold corpses of Jaime Razner and Eduard Wirth the 2nd, guts spilled, blood dripping off their toes, pooling beneath them and strung up by surgical tubing like Jesus of Nazareth.
“Oh my God! What in the fuck!” the General squeals, dropping her fizzled out cigarette, as surprise seizes her by force.
“Don’t you know, General, I’m the misery of mankind.” The General looks at Nefarious with a sad realization, pointing at him with a trembling hand.
“You’re the Superior we’ve been hunting; you’re NEFARIOUS WARSTAR.” Nefarious cocks his head to the side, showing a smirk of approval and finishes repealing the myriad of self-cast images that swirls back into his eye before disappearing into a Vortex. Nefarious’ false gree
n eyes dissipate and give way to his aglow 16-pointed Eyes of Vergina. The General doesn’t so much as fixate on Nefarious, but more so to the massive Reaper Scythe holstered to his back in a crooked crude fashion. Nefarious ceases to smile and breathes in before speaking.
“I am he who you think I am, General. I haven’t time for games. I came here to deliver you to the afterlife, but not before I crush my opposers at the yearly Gala... I know the Einsatzkommandos are on the hunt for Symone Santago. I know you know her whereabouts; you will tell me where she is, she has to pay for the death of my father. That fated night she took everything from me!”
Nefarious narrows his eyes and reaching around his back he lightly glances the Reaper Scythe, inspiring fear. The General gulps and is now feeling something that had been long lost to her, inside her hollow stomach swells a well of fear. She swallows hard and thinks better than to lie, holding out hope she may still make it out of this situation alive. “Vegas, we have confirmed reports she’s also at the yearly Gala. But you won’t get there in time; we already assembled the Einsatzkommandos, the Ordnungspolizei and Gestapo to intercept her.” Bathory now attempts to use her seductive power, looking Nefarious directly in the eyes. “You don’t want to do this, I’m the apple of your eye and you wanna make love to me. Then afterward, let me cut you open with that scythe and bathe in your blood.”
Nefarious’ expression is blank but casually focused, “That won’t work on me. Please let me show you what true power looks like… Death.” Bathory’s eyes widen and dilate with surprise as the Eye of Vergina flashes in her mind. She turns her head and watches in fear as the lingering cigarette smoke pulls together from the four corners of the office to make one massive plume cloud over Nefarious’ right shoulder. The fog spirals around the back of his head and morphs into a Six-Eyed Raven just as it meets his left shoulder. The Raven propels itself forward at the disgruntled General, who hurriedly stumbles to the silver door in an attempt to elude a horrendous death. General Bathory wraps her sweaty fingers around the mounted handle, then pulls on the locked door with every muscle fiber she can conjure, the thick veins strain in her forehead as though she were Morghan King.
“C’mon you piece of shi-” The General turns her head toward Nefarious with helpless eyes, the blur of cloudy smoke smacks her in the face with a force that snaps her head back with a loud pop. The hot scratchy smoke slithers down the General’s throat while simultaneously disappearing beneath her eyelids. The General let's go of the metal handle and staggers backward, both arms flailing, fighting to keep her balance. She drops to both knees. The sooty vapor molests itself deeper into her body, the smoke works like a progressive aging toxin that matures her horrifically. She claws at her uniform, ripping the plastic buttons off her shirt which bounce to the floor, exposing her perfect breasts that age horrendously until they resemble saggy water balloons. The General’s eyes butterfly rapidly as she gasps for breath, holding her wrinkled throat. She laughs hoarsely and sputters over her words. “Yo-you think, thi-this is the end, we have le-le-legions on our side, you’ll never win!” She convulses a final time and falls to her belly, her once flawless complexion now peppered with growing yellow pustules. Unable to breathe, her insides churn like butter, she slowly begins to turn gunmetal grey, before shriveling to resemble an aborted fetus.
Nefarious watches in satisfaction, “I hope you’ve made peace with your God; I am sure heaven’s not where you’re going.” Nefarious is thoroughly content to be commanding one of the many abilities granted him after his Ascension and apart from the Eye of Vergina. This is quite possibly his most favored, powerful, gift he had inherited from his parents, God’s Breath. As Nefarious utters the word “EXPAND,” the smoke in the General’s body explodes like a small cherry bomb, blowing guts and puss in every direction. Nefarious is more than pleased with the rulings of his retribution and turns around on black heels and exits the room like Vlad the Impaler. Walking down the straight, vacant hallway, all is silent other than the constant banging coming from the Superiors behind locked doors. Nefarious makes his way toward the red door marked EXIT.
Nefarious opens the red door and shadows of setting sunlight dance off his face. He teleports several hundred meters from the building and stares off into the distance of surrounding forests that uncoil past memories. Nefarious has flashbacks to when he was a boy and feels an ocean of overwhelming emotions in a singular moment, the good, the bad, and the ugly; the inhumane years spent in the Dissection Prison that click through his mind like a 1960s subliminal message. Nefarious is overwrought with disgust and turns toward the Dissection Lab. Throwing both hands high, he uses his entire body as a conduit and absorbs surrounding soundwaves as all becomes quiet and still. As Nefarious breathes in deep, he imagines the abominable Dissection Lab destroyed just enough for the captives within its walls to escape but not enough to cave-in the facility. Nefarious turns his hands into fists, opening his mouth, black static rumbles in his throat as he releases his breath in one word, “DEVASTATE!”
Nefarious projects his voice forward, the sonic low notes pummel and batter off the square medical base, then wallop through the weakened complex. Echoed projections of Nefarious ricochet off the dull halls before the accumulated energy expands and explodes like a series of timed bombs, the traumatizing vibrations rumble then ripple throughout the cubed walls. The center of the concrete building implodes on itself, weakening the surrounding infrastructure which destroys the prison chambers, setting free the inmates within. Nefarious turns away, then hunches close to the green earth and gathers a slew of centripetal energy. Debris from the destroyed stronghold begins to fly off the ground and circle around him, as he rockets off the ground with such force that he generates the trembling of a level 3 earthquake. Nefarious becomes a black shroud of flocking, squawking Ravens, as he soars through the air at 120 Mach speed, breaking the sound barrier and ... “Onward to Vegas” …
CHAPTER TWO
ONWARD TO VEGAS
(October 31st, 7:25 PM) The sun dips over the horizon. Four men who are security detailed to protect the Gala wear black Gestapo uniforms, dark earpieces, Ray-ban aviators and windbreakers that read Gestapo on the back. The guards casually lounging around expect to collect an easy paycheck which they’ll spend on frivolous things, and talk about women they wish to have sexual relations with, money they wish they had, and other self-serving interests that won’t amount to anything. They look about to the many black buildings that are adorned in NAZI propaganda, without a care in the world... Nefarious lands in front of the Neu MGM Grand Casino entrance like a fallen star, in a flurry of scattered Raven’s feathers, and craters the street. The sediment clears, charring quills lazily dance in the chilly air. The guards immediately draw their weapons upon sighting Nefarious.
“Terrorist! On the ground now!” Nefarious slowly reaches his right hand out to his side and calls the Scythe which sits upon his back; it shivers before flipping into his palm with supersonic precision. The guards jump and shake their weapons at Nefarious to emphasize how pensive they are. Nefarious stands strong with the mindset of anarchy.
“Your species are all the same. Arrogant, foolish and ill-prepared. Tell me, do you know who I am?” The guards look to each other and shrug. The guard closest to Nefarious looks back at his comrades and smirks before talking like an uneducated thug in a propagandistic gangster flick.
“Yeah, the motherfucka who’s gonna be filled with bullet holes from my piece- Glock 27 Pearce Extension if you don’t put ya’ weapon down.” Nefarious twirls the Scythe with blight speed, then he points it at the group of arrogant men. Nefarious has grabbed the spotlight of various tourists and a mob of onlookers form a circle around Nefarious like children on the schoolyard looking to watch a good fight, quick to pull Halagrims from their pockets to record the eventful showdown. Nefarious stares down the barrels of each weapon, then into the faces of the guards who hold them, his irritation building as the mass of spectators mutter his name.
“You
know what I hate about humanity? You put too much faith in your false technologies, then attribute it to true power. Please let me be the one to show you what true power looks like.” Nefarious raises his left hand and makes a fist, causing the Halagrims that are held in the hands of surrounding legions to crumble and fall to the concrete street in piles of meritless pieces. The confused crowds look to each other in panic, some Phantom Phorm into black thick ash, flying off to recruit more Gestapo droves, and the others flee to shelter behind cars, signs and small obstructions, pointing and staring at the dramatic events unfolding from a safe distance. Streets cleared, Nefarious walks forward, letting the Scythe linger in his hand, the razored tip caresses the pavement, carving deep lines in the concrete, ERRRR! The petrified guards let off a curtain of bullets that invade the streets. “ELOPE!”
Time decelerates, Nefarious can see perfectly the ripple of bullet rounds that don’t seem to be moving at all. Just before smashing against his suit, Nefarious teleports in numerous directions. The guards try their best to shoot Nefarious who disappears so rapidly, he leaves a momentary mirage of himself where he formerly stood. The distinct clicks of unchambered Glocks ricochet through Nefarious’ ears. Nefarious materializes through a penumbra of flocking ravens as fast as he disappeared, to the exact spot where he formerly stood when the shooting began. He raises his chin asserting his mettle, his voice electrified, he masks his outrage well.
“Your Pearce Extension has abandoned you. You’ll die for your arrogance, for you, there’s no death in redemption, just death...” The guards look at their guns in awe then back to Nefarious. Nefarious pitches his hand toward the sky, levitating the guards from the ground who scream and flail in protest. Nefarious swipes his hand in synchronized motions like an orchestra conductor, hammering and wrecking the guards off cars and buildings with loud thuds, before flicking his hand inward, pulling the guards to his central point. Nefarious holds the Reaper Scythe in his right hand by its elegant long handle and hurls it diagonally like a well-made boomerang. The Scythe whistles through the air at dazzling speeds, creating friction amongst rapidly heating atoms that finally resonate with frequent bomb-like explosions, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The Scythe carves a perfect angle that cuts the guards in half. Nefarious walks forward and raising his left hand, he snatches the bloody Scythe out of midair with skilled precision. Nefarious walks forward a few steps, then becomes a blazing blur of flocking, Six-Eyed Ravens, as he zips onward, descending over the severed corpses with growing anger. He watches the life ebb from the Gestapo’s eyes.