The shuffling of material is heard, and a few soft, muffled groans emanate from beneath five separate hoods. Rough, brown cloth woven by the filth upon which it sat scraped against dried and cracking skin, causing the patches of dried blood to crackle and flake off. Humans; Sinful, dirty creatures. Delicate, replaceable bodies, and like so many others, so easy to manipulate. A dark, hooded figure paced about the chairs, which were lined up side by side. The pale, slender hand of the figure drug smoothly across the wood of the chairs, the soft noise yielding no comfort to the cold, bleeding bodies bound to the chairs. Dark. The room was dark, the bodies lit only by the moonlight which kissed their throbbing bodies each time the wind moved the cloths adorning the window frames.
“Fadatues sesti a muamos…” (Translation: “Fading sparks of memories”) A soft, sultry voice whispered, rousing the hooded mortals from their bloodied haze. The language which the figure spoke was serpentine, a hiss gracing the dangerous lips from which the words of longing passed.
A snap was heard, and the blaze of a single strand of flame lit the figure’s face. This was a face familiar to the bearer, but foreign eyes. These were the eyes of an Ancient Abyssal wife, a woman who slaughtered her husband, and ruled by means of sadism and madness. She was the epitome of darkness, and her name was forgotten, but a deed such as hers lived on forever, thriving in the minds of each ruler that sat in the throne of Solaris.
Another snap and spheres of fire lit the room. The icy breeze of mother winter no longer caressed their skin, nor the sweet moonlight of Nyx. The bodies bound in the midst of this demon were the bodies of Holy men, cut and infected. Blood curdled and rotted in the many gashes across their bodies, and each hopeless breath they gasped for felt as though they were swallowing shards of diamond. One by one, she walked behind the chairs, snagging the bags off of their heads, one by one. In the way she had them positioned, it was the Pope in the middle, and his cardinals and priests at his sides. The wicked soul watched their eyelids twitch, eyes flicking back and forth in their sockets as if frantically staring into oblivion, searching for a way out. She rounded the last chair and came to stand before the Pope; David IV was his name. He had been born and raised in the church, and was a well-known, “charitable,” and loved man.
There were dirty secrets pushed to the depths of this man, who was held beneath a body of denial as if it was the pool of sewer water that he blessed himself with on a daily basis. Really? He was a holy man? Killing the innocent and taking everything from them simply because they didn’t scrape enough money to pay taxes? Oh, so very holy indeed. A Pope is supposed to be the embodiment of light, yes? Surely the “Holier than thou” attitude radiated plenty of intimidation, and surely it has gotten him everything he had ever wanted.
“Yes, you put the fear of God into them, don’t you, David?” She hissed, taking the secondary language and putting it into play. The words were laced with omniscience, as well as the heavy, snake-ish accent which hung off her words like so many venomous serpents.
David’s eyes fluttered open slowly, pain and the fear of God shining in his eyes. He dared not gaze at his brethren, for the sight of them would surely scar him. In fact, he did not even want to see himself at this moment in time, for he could feel the chunks skin missing from his body. His blood was thin, and each breath was shallow, as if an anvil had been placed upon his chest.
“How do those apprentice boys taste, David?” He cringed as she spoke. This woman was drawing the filthy acts out in front of his colleagues, making the situation all the more painful. “I might go have a taste of them, later.” Running her tongue across her pale lips, she caught the older man’s eyes with her intense stare. “Or perhaps I will put an end to their suffering, by taking your life-Or…even better…how about I let them do it?” She had discovered his sin, and of course, he believed this was the wrath of his God, but she was just the Hell that he had made around him.
“Hn.” She cooed softly, arching as she moved closer to the aged man and straddled the arms of the chair, allowing her face to come within inches of his own. The alluring aroma of honey and lemongrass was the only beauty trapped in this room, but came from the demoness which mounted his chair. “I want to tell you a secret, David…” The woman purred, leaning up close to his ear as she whispered, “We have forgotten the taste of the air we breathe, because too often we take this life of ours for granted.” The holy man could only shudder at her closeness, his tear ducts cut and dry, too shriveled to release a single tear. “If your God is truly who your silly books proclaim him to be, how is it he allows creatures such as myself to roam this universe?” A charming smile graced her lips as she spoke, her eyes alight with vicious joy, “Be proud that you are to be killed by that which cannot die.”
“You have been degraded and stripped down to what you truly are, a worthless compilation of blood,
shit, and water; and you will ascend to nothing, for there is nothing after you die but silence, and oblivion.” After she finished speaking, she drew away from his ear, sliding from the chair’s arms. She then walked calmly to the left of the bewildered and sobbing Pope, where his Cardinals, the highest of high, and his partners in crime in the act of deflowering the helpless little apprentice boys of the Church sat, bound to death, but rejecting his friendship.
“Fearing death is worse than dying one hundred times, Lawrence.” She addressed the first Cardinal to the Pope’s left, whose eyes had been dug out by the demonic woman in her day-old escapades. The second Cardinal’s tongue was missing and his mouth and below were a bloody mess. Constant twitching plagued the man’s face, and the nub of flesh left in his mouth jerked like the freshly severed tail of a lizard. He bled, whimpering and murmuring like a tongueless man should. Periodically he sputtered out blood, which dripped down his chin and onto his chest. The two Cardinals had both been castrated, but the type of castration done by claws, not by surgical instruments, and not just removing of the testicles, but the genetalia altogether. They had all been sliced and gashed in numerous places across their bodies, and left to infection and the hungry maggots to nibble at the rotting flesh. While the horrid stench was unpleasant to the demonic woman who was carrying out this deed, that was the last thing she needed to worry about.
The Deacons to the Pope’s left had been made deaf, either by the Armegedon which infiltrated their ear-canal and burned it out, or simply by ripping off the ears and clawing through the sides of their heads. They had no idea of their superior’s actions, and she found that they did not deserve to be so heartbroken. Their deaths would be quick, and
almost painless. The woman’s eyes closed as she drew a hand softly across each of their necks, bringing them back toward each other with a sickening rip. Following the rip were gurgling and sputtering noises, and blood slithered down the cherry wood of the chairs and pooled graciously onto the wooden planks which made up the floor. Some of the crimson life fluid slipped through the cracks, and more of it was sucked up by the dehydrated and neatly butchered pieces of wood. They bled until they could bleed no more, and until the blood that was left inside of them deoxygenated and their bodies forgot how to live. “Reap them of your sins, and wash away the filth that lingers…” She hissed silently.
She moved back to the Cardinals, watching the mute man spit up and go into fits of incoherent mumbles and murmurings. The blind man was whispering his Hail Maries, watching the gruesome scene through what senses he had left. Of course he heard the sputtering, airy noises of the two Deacons being bled, but he knew that worse was in store for him.
“Father, would you be so kind and give you and your comrades Viaticum (“Last Rites”)?” Her voice had become softer, but still dripped with that viciousness which this soul would surely not let pass.
“There’s nothing here to take for granted with each breath that we take. The hands of times’ diffused from our bodies, and we fade. Memories remain, as time goes on. There’s nothing here to take for granted with each breath that we take. The hands of times’ diffused from our bodies, and we fade. Memories remain, as time goes on.”
The soft, angelic singing of the voices of five little boys rang throughout the small room, causing both the Pope and Cardinals’ breathing to quicken. As the voices became closer, the Pope began to speak, a voice stuttery and soft:
“Into Your hands, Oh Lord, I commend my spirit. Oh Lord Jesus Christ, receive my spirit. Holy Mary, pray for me. Oh Mary, mother of grace, mother of mercy, protect me from the enemy, and receive me at the hour of death. St. Joseph, pray for me. St. Joseph, in company with the Blessed Virgin, Your spouse: Open to me the source of divine mercy.”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, we give you our hearts and our souls.” The first Cardinal to the left murmured.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, assist us in our last agony.” The Cardinal spoke for his brother, tears unable to bring their cool wetness to his cheeks.
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, may we sleep and rest in peace in your holy company.” The Pope mumbled.
Lawrence: “Lord, have mercy on us.”
David: “Christ, have mercy on us.”
Lawrence: “Lord, have mercy on us. Our Father...”
David: “And lead us not into temptation.”
Lawrence: “But deliver us from evil.”
David: “Eternal rest grant unto us Oh Lord,
And let perpetual light shine upon us.”
Lawrence: “From the gates of hell.”
David: “Deliver our souls, Oh Lord.
“May we rest in peace.”
Five small boys entered the room, dressed in their traditional robes for Mass, still softly singing. The song had become more haunting, their voices softening as they came closer. A calm smile graced the young woman’s lips as they came to rest at her sides, hugging at her legs and hips as if for solace of some sort, much like a son would hug their mother in adoration. Their eyes had been closed the whole time they had walked, and as the last word passed their supple, childish lips, their eyes snapped open. The surface was light-blue, glowing demonically as their perfect faces remained placid.
“Amen.” She whispered, watching as the boys ran toward the holy men like tots on Christmas morning.
Screams filled the air, blood splattering upon the four walls of the room, and pooling on the floor like so much water. Clawing, ripping, snapping, growling. The demonic woman smiled, unable to see anything more than red, and breathe in the fresh scent of innards which was filling the room.
Outside these walls and miles through the forest into the town of Glühwein Wood, people were celebrating the Winter Festival of Yule. People were oblivious to the utterly barbaric and inhumane acts being carried out outside of their Village walls. People were dancing in the streets, their festive mugs filled with fine golden rum and other less sophisticated drinks to not only celebrate Winter, but to bring in the New Year. Crowds of singing people littered the streets, some too drunk to walk straight, and others passed out in a drunken haze in the middle of the road. A large Yule log was placed in the Village’s center, blazing and warming the ignorant hearts which danced in its wake. Holly was thick in the air, the smell of Fir and Spruce enough to burn your nostrils when walking through the Town Square. What a better time for murdering when the people who coveted and lied to their Pope were indulging in their own special Sin.
Adultery with a spice of lying and stealing and cheating? Delicious! Lust, Sloth, Gluttony, Pride, Wrath, Greed, Envy, and many more! Come! Join the human race! There’s plenty Sin to go around!