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Oct 28, 2007 - 02:12 PM |
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Blood: A Tale (Part III, Interlude, Part IV, and Interlude) |
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III
He loved her. It was impossible for him to love her, yet he did all the same. Her blood was still warming his body, and the rush he felt when he tasted her had not yet faded away . . . and for the first time in many years, he lusted for more.
She had denied him that, but he didn’t begrudge her it; he didn’t need any more. Chances were good that that small dose would sustain him for months.
He had a vague idea of where they were going, but his mind was so clouded that he couldn’t put his finger on it. They were standing outside the cathedral before he realized . . .
“St. John’s?” He intoned it in a near-whisper. Being dead, it was hard not to accept the presence of an all-powerful God. Granted, he held nothing but an awed contempt for He who let him live this undead life. Robert had tried suicide after the first hundred years of undeath, but, apparently, that was against the rules. Even so, the majesty and power of God could still cow him.
“Yes it is, Robert,” she said. Something about that struck him as wrong, but he was too doped up to catch it. “And we’re going in.”
“We’re . . .” He sobered up . . . and beamed. She had invited him into a church.
She opened the door and led him in. For the second time that day, he was overwhelmed with emotions. This time, it was because of the overwhelming holy presence in the church. He could see spirits flying around.
She was leading to a large basin of holy water, but he didn’t notice; he was blissfully ignorant right up until she plunged his hand into it.
His world exploded in pain, and he lost consciousness.
Interlude
She had loaded her gun with silver bullets. Now she was running from it and leading it too far away from its den for it to be safe. She paused, whispered a prayer, and then began floating back toward it.
The chase lasted for half an hour as it ran in circles. It paused to catch its breath and she stepped out of the trees. Recognition dawned in the animal’s eyes as she fired her first shot. She missed, cursed, and it leapt toward her. It managed to get its teeth in her arm just before she fired again, this time hitting it in the back of the neck.
It fell off her arm. She took aim again, this time hitting it in the left shoulder, than the right. Slowly, it turned back into its human shape. It was pitiful. A naked man, lying dead on his chest. Not matter. She broke his hips with two more shots from the gun and then retrieved her dagger from its sheath by her womanhood.
She chanted as she slowly cut across his forehead, and then, filled with supernatural strength, she pulled and cut his scalp off. That finished, she held the scalp up and continued to chant. As her magick began to take effect, the scalp caught fire. The clearing was filled with the acrid scent of burning flesh and hair. She placed it down on the ground in the middle of the ring of mushrooms growing there. There was a flash of light and the clearing was lit by a red glow.
She was finished here. She cleaned her hands off on the moss of the forest floor and traveled on.
* * *
The poison she had chosen would take a little under a week to work. She loaded it in a little needle hidden under the false nails she had put on for this beautiful Sunday morning. The church she had chosen was a short drive from her current home. She arrived a little late, making sure to draw attention to herself. After all, she was white, and the rest of the church was black. Luckily, no one cared, and many greeted her as if she had been part of the congregation for many years.
She sat through the disgusting sermon; it was a standard loud and screaming and “Pa-raaaaaayse JAAAY-Sus!” thing. But she made herself clap with the rest of the congregations. At the loudest points, she made some quiet praises of her own.
After the benediction, the minister went to the entrance of the church and much vigorous handshaking occurred. He didn’t notice when she scratched him as he took her hand. Then she left.
The next week, she returned. The poison had nearly finished destroying his respiratory system. He was wheezing, and was nowhere near as loud as he had been. The best part was when he began to vomit blood right on the platform. He died 10 minutes later.
That night, the church began glowing red.
* * *
Las Vegas. This would be the simplest one yet. She had found the ghoul the week before at the massive wreck. She had followed it as it dragged the bodies back to its dwelling and then rested for the day. She cast a ward over it to warn her of when the ghoul left the ring of stones to search for live food.
It didn’t take long. When it left, she made sure to be walking down the road. The ghoul’s disguise was laughable, but she followed it all the same. As they got closer and closer to the ring, she began casting the Arabic spell to send the ghoul’s spirit down to Hell. When it dropped its illusory cloak, she sent the spell out. There was an astral scream as the soul ripped free of the long-dead body.
The body was limp as she straddled it and ripped the head off. She then scraped the flesh from the skull and placed it down in the center of the ring of stones. Again, a flash of light and the red glow. The circle-and-star was nearly complete.
Now to New York.
IV True unconsciousness was an extreme rarity for him, and what happened to his brain while he was under was, in a word, bizarre. He had not dreamed in more than 200 years, and had forgotten about it in the doldrums of eternal earthly unlife. The only constant in his dreams was her, taunting him, offering blood from her wrist . . . among other places. She forced him to drink her menstrual flow until he was sick . . . menstruation was taboo. Even so . . . he couldn’t help himself, and he greedily gulped her flow.
* * *
He came to and found himself stripped naked and tightly spread-eagled with chains to a wall. She was there, watching him.
“Good, you’re awake,” she stated; he could feel the power of her blood pulsing in her from where she stood. She was naked as well, and her large, well-formed mammaries glistened with sweat. He locked eyes with her.
“Why have you done this to me,” he asked, her eyes drawing him in, the aura of blood screaming to him.
“I’ll tell you soon enough, but first, there’s something I need you to do for me.”
He forced himself to look away from her eyes; it was easier to ignore her blood-spell when he wasn’t staring there. “I’ll do nothing for you . . .” He trailed off. For the first time in over a millennium, he began to really notice a female’s body.
Her breasts were perfect; her skin was smooth and unblemished. Her hair was radiant, and the blood aura was even stronger. With amazement, he realized that his long-useless member was beginning to swell.
“Yes, that’s right.” Her voice echoed in his brain. His gaze slid down her body to the patch between her legs . . . it was red with blood. He retched with the memory of his dream. “No, don’t worry; you’ve done quite enough of that already. I simply want you to take me, Robert.” She began to unbind him, and just as his mind began to protest against this (Shemademedrinkhermenstrualblood...Ican’t) she placed her wrist to his lips. Involuntarily, he bit and drank. He was hers now, and she descended onto his pronely erect body.
Interlude
Her need was great. That was what kept her blood so potent, allowing her to continue her parasitic relationship with the creature for the required length of time.
The texts had been very specific. First, she had to give it strong blood. This was easy enough, as she had learned years before how to affect her body according to her need. Next, purification by water. Her enchanted blood was opiate enough to dull his mind to where she had been able to bathe him in the holy water.
For two weeks, she continued to feed and cleanse him in this manner. At that time, the arcane tomes instructed her to purify him by means of life-blood . . . her period. This had to continue for a week, and, although her periods were generally remarkably short, her need was great enough that she was able to stretch it out for longer.
After purification came lovemaking. It sickened her to have to fuck the living corpse that called itself “Robert Flask,” yet the texts required this and two steps more. Her master assured her that it would not be long now before her task would be finished and she would be granted what she requested.
Her need was great . . .
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