Darkroom Saga Omnibus 1

by Poppet

  Gripping my long hair in his gloved fist, he leers down to hiss in my ear, “All who serve me must respect my holiness.”

  “Yes Father. M-my Lord, my Alpha, you see in my heart, you will do what is right...” my voice cracks again, exposing my distress, betraying my weakness, “...what is good. Thank you merciful God for chastising me with your love.”

  I am a Nazarite, one of the holy order who do not cut their hair, like Samson before Delilah got hold of him and cut off his divinity and his strength.

  I fucking hate women to the depth of my soul.

  Aaron was chosen right there in the tent of the Lord as a high priest. Blessed and ordained by God himself, as was I. If he murders me now, my one consolation is I'll be with Victor again.

  I miss you brother, I wish you were here to stand against God on my behalf, as my witness and my savior. You protected me, now I stand alone before the Most High. Last time he shaved us both, waxing our bodies and taking the razor to our heads. Now? Now I am alone with my sins. I thought you died for my sins? Why am I being punished again for something already forgiven?

  Making his decision, God says, “He will shave off your beards, and the hair on your heads and your bodies.”

  I know the passage well, Isaiah 7:20.

  Thank you Victor! Bless you brother for saving my hide again...

  The stays bind my ankles, knees, hips, arms, and neck. Adrenaline throbs, every vein in my body constricting and dilating with the anxiety of impending torture.

  Boiling wax pours onto my chest, wrenching a primal scream of torment from my fallible body.

  It burns. Holeeee fuck it burns!

  God is burning my sins from me. I have committed sacrilege and it hurts God, which is why he must hurt me, destroying the bitterness in my soul, consecrating my spirit.

  He baptizes with the Holy Spirit, and with fire. Baptized with wax was a penalty I hoped to never repeat.

  God laughs at my pain, relishing my correction.

  “F-forgive meeee!” I shout out my suffering, straining against the strap across my throat, tethering me to the surgical table.

  The pressure in my body is so acute now my head is thick with agony, ready to pop vessels as I go rigid, tensing against the hellfire dousing my scrotum and legs, the scorch singeing hotter than brimstone, my scream so loud my ears pop with the pressure.

  The diabolical rip of material from skin sends condemnation coursing through my nervous system, getting to the unshielded nakedness in my heart, ripping my coherence asunder with his blessings, and I howl, gruff and strained, the suffering mutilating my voice, exorcising the devil in me, “Absolve me Alpha! G-glorify thy name! Anoint me with the b-blood of the ssssacrifice!”

  Numbing, the affliction beyond my capacity to withstand, palpitations rage through my bones, liquefying marrow, slipping sweat into my ear when the convulsions rattle my muscles with uncontrollable spams.

  “No other God is like me. I alone am your God.”

  Every rip of wax lifted ebbs me closer to a stroke, my body plagued with severe stinging, burnished with excruciating corrosion, massacring my mind.

  He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. [Luke 3:16] For indeed our God is a consuming fire. [Heb 12:29]

  It is ironic how I am living the rite I performed with Seventy-two. Blood of my blood, we are one.

  And I am burning.

  ~ Chapter 6 ~

  If you do what is wrong, you will be severely punished;

  you will die if you do not let yourself be corrected.

  ~ Proverbs 15:10

  Preacher John:

  Lastly he flicks open the cut-throat razor, standing next to my head, scratching the blade harshly up and down the strop.

  It severs my soul.

  Without foam or water he scores the lethal edge down my cheek. Flinching, I squeeze my eyes shut against the awful horror.

  Shorn, feeling more naked than I've ever been, it curdles my blood when he exchanges razor for a pair of scissors. A cold breeze licks my nape with his movement, with every deft slice.

  God is defiling me so I will be humiliated in the eyes of all who look on me.

  When there is only silence I reopen my eyes, bruised by the restraints, hurting in places even my lovers haven't reached.

  While loosening the buckles on the ties that bind, he orders with less hostility, “Step down boy, and take your place at the prayer bench.”

  Hobbling carefully off the table, my brutalized hair follicles are bleeding, running trickles of stinging crimson down my livid flesh, ruddy and inflamed. Staring down at the ruptured pores on my chest, trailing down my midriff to my missing happy trail, the only witness to my ordeal is the smeared carnage, too recent to clot or scab.

  Wearing clothes is going to hurt like steel wool.

  Hanging my head, I look at the nest of tresses pooled on the floor amid furry material strips. I don't dare run a hand over my head to see what he's done; not yet. My thighs touch, the nerve endings revolting with the effort it takes to walk the nine steps to the prie deu, gingerly lowering to kneel on the plush velvet.

  How have I affronted him to be so severely reprimanded? I honestly thought he would be pleased with my accomplishment. He sees my very soul and yet he reacts as if I deliberately instigated his rage. I broke his restriction by a matter of hours, I had no opportunity in all the madness to present 66 with his virgin. If he'd stalled for just three hours before passing judgment on me, I wouldn't be here now.

  The flicking of the whip stiffens my spine, the skin lining my shoulders turning taut with the alarm of its sonic crack.

  “Time to salt you, boy. Twice, one for each transgression, then you have paid your debt.”

  Nodding, stress exploding, the shame of bearing my testicles and flaccid dick to God in this prone position degrades me further. Maintaining balance on the balls of my feet, kneeling forwards with my hiney displayed, the canvas of my back facing him, I grip my knees and grind my fingers into the cartilage with every ounce of energy left in my traumatized body.

  The first lash connects, splicing my precarious pride, reducing me to a scrunched over mass of pain. The cured leather is wet with saltwater, delivering a blazing tentacle to my vandalized flesh.

  Grinding my teeth; they squeak, the ferocity of the abuse bursting my brow with sweat, tears leaking unrestrained now.

  I'm in hell, the flames are all I am, lurid and excruciating.

  Hugging my knees, uncaring that I display my persecution-withered penis to his eyes, I huddle, sobbing, hating him for reducing me to this. Bloodshed is hot, wet, chaffing chest on thigh, but I curl tighter, fetal, unsteady on the cushion when the second lash connects. The laceration amputates my ability to remain coherent. Reduced to raging agony, all senses withdraw when the maiming obliterates my neurons.

  Lambasted by a God who displays wrath without hesitation, I daren't look up. Keening, simpering, shaking violently, I cannot find the love. It's gone. The trust is shattered.

  I did my duty and this is how I am repaid.

  The whip drops in front of my nose, curling up like a milked cobra, my life-force stuck to the tip, shining like a mascot for sadism.

  “You have been sanctified. I'll give you a few minutes to gather yourself. I've left manna for you on the table, for accepting your reprimand like a true disciple – take it all before joining me downstairs. Get suited up in your disciple leathers, then bring the virgins to the sacrificial chamber. Choose your champion, if he fails you tonight you will have failed me. Next time you rebel against my commandments I will not have mercy for you.”

  Black boots step on the whip, leather chirring across his thighs when he squats to hiss in my ear, “It's because I love you, John. A loving God disciplines his flock. I love you, boy. Now arise and walk, let your actions speak what is in your heart; have no shame - all men are naked before God. Your sins surround you mortals and I cannot help but see them.”

  Clinging to self-control, I wait un
til heavy footsteps exit, walking hollowly up the passage to the next floor where my pulpit and control room hide.

  Alone, I puddle with my blood, screaming anguish and shame, expelling my pain, crying like a wean craving a lactating nipple.

  I am thirty-two and no longer a man. I am diminished, my ego amputated; my pride biopsied. Cut out at the root.

  Riddled with blood in a cold mortuary, the shivering is severe, forcing me to crawl to the table, my skin aflame as if scrubbed with a metal brush. It takes all my concentration to clutch the manna through the paroxysms seizing me, trembling my bones and riddling my muscles with involuntary flexing.

  Dropping one, I'm forced to worm to it, licking the floor, fighting the urge to puke.

  My destiny was always so fragile, I coveted his love, it's all I ever strived to procure. Victor loved him with all his heart and soul, but now I know I am the devil. I'm the one who looks inside and finds no affection for his God.

  He murdered Victor because he is jealous. Victor loved Shauna more then he loved God. That's why he had to die. It is a grave sin to love anyone more than you love God.

  Where does that leave me?

  My foundations have crumbled from the onslaught of his rage.

  I hate him. I hate him like the fallen hate him.

  If there is one thing I have learned at the hands of God, it's how to exact vengeance.

  As soon as I find the strength to get up, I will plot my course and lay my plans. I am an unwilling saint because I am going to rebel. I want God to taste retribution.

  I have been faithful and obedient, and for this outrage I crave revenge. I want God dead.

  He can resurrect, so let me test him as I have been tested. I am John, and it's time I invoked the passage of my namesake... John:4.

  ~ Chapter 7 ~

  I have two daughters who are still virgins. Let me bring them out to you, and you can do whatever you want with them...

  ~ Genesis 19:8

  66: Evan

  The blond screams like she's being slaughtered, wriggling and struggling against the solid dude in black leather. I'm not familiar with his voice, but it's pretty clear he's the guy in charge of this masochistic operation.

  Smashing his fist in her face again he slams her into the wall with her nose spurting blood, then turns to me, his voice harsh with spite, “They squeal! These animals squeal like swine!”

  Grabbing the girl's hair he hurls her at the waiting sentry, sending her sailing as if pitching a projectile.

  I'm pretty sure the sentry is John. A John so out of it that I'm not counting on him to intercede for any of us tonight. With delayed reaction he opens his arms and accepts her into their vice.

  Major Bigot orders, “Gag it, before I cut its wretched tongue out!” Then the infernal vision in black squares off, wide shoulders and thick legs sheathed in a hybrid of a halloween costume and a biker/bondage getup, bellowing, “Have you ever slaughtered a pig, Sixty-six?”

  I shake my head.

  Just how messed up do your barbaric rituals get?

  “They sound like this wretch. She has no flame to her hair nor scythe to her throat, yet she squeals at me! Me!” Clearly enraged, he twists to face her, shouting, “I do not throw pearls to swine!”

  John's got a ball-gag in her mouth, fighting to fasten it, blondie writhing in his hold with the agility of a possessed snake. Acrimoniously he twists her arm, wrenching the distorted wrist up until the shoulder socket pops.

  It's such an unholy sound that my attention is riveted to the display of righteous dominance, her hysteria muted in the silent freeze of all-encompassing agony, dire anguish butchering her pretty face into a scrunched up mask of torment.

  Silent screams freak me the hell out.

  Their assault is abhorrent, yet I am powerless to do a damn thing but ride this surging cortisol. I'm so on edge my muscles ache with the tension, my veins ripping out with the effort it's taking me to stand down. Tears baptize her face, her cries muffled, already surrendering to the inevitable now that she's been disabled. She shakes her head, her eyes pleading; what she'll never understand is that's what they crave. She's feeding their addiction because brutes like them thrive on the power-trip.

  Hells bells man. I'm wrestling with my ingrained reaction. Every ounce of my soul wants to defend her, but I know they'll do me next if I don't go along until I find a way out of here. There'll never be justice for this unless one of us makes it out. She isn't the first and she sure as sin won't be the last.

  I'll be testifying in court against you, that's a guarantee.

  “They are animals! Created for men, Sixty-six. You hearing me, boy?”

  Snapping my focus back to the maniac, I nod, forcing my fists to unclench, to maintain the facade of an impartial witness. I nod again, to reassure, him or me, I'm not fucking sure. I'm leery of the capricious prick, knowing he's so volatile he's just a spark away from exploding and taking us all down with him.

  On a puritanical rampage he struts with a swagger, randomly yelling, “I made Eve to serve Adam. She was given to him as a gift, someone to suck his cock and warm his bed, someone to give me sacrifices of flesh and blood, but like all of them I couldn't see how evil slips in where beauty resides.”

  Sure dude. Whatevah.

  Hingeing back to point a finger my way, he snarls, “She was beautiful you know. Hooters the size of Saturn and a pussy so tight she bled for days after I fucked her.”

  Hang on, that's not the version I know. And how's this guy? He seriously believes he's the real deal. Fuck, loonier than cocaine pie this one.

  He sagely nods, as if knowing my thoughts, “Cain and Abel were mine. We had to write that part out of the book, it upset too many people to think I was fallible when Eden was new. Hell, I'd just created mankind, of course I wanted to test drive that juicy perfection. Lilith ran like I wanted her heart for breakfast, so when I made Eve I made sure I got to experience the first female myself. I can't advocate something I haven't sampled, can I? I couldn't give her to the first man without making sure all the parts worked as they should. Brand spanking new, fresh inside that box...” he sighs, as if melancholic over a time he honestly recalls.

  P.s.y.c.h.o.

  I give a half shrug, speechless at the depths of this weirdo's delusion. There's nothing sanitary in his insanity.

  He continues as if I'm his old army mate and he needs to offload about the good old days, back when he stepped on a live mine and blew his ineffable load into the original womb, stepping to the plate and batting for original sin.

  Fuck. Sick perverted sonofabitch.

  “... Not that they're worthy of advocating. They're so damn inferior. Anyhow, Seth was Adam's firstborn son, that's why Seth has to die. When I impregnated her she bore twin sons. Seth is substandard compared to my children, which is why there is still conflict. They recall they are the firstborn sons of god. Seth was the first of the generation of chaos–”

  John drops the subdued victim, taking two stiff steps toward 'god', saying, “–Seth has to die? Victor has a twin?”

  What the hell is he on? Who the fuck is Victor?

  Major Fucktard rounds on him, looking ready to tear the preacher a new one, “Do not question me! Challenge me again and it'll be the last thing you ever do.”

  Pointing to the girl, he jabs his thumb in the direction of the obscene contraption opposite me, waiting midway in the vast room like some kind of aberrant altar.

  His voice is gruff when he orders, “Bind her, let me show Sixty-six what God does to evil animals. If they squeal like pigs we cut into that bloody steak with the one thing they wish they had. Ass up, legs wide, we fuck the pariahs.”

  John shoves her ahead of him, being a dutiful minion, roughing her a little so he can tie her down. I'm spellbound by the stark contrast of a red bra against tanned skin, when the leather clad psycho blocks my view.

  Rounding on me again, striding so close I can hear his labored breath beneath the mask, 'God' laughs, “The blo
od covenant is mine you know; it isn't holy unless they bleed. That's why the boys are circumcised, it's to uphold the blood covenant from the genitals; it makes you holy to bleed. The men of my flock have this covenant with me, it's a default setting on the females, they'll bleed for me regardless. Claim your birthright, son! All men are sanctioned and sinless. These vile creatures have no purpose but our pleasure.” Leaning in, he whispers, “But once you marry, you can't touch her when she bleeds. They're most fertile then, that week is reserved for me. I created the blood covenant and for you to use her then will make you ritually unclean. Then I'll have to take the switch to your flesh, understand? Only I can get away with it. Their evil cannot contaminate me. They're just animals who go on heat.”

  He's madder than rabies.

  Slapping me hard on the shoulder, the action exposing the impressive power shielded beneath his superhero outfit, he chuckles raucously, “I called it labor for a reason, boy! They will labor for us, they will serve because they are swine, and when they pop out our flesh from inside their puerile wombs they labor to do it! You'd think they'd grow a blade of intelligence and figure that one out. Stupid bitches think they're equal and defy my curse with epidurals. They will suffer, and continue to suffer, for they defied my commands and rebelled. They wanted to know what it felt like to be as wise as me, they ate the fruit. I forbade it and the little cunt did it anyway.”

  With his pious anger reinstated, his hatred for their gender is obvious. Standing straight, tension roiling off him when he turns to face the girl, he mutters, “Own them young. When they fear you, they know you are their lord. They are soulless and will never have a place in heaven. All they're good for is sucking and fucking. I created them with an unquenchable sexual desire, a promiscuous craving for hard cock. I made them all sluts and if they say they don't want sex you know they lie. They profane right to your face because they are sacrilegious sinners. Sew their mouths shut if they argue. Women may not speak in church for they are not worthy of my affections or my ear. Filthy subservient swine. Wanton whores; the lot of them.” [Deu 10:20; 1 Cor 14:34: Gen 3:16;]