The fantasy was disrupted, somewhere in the void the Guy heard a noise: feet.
I wonder how I missed that.
Before he could react, agony swelled in his head like he had been shot with a hundred nail guns. In his blurred vision he saw figures, shuffling and touching. Voices full of sexual frustration, and in the sky, the quantum aurora bloomed like jade vines creeping up an onyx monolith. Then there was nothing.
12
It began with his penis being manipulated, it throbbed like a snake being milked of its venom. Violation was the next sensation, that feeling of something inside his body.
What has happened to me? he thought as he gained consciousness.
He saw a woman riding him like she was riding a wild horse and there was another woman in between his legs. The Guy was strapped into a bondage harness, naked. He concentrated on losing his erection, but not even the foulest of thoughts could subdue it.
Dosed with Viagra by these rotten cunts.
With sudden horror he realized how the feelings of violation were being caused; something was penetrating his anus and working his prostate.
The cowgirl noticed he was awake; she whipped out a wicked smile and climaxed over his aching cock. The Guy tried to hold back but it was futile. A shuddering orgasm swept him away like a landslide and he felt his seed spurting inside her uterus. The bitch between his legs ceased her actions and withdrew whatever implement she had inside him. Cowgirl lay on the floor and lifted her legs up and over her head.
“Can’t waste your precious sperm,” she said, and giggled seductively. At a guess the Guy would have said she was maybe 17 or 18 years old, the shape of her body, the hang of her breasts and the soft features of her face told him she was young.
The right age to birth a child. No, that cannot be the world I have entered.
The anal girl had already left the room.
“What is this place?” he asked Cowgirl. She smiled, stood and exited.
For what seemed like days, different women came and went and always 2 at a time. One to ride and another to work his prostate. Every time he would be injected with Viagra.
When the rider climaxed, he also climaxed, and his seed was spent. Towards the end he thought he was being raped to death, his penis glowed with a savage rawness, his arsehole felt like it was bleeding, and it probably was. None of the whores spoke to him, all they did was moan.
The room itself was small, a cell, the walls were grey and coated in a green film of moss. It was empty save for him and the harness. The time came when the Guy felt like he was about to draw his final breath, when the iron door to the room opened a man stepped inside. A man with a huge chest and small waist, a man with shoulder length muddy hair and a 3 month old beard.
“So I’m guessing that the women were sent to soften me up for the real deal then?” the Guy said, struggling to say the words. Next to the brusque man was a wheel chair, he unstrapped the Guy and placed him in it.
The wheels squealed and the sound echoed through a dank hall, the sound was like mice squeaking inside organ pipes.
“Am I being taken to your leader by any chance?” asked the Guy.
“I am taking you to the Ancients, they must have words with you 1107,” they were the only words the brusque man spoke.
“Everybody seems to know me round these parts. My trail of dead are like breadcrumbs to an evil witch in a forest of malice.”
He was wheeled into a room; the sights that surrounded him would have disturbingly aroused any man. Men and women were engaged in acts of intercourse. The Guy saw women bent over with men penetrating their arseholes with cock and fingers, women stroked men whilst taking multiple genitalia in their holes. People were either naked or dressed in costumes; it was an orgy of epic proportions. Yellow powder shot up into the air in great puffs, these creatures of infatuation bathed in that powder, ate it, snorted it, some used it as a sexual device. Men rubbed it onto bum holes and snorted, licked and lapped like dogs. Women would coat a man’s purple end in yellow powder and slide the throbbing cock inside them.
As the Guy progressed through this room urine became a factor, it was used as lubricant, drank and showered on gagged gimps.
Sex slaves and majestic concubines sowing the seeds of depravity. Luckily urine was the only bodily fluid the Guy saw (apart from semen). The pandemonium was a mix of lusty moans, screams of pain and slapping of flesh on flesh. Whips, plastic penis’, silicone vaginas, ball gags, nooses and clamps attached to electrical outputs were all factored into the scenario. The clamps would be attached to the areolas of a woman’s breast while she straddled a man, a switch was flicked and an electrical current would be sent through them both, causing each of them to orgasm, their bodies would stiffen and they would pass out momentarily.
It was a world he hoped he would not be a part of.
The brusque man pushed the chair in silence, occasionally snorting back some mucus. The Guy quickly became desensitized to the orgy, yet some part of him was aroused and he could feel the stirrings of wanting in his groin. In a corner of the gargantuan room he saw 2 komodo dragons chained to the wall, at first they were both curled up in a state of hibernation, but as the Guy was wheeled past they roused. Their thick tongues flicked, they hissed and snapped at the air, sensing the intruder and wanting to tear his flesh from his bones.
He saw someone approach one of the beasts, the dragon whirled and caught the man on his thigh and bit hard. A yelp of pain filled the heavens and two other men pried the beast’s jaws open.
The injured male limped back to his woman and carried on fucking in a state of euphoria that would eventually bring him to the end of his life.
They reached the exit, and left the sex circus behind them.
“After many years toiling in fields and slaving for the wealthy, we finally gained the clarity to crawl out of the sewage pipe the God’s had built for us. Our expedition brought us here, to the borders of the Moffatt Fields. The Lair of the Desert Shamans has been home to many homeless and lost people. Here they serve the will of the Cosmos.”
The Guy had been taken to a great hall where the walls were decorated in schizophrenic art, the paintings were labyrinthine that wound serpentine over brick and mortar. In the centre of the great hall was a colossal, mechanical spherical dais that beamed a holographic projection of the Island. At the end of the hall knelt 7 old men, each wore a boiled leather jerkin with tattered blue jeans. It was the elderly man in the middle who had spoken, and was the only one to speak.
“Welcome, 1107, we are the Shamans, or the Ancients as we’re oft known to the more uneducated,” he held out his arms in a receiving gesture. “Please, kneel with us and learn.”
“I already received your welcoming gift, so forgive me if I spit on anymore of your hospitality,” spat the Guy. The brusque man grabbed him by his shoulders and placed the Guy on his knees before the Shamans.
“You must forgive us; we couldn’t afford to take chances, given your reputation as an apathetic killer. We know who are, 1107, but not just of you in this realm, we know of your past.”
The Guy’s eyes widened, this old man had caught his attention.
“Tell me how you found me…”
“Call me Iharez, the others you need not concern yourself with today. We found you at the Tainted Ransom, that poor man you murdered was a pupil of mine. I believe his name was Samuel Silk, a beautiful name to match his beautiful musical ability.”
“Your beautifully named man murdered an innocent; all I did was act on instinct.”
“Sacrifices had to be made to ensure we had the right guy. Samuel was my sacrifice and the innocent was yours.”
The Guy turned his attention to the holograph.
“So you serve the Aakmanu?”
“No, that was merely a ruse to prick your attention. We serve only ourselves and the Cosmos, but not the Cosmic Forces. The Cosmos encompasses all life and infinite consciousness whereas the Cosmic Forces implies there is some outside for
ce manipulating the clay.”
“Why do you want me? You talk as if you’re a kindly old man explaining there is a method in his dementia. What I saw earlier insinuates an outlaw society formed on sexual degradation.”
“Do not try and win the moral high ground with me 1107. The room you were previously in was a breeding chamber as it is reproduction season. You created sexual degradation in your past, you alone witnessed thousands burn at the hand of a single maniac and then slept under the stars like a new born king. Do not judge lest you be judged yourself Rift Walker.”
The Guy shuffled and brought out his tobacco, rolled and lit up a cigarette.
“I don’t judge, I’m merely pointing out the facts, now answer my question.”
“You are a Rift Walker, a being capable of passing through other dimensions at will without suffering damage to your physical form and gaining no hindrance to your mental stability. The Aakmanu tried to create a Rift Walker but failed, instead they created an abomination which they hope to create again. Samuel did not completely lie to you. We believe the only way to create a pure blood is to breed. That is why you were treated so sexually, your seed is important and you were delivered unto us on the season of reproduction,” the last part was spoken with emphasis. The Guy found it difficult to believe what he was hearing.
What madness have I been forced into?
Shaman Iharez stood, joints groaning as he straightened out, he bent and kissed the Guy on his brow.
“El Vagabundo Misterioso, the Man with the Emerald Eyes, 1107. You have gone by many aliases but the latter has always been there. It is a mark upon your soul. 1107. I am honoured to have you beneath our roof, will you stay with us?”
He felt like he didn’t have a choice, his legs were weak and his anus still burned like it had been molested with hot iron. The Guy chose to stay, to observe and decide how he was going to exterminate the vermin that wallowed in the Lair of the Desert Shamans.
The sleeping quarters were very basic; a far cry from the cosiness of a saloon bedroom, but it would serve its purpose, as long as there was no harness involved. The Guy welcomed every young lady they offered him, one at a time. The Shaman’s sudden shift in attitude astonished him. Over time he began to regain his strength and heal, his sleep was afflicted with dreams about komodo dragons and phallic objects being thrust into a hornet’s nest. At some point, during what seemed like a very long stay, the Guy was allowed outside to breathe clean air. He was taken to a lift.
It seems I have been underground all this time. Smart bastards, no wonder they have remained hidden for so long.
The zephyr was crisp and the smell of vegetation and pollen was received with satisfaction. He was still a good 40 miles from the Moffatt Fields but the desert was now the harbinger of flowers and larger areas of grass.
So where does it leave you
Wizard of words?
Wave your wand to construe
The bastards who left you submerged
Within your curse.
Oh Wizard of words,
Give me a synonym for every emotion,
Caused by the pain
Of past hallucinations.
If you close your eyes,
Then reopen,
Will the colours evolve?
Will the textures
Of gravel
Metamorphose?
Will the quality change
In the murky ocean,
When you drift off
With a passionate question?
13
The obscene orgy was known to endure for several days, the Guy visited the room on occasions to watch, mesmerised by the hypnotic flow of entangled bodies, waterfalls of urine and strings of blood cruising down the arms of the submissive.
In his quarters he would open his black side bag and flick through his journal; something he hadn’t been able to do since leaving Lament’s Corner. The leather bound almanac was the only item in his life that proved the Guy had a past. An illustration of a duck billed platypus with 8-ball eyes stared at him with an eerie photogenic effect. Complex equations made him furrow his brow, trying to remember where it all came from. Before he could meditate, the brusque man opened his door and entered unannounced.
“The Shamans wish to converse,” he said.
“Knocking isn’t a known courtesy in these parts. Do you have a name?” the Guy stood and pulled on a brown, leather jerkin the Shaman’s insisted he should wear.
“Ignatius Polycarp”.
“Pleasure to meet you, Ignatius. Let us be on our way then.”
The revelry was dwindling on that day; all that remained were a few of the older couples desperately trying to conceive another generation, and there were corpses also. A handful were dead, all men who had died from asphyxiation, heart attacks or just pure exhaustion. The Guy saw the swollen body of the gentleman who had been bitten by the komodo dragons. The creatures were nowhere to be seen.
“Welcome back, 1107, I trust you are healed?” a Shaman spoke, voice echoing in the hall.
“You’re not Iharez,” stated the Guy.
“No, I am Meraylius and might I say it is an honour to meet you,” he didn’t offer his hand nor did he spread his arms in welcome. Meraylius knelt with his head down as if in prayer. The Guy knelt before him, knowing the spiel and how it was to be carried out. Behind him the dais beamed out a meretricious pattern consisting of stars, planets, quantum equations and images of intergalactic ships.
“This sanctuary was once the sight of a great underground base. Many years ago, before the Aakmanu, a government wanted to expand the mortal knowledge of space. They wanted to commune with the Gods face to face, to see their realm and walk with extra-terrestrials and finally be at one with the Cosmos. The projection behind you is a working remnant of that era. Our pupils do not know its purpose, only that it fills them full of a sense of importance. We are the descendants of scientists. Our forebears sought out the truth of the world we live in, the answers that only the Gods hold, but all their technology couldn’t save them once the Aakmanu arrived. The rift in time caused them to rethink their role in the cosmos and seek alternative ways to talk to the Gods. That is why we smoke the Yage, for a time the only way to consume the drug was to drink it, which caused severe nausea and failed to work many times. We altered it and created a way to smoke it. Being a drug of the Cosmos it allowed us to glimpse into other worlds. Dimensions that exist in tandem with our own and dimensions that would completely destroy the mortal, sober mind.
We caught a glimpse of you, 1107, in many dimensions we visited, though you took on many forms your one giveaway were your emerald eyes. Eyes that burned with the same fire every time. We saw you pass over from one world to another like you were walking through the door of your own home. You were what we needed to defeat the Aakmanu, or rather an army of you. They fear you, not only because you are a Rift Walker, but because you are a rogue, one of a kind, unique and uncontrollable. An autarchic Rift Walker is their only enemy. Have you encountered these creatures before?”
The Guy did not answer straight away; instead he stared at the Shaman and soaked in all the information. After a relatively strange and comfortable silence he spoke:
“Not that I can recall. What I do, it isn’t easy. Sometimes I enter a realm with complete amnesia in the body of someone with preinstalled memories. Usually it can take days for me to finally remember who I really am, through dreams and hallucinations. I haven’t seen my true form in so long I begin to believe I am not real, just a force of the universe going through the motions like the orbit of a Moon. When I first entered this dimension I inhabited the body of a sadistic hired killer who worked for pleasure, I began to feel more like myself quickly this time, but a part of me still enjoys watching a man bleed and plead for mercy. The Aakmanu sent me to kill the High Occultist which I know will lead to my demise. That is something I can handle. I must get out of here and find him or it will be too late.”
“Too late for what, exactl
y?”
“Too late for me.”
“Time is nought but a chimera of perceptions and Human fallacies, stitched together to create a malformed beast that enslaves our lives and disrupts our true potential. You will never be too late; the High Occultist does not exist in our physical realm anymore. He exists within your unconscious mind, pulling the strings of your sanity. Oh, he is as real as you and I, but to work behind the curtain offers more freedoms than to perform on the stage. Go to the Moffatt Fields if it pleases you, but know that what you find there won’t be a game of Snakes & Ladders but something more constructive like Chess or Checkers. I do, however, urge you to stay here. Ignatius here will be your guide and I’m sure you would love to explore a relic like the Lair of the Desert Shamans. Something to log in your journal.”
Meraylius finished speaking. The Guy collected his dispelled thoughts and left with Ignatius.
“There is something I need of you, 1107,” said Ignatius.
“So you do talk.”
“I apologise for my silence, I too needed to play my own game in order to find out if you are the true Rift Walker I’ve heard about,” the brusque man led the Guy into a chamber; the walls were turquoise and the floor was wooden boards painted with white gloss, the years had turned it grey. In the chamber was a large, oblong pod with Arabic writing etched around it and pipes leading into it. The Guy knew what the words meant:
“Before the end there is only insanity,” he whispered. Ignatius looked down at him and nodded.
“This is the place where I woke up in this world,” he looked at the pod, remembering.
“Were you brought here through that?” the Guy pointed at the contraption.
“No, I woke up in there but it is not what brought me here. I am from a planet named Rylos that exists on the 7th dimension, for years we lived in a stable world. Our planet was a natural wonder, holding only 9 gigantic cities. A government of elders was in place called Biphanet (The Family), they made sure the peace was kept and served only the Ryolians. The Aakmanu came through a vortex, a breach in space time, and seized The Family, slowly destroying our way of life. They began to exile those who imposed them.”
Underneath the Draconian Sky Page 11
