by Baker, Alex
The demon inhaled as much of the blessed water as he could hold in his mouth, ignoring the burning sensation. Using his increased strength to push up against the now relaxed downward pressure, he brought his mouth up as close to the surface of the pool as possible and blew with all the might that the remaining gases in his spent lungs would allow.
Screaming in reaction, the man-beast arched backwards and grabbed at his face, trying desperately to wipe the boiling hot water from his eyes. It was the break Apocalypse needed.
Grabbing the altered man in a vice-like grip and kicking sideways, the demon threw him off to the side.
Exiting the pool almost in a jump, Apocalypse drew in deep lungfuls of air, while targeting where his would-be victim ended up. It was not hard. The man-beast was already recovering and getting back to his feet.
Perfect, Apocalypse thought. Lurching forward and yelling, “Boom”, he delivered a clothesline that sent the man hard to the floor, with the back of his head making a sickening noise as it landed hard and bounced off the wooden surface. Not wasting a moment, the attack was followed by another more furious one, as the demon curb-stomped the prone man in the genital area, digging his heel hard into the testicles.
There was a crunching noise, followed by the bellows of pain filling the modest-sized house of God. “Now, there’s the stuff,” the demon cackled. Satisfied his prey was not going anywhere anytime soon, he brought his attention back to feeding his need for a theatrical finish. He found it very nearby.
Hesitating just a moment to enjoy watching as the incapacitated man writhed around in a fetal position, Apocalypse grabbed him by an ankle and dragged him close to the hanging crucifix. Stopping, he took time to size up the location. “Uh, huh. Uh, huh,” he said, yanking the man a little more. “Ah, yes. Perfect. That’s the spot.”
Stepping over the crippled man, who busied himself with vomiting, Apocalypse grabbed the twelve foot cross and began yanking. Moans and cries of pain started up again. “That’s pathetic, you know,” the demon said. “Just be patient a sec, will you. I’m almost done here, and you’re breaking my concentration.”
Mustering all the augmented strength his possession brought to the otherwise human body, Apocalypse strained against the giant, hand-carved holy item. Wood creaked and mounts buckled. Finally, it broke loose.
Like a tree falling, the crucifix careened downward, landing in a crash on top of the helpless police officer. “Well, holy shit!” Apocalypse shouted, before becoming preoccupied with watching the victim’s limbs twitch in death spasms. “Tell me, did the power of Christ compel you?” he asked, amusing himself further.
For a moment he savored the victory, taking in the carnage, but only for a moment. Scratching his head, a positively delightful image came to him. He grabbed the end of the crucifix nearest the preacher’s altar and poured every ounce of power he had into lifting it up. Almost buckling under the weight, he managed to lean the massive piece of wood on the pulpit.
Unzipping the crushed man’s pants, Apocalypse pulled them down just enough to expose the badly mangled genitalia. He then lifted the corpse up and placed it into a mounted position on top of the Jesus figure. Not totally satisfied with his art, the demon used one of his transformed, razor-sharp and blackened fingernails to etch the numbers 666 into the man’s forehead.
Apocalypse stopped and looked around, taking a moment to admire his handiwork, and the windows caught his attention. Though the holy place was small compared to many of the larger places of worship and cathedrals, it still held two fairly large, ornate stained glass depictions of angels and the hand of God, one on each side of the front entrance. The sun coming through them caused a mural of colors to fall on the pews and floor.
“Goddammit!” the demon yelled, throwing up his arms. Shifting around, he acted as if he was waiting for a something to happen. “I said, goddammit!” he yelled a second time, again jerking from side to side. There was nothing to answer him but silence.
“Sad, really. I’m in your house. I’ve drawn blood. I am desecrating your soil, and you do nothing. Coward. No sign of you, but Apocalypse is here.” The demon walked a circle, throwing his fist into the air. “Do you hear me? Apocalypse is here.” Stepping down to the main aisle, he threw both arms in the air in defiance and screamed as loud as he could, “Apocalypse is back and here to stay!”
Immediately, the demon grabbed his darkly tainted head and fell to a heap in the floor bellowing, this time not from pleasure but from pain. The word “No” repeated from his mouth over and over as he squeezed tighter and tighter, as if trying to keep his head from exploding open. Grunting and thrashing, the struggle continued, until he finally fell calm and silent.
Coming to his knees, sweat dripping on the wood planks that made up the floor, he took in deep, slow breaths. “Niet. It is Roofy that is back.” The big Russian came up to a partial standing position on one foot and one knee. “This is my body, not yours.”
“Yes, it’s your body…for now,” the razor sharp voice echoed in his head.
Satisfied he had full control again, Roofy tracked down his satchel, harboring his wrestling gear, and looked around at the macabre scene. More death and destruction, and another good person dead. How many more people have to pay with their lives because of me? Because of the demon’s presence? As heavy as the burden was that tugged at his conscience, Roofy did not have time to dwell on it. He was no longer safe where he was, and he could not deal with the problems facing him by staying there.
That left him with one resounding question to answer: “Now what?”
14
Constance sat on the bed in the dark propped up against the headboard, stroking the short hair of the listless, naked female that lay beside her. The young woman’s breathing was strained and shallow, and there was a hint perspiration on her skin that glowed in the light of the small television that adorned her room.
Tapping fingers on the female’s forehead, Constance found herself in a familiar situation. “Bored. Bored. Bored.” The current conquest had been far too easy, despite the fact that her new found powers of persuasion seemed to have no apparent effect on this prey. Not that it mattered, as where that had failed and sheer strength was not needed, the finesse of sexual attraction had done the trick.
She had happened upon the young woman admiring a display in the window of the same clothing shop that Constance had visited just days before. Initially there was no inclination of interest; no concept of pursuing the girl as an appetite appeaser, despite agreeing with her taste in attire. No, the hunger had already been satiated when they crossed paths, which would have left nothing but hunting for sport, and that was not what Constance had gone out shopping for. Funny how a conversation can change things.
“It’s really pretty, isn’t it?” the female had asked. The inflection in her voice gave the impression she was somewhat timid.
“I would look good in it,” Constance had replied. The comment was made more to be catty than to build upon the conversation, allowing her to impress her confidence upon the stranger.
“Yes, you would,” was the reply that came back unexpectedly. Apparently, the female was not as timid as she had led on. More than likely, it was her coping mechanism for feeling things out before making a move: come off as reserved, see if it’s safe to proceed, and then come on strong. Nice.
Game on, Constance had decided. She did not need a full hunger to play, just the mood, and she had the upper hand, as the stranger was obviously interested in what was in front of her.
“So, I don’t look good in what I’m wearing now?” Constance had goaded, not taking her eyes off the mannequin in the store front.
“No. No. I didn’t mean that,” the stranger had replied. “You look absolutely beautiful.” Backpedaling, Constance thought; eager to appease. It was a weakness, the fear of offending someone to the point that one would give up control so soon.
“Yes, I do,” Constance had answered back with a conviction to her voice, “e
specially when I wear nothing at all.” With that she had turned to her prey and exerted herself. There was no noticeable change, though. No glazing of the eyes. No change in breathing. At first it took her off-guard, with her limited experience and understanding of the effect leaving her wondering if it was because the target was female. Never-the-less, Constance, continuing the verbal exchange, slowly but surely gaining more and more control.
Control. Like the craving to feed, the need for it to be satisfied was strong and ran deep. At that moment, she knew she already had it over her new acquaintance.
They exchanged names and other pleasantries, and by the time she was done talking, the stranger, Cecile, was practically begging to come home with her.
Unlike the male conquests, Constance had indulged herself. It was the first time she had been intimate with another female, so she wanted to experience it in full. Based on Cecile’s actions, though, it certainly had not been her first time, so Constance had allowed her to make the first physical moves and then followed suit. There was no rush and nothing to be lost by giving the young woman a false sense of being the lead. Allow some slack in the leash, as Constance considered it figuratively; it was still attached and could be pulled tight when the moment was right, and the prey would never see it coming.
Any conversation that was going to take place had ended fairly quickly, giving way to some light petting and caressing. Kissing, stroking of hair, and soft touches followed, before Cecile took the initiative and removed her clothing. Hidden underneath was a slender, fit frame complemented by painted nails, as well as being painstakingly neatly groomed.
Just a touch and gentle rub of the young woman’s small breasts had made the nipples hard, and Constance’s fingers made her way to them. Those same fingers trailed over the smooth torso and down to the shaved skin above her vagina. The girl was moist, Constance could feel and smell it.
Lilac. There was a distinct scent of it. Lilac girl, Constance dubbed her and was about ready to make her move, but curiosity continued to get the better of her. She had, instead, allowed the young woman to undress her before lying back on the bed. Cecile had kissed her body, stroked her skin, and went down on her. As the wet tongue licked against her clit, Constance felt pleasure.
Not from the physical feeling, as pleasant as it was, though, flowing, instead, from the young woman’s eagerness to please. And please Constance it did, in a way that she had not felt before nor could describe. An urge came over her.
Pulling the stranger’s head back by the hair and then coaxing her up with a hand under her chin to a position on her knees, the two had sat staring at each other.
“Are you mine?” Constance asked with determination.
“I can be,” Cecile answered.
Instinctively, bubbling up from the same inexplicable place that the new found desire had originated from, Constance took one of her nails, now naturally sharp for the hunt, and cut an opening over one nipple. The act had somewhat startled Cecile, but Constance would not be denied, drawing closer before the moment could be lost.
She embraced the stranger, rubbed up against her, and showered her in physical passion, overwhelming her inhibitions. Consider the control solidified.
Satisfied the leash was set, she pulled it tight. Taking Cecile’s head in hand and leading it down to the open flesh wound, slowly, Constance persuaded her to suck; to drink. As the precious fluid poured out, the image of the young woman partaking of it brought on an insurmountable feeling of pleasure, and Constance climaxed. Her body jerked in small spasms and a warm cascade of juices ran down her legs and onto the sheets.
Too quickly, a lull developed, though, with Cecile seeming almost lethargic. Despite the abrupt change in behavior by her prey, Constance had taken the opportunity to make her move, sinking her teeth into the supple neck and feeding, the warm blood tickling her tongue and the scent of lilac filling her nostrils.
By the time Constance had stopped, Cecile was unconscious and remained that way through two very dull television programs. By her estimations, the blood loss would have been enough to weaken but not incapacitate her prey, at least nowhere near to that degree. It was yet another unexpected reaction, and between the confusion over that and the lack of a play thing, pleasure had quickly given way to frustration.
“Not fun. Not fun. Not fun,” Constance droned to herself. For a brief moment, she considered going back out and obtaining the outfit she had seen earlier in the day, but the idea lost its luster almost immediately. Examining the female body occupying the bed with her, Constance gave more consideration to changing-up her approach when feeding in order to stretch out the supply, as using a tourniquet to cordon off a limb or area would allow her to suck a section dry while possibly preventing the source from going into shock.
Or passing out in the middle of my fun.
Images of a helpless Cecile with swollen, red breasts, came to mind. Constance fantasized of tying rope around them until they were round and bulbous and ripe for plucking, like two tomatoes. It seemed pleasurable until she thought about biting into them and each one comically popping like balloons, causing her to giggle.
Still – an arm or a leg? Proud of her innovation, she decided to test the idea at some point. In the meantime, it was crappy television programs. Picking up the blood speckled remote, she was just about to change the channel when a police news break cut in. Normally, anything of the sort would have been ignored, but recently she had found herself not only attentive to them, but actively seeking them out. Never know when I might see some news that’s worth listening to. Excited about the prospect of any mention of her conquests coming on, she continued listening. From what had been mentioned so far in previous telecasts, authorities appeared to be scrambling to figure out what was plaguing their fair city.
Dramatic music accompanied equally intense visuals as the local anchorman broke in with an update on what they were calling the Superheroine Stalker.
For Constance, there was another moment of disappointment, but it was quickly overshadowed by a recollection of the murders that had occurred around the time she and Roofy left town. Discouragement turned to smoldering anger as images of Ambrose accompanied the memories that flooded back. Just thinking of him should have caused fear, but that trepidation had been replaced from the time she had awoken. If he was back, that meant one thing: her chance to drink him dry. Slowly, though, little bit by agonizing little bit.
A man in uniform littered with medals appeared at a podium as the scene cut live to the Richmond Police headquarters. The name Chief Epps appeared in a bar at the bottom of the footage.
Lights flashed from cameras as reporters jockeyed into position for when it came time to ask questions. He began the address by reassuring all the viewers and asking them to remain calm as the police put all of their resources into solving the recent string of murders. A commitment was made as he vowed to bring the perpetrator to justice.
Blah, blah, blah. They had no idea what type of monster they were up against. Ambrose would not be caught, at least not by them. She could do it, though. The thrill of hunting him down brought a tingling sensation resonating throughout her body. The beast needed to pay dearly, but not for just what he had done to her, even though that desecration was sickening enough. No. She had watched Roofy die because of that…thing.
The two of them had left their old lives behind. She wanted him, and she had him. He was her escape and her spark to feeling alive and vibrant, and that freak stole all of that from her, all that she deserved and was meant for.
The police chief said something that registered with Constance, and she realized being preoccupied with her plan to destroy Ambrose had caused her to zone out and miss most of the speech. However, what happened next assured her she had definitely not failed to catch the most important part.
A reporter had just spoken up and asked if there was a connection between the Amazing Woman deaths and the blood killings.
“No, there’s no connection!” Constanc
e yelled definitively at the TV. How dare they compare her to Ambrose. Besides, why would she have any need for using costumes?
The chief answered that the department could not comment at this time as to what evidence had been collected, but he assured the community that all leads were being followed. Citizens were asked to practice safety while out at night by traveling in pairs, etcetera. Tips were also welcomed.
This prompted another reporter to offer her own translation of what had just been said by putting to the chief that the police department had absolutely no idea who was behind the string of grizzly attacks.
Constance bounced with glee on the bed, clapping her hands. “That’s me they’re talking about!” It was what she had been waiting for, news about her exploits. She turned to Cecile’s comatose body, tapping the young woman’s torso rapidly with the palm of her hand. “You hear that? I am the news.”
There was a slight moan in response to the excitement, which fell on deaf ears as Constance turned her attention back to the special alert.
The commanding officer, responding to an inquiry regarding who was assigned to the case, was introducing Detective Laura Stenks, which instantly incited a frenzy in the attending media.
“Shut-up,” Constance said in over-exaggeration. Beside her more groans came, prompting her to jerk around and place a hand tightly over Cecile’s mouth and lower face. “No, really, my sweet lilac, shut-up. This is important.”
Reporters were grilling Laura and the chief about the appointment of such a controversial officer to oversee the case, especially given her connection to the fugitive Roofy Reiner and blatant mishandling of the investigation in Las Vegas.
Chief Epps remained stalwart in demonstrating confidence in the abilities of Detective Stenks to uncover all the pertinent details and track down the culprit responsible for the committing the crimes. He went on to say that her connection to the previous murders gave her unique insight into the mind of the madman, which would prove invaluable to solving the case.
