The Patriots make their first move against Mark and Mary.
The Devil's Pact
edited by Master Ken
Copyright 2013, 2014
Chapter Forty-One: Assassination
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We shall use every weapon at our disposal to slay the Tyrants, every resource that we can lay our hands on. No power is too dark, no act too heinous. We shall not balk at the task before us. We shall not rest until the Tyrants are dead. We are everywhere. We are legion.
–excerpt from 'The Patriots Manifesto', author Unknown
Monday, October 7th, 2013 – Mary Glassner – Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, New York City
I threw a punch at Mark's face. He caught my wrist easily.
“He's bigger than me, how am I supposed to fight him?” I demanded angrily of Azrael.
Ever since I took the Mother Superior's Gift, Mark and I could summon Azrael, the Angel of Death, and form a shared dreamscape. We were using it to learn to fight, so that we could defend ourselves if we ended up in another bad situation. Mark effortlessly picked it all up thanks to his Gift, while I had to struggle to learn just the basics—it was so frustrating! The Gift was so sexist! Why did Mark get cool fighting powers? He got to summon a sword and armor and look absolutely badass when he's fighting. All I got was the degrading power of exorcism through sex. I still felt dirty from handling Brandon's cock. Sometimes it seemed like the vile taste of his cum would never leave my lips.
“Your foes will almost always be bigger than you, Mary,” Azrael replied in her musical voice. She sounded like bells ringing when she talked: tiny, tinkling bells when she was happy and deep, resonating bells when she was angry.
“You're getting better, Mare,” Mark said with a smile. I knew he was just saying that to be nice, and it did make me feel warm inside. But I wasn't getting better. I felt so clumsy, like my limbs were weighted down as I struggled to properly move them. My husband moved quickly and deliberately. Unlike me, his body moved the way he intended it to, while I stumbled and flailed like a drunk chicken.
We had already been practicing for what seemed like a day. Time worked differently in the dreams, flowed slower. Mark kept referring to Inception, and he had looked so shocked when I admitted to having never seen the movie. For the last week, we had spent every other night training in the dreams; it was too exhausting with my pregnancy for me to train every night.
It wasn't just physical fighting we trained. We also practiced spells, trying to figure out ways to use them in sticky situations. Wind spells to knock an opponent down, illusions to confound them, and levitating to put distance between you and your enemy. And Molech's fire was a great last resort, burning anyone who touched you. I felt like I could do more with the fire, hurl it somehow, if I could just figure out how to control it better.
I also practiced my Gift, learning the Nun's prayers. I could control an enemy's Thrall – so long as they weren't bound by the Zimmah spell – transforming them into traps to be sprung on their Warlock, or I could free the Thrall, or put them into a trance and interrogate them. With Warlocks popping up all over the world, I was the only one who could exorcise them and their Thralls. By touching their cocks. So unfair.
“Let's practice shooting,” I finally said, growing too frustrated with the hand-to-hand training.
I was great at shooting. Since we were in a dream, we could shape or conjure anything we could imagine. I had been afraid of guns – they make that loud noise when they're fired – ever since I was little. Once I got used to them, I found that there was something very satisfying about hitting the target and seeing the damage the bullet did. I especially liked to fire at targets that resembled Brandon, aiming at his crotch.
There was power in using a gun and being in control.
Mark and I spent a few dream hours – which was probably only ten minutes in the waking world – firing various guns; it was satisfying fun. I had shot a few while awake now – the bodyguards and soldiers were very accommodating – and I had been pleased to see that my training in the dream had translated into real skill in the waking world.
I switched to shooting a 9mm automatic pistol. Probably my favorite gun. I aimed at a fresh Brandon target, lining up the front and rear sights right at his crotch. I squeezed the trigger and the gun rapidly barked and jerked upwards in my hand as it spat out bullets. The target splintered, the first few bullets striking the crotch, then there was a jerky line going up his hip into his gut. I smirked in satisfaction. Shooting effigies of Brandon never seemed to grow old.
“I hope you enjoy hell, bastard!” Mark shouted.
I chill went through me. We had sold our souls to the Devil, just like Brandon. When we die, was eternal torment going to be our reward? Mark didn't care about damnation when he sold his soul, and I had been too wrapped up in my love for Mark when I decided to sell mine. I had wanted so badly to be his equal that I didn't think through my decision.
I wished Sam was back from France. She should be on a plane right now, landing this evening at La Guardia. The last few days I have been studying the Magicks of the Witch of Endor, trying to find a way out of going to hell. The book hinted of a spell that would require a child, a daughter. My hand touched my belly, the only child I would ever have. If it was a girl, there was a way that Mark could gain immortality, and since I wished to live as long as Mark, I would gain it as well.
If I, or one of the sluts that is pregnant with his child, bore a daughter, we would be able to cheat the Devil and escape our fate.
“It's alright,” Mark whispered, wrapping his arms around me.
He was such a sweet man, sensing my turmoil. I closed my eyes, feeling safe in his strong arms. I knew in my heart that we'd be together forever—even in the torments of hell. I let go of the gun – it vanished back into dreamstuff before hitting the ground – and I wiggled my ass into his hardening cock.
This was the other great benefit of the shared dream; we were sleeping hundreds of miles apart. I was in New York City, in the Waldorf-Astoria, and Mark was at the Willard Intercontinental in Washington D.C. But that didn't matter. We could be on the far side of the world and we were only a nap away from being together. My pussy moistened as I felt his stiff cock, and I imagined myself naked. The comfortable training clothes I wore vanished into black motes.
Mark's arousal pressed against my naked ass. “Mmm, do you need some relief?” I asked my husband.
“Always Mare,” he murmured, nuzzling my neck. “When I'm with you, I always need relief.”
His words warmed my heart. He was always sweet with me, and it was one of the reasons our open relationship worked. He can be such a heartless bastard at times, treating women as things to satisfy his lusts, but never with me. Neither of us had to suppress our dark desires from each other, from the world. We were beyond morality—we were free. Free to trust and know that our various dalliances didn't change how we felt for each other.
Suddenly we were floating in the blue sky, weightless. My auburn hair fanned about my head, like the tendrils of an anemone swaying in a current. I laughed, spinning about. You could have so much fun in the dreams. Something soft and fluffy bumped into my back, cushioning me. It was a cloud, cotton-white. I stretched out upon it, spreading my legs open. I rubbed a finger through my waxed pussy, already damp, and brought my digit to my lips and tasted my sweet, spicy flavor.
Mark let out a low growl as I sucked on my finger, then he buried his face into my pussy. “Umm, that feels wonderful, Mark!” I groaned. His tongue slid up my petals and flicked at my clit, while his fingers spread me open, before burying his tongue into my pussy.
My husband was a great pussy eater; I writhed on the cloud, enjoying his tongue and fingers. I ran my hand through his brown hair, his blue eyes staring up at me from between my pale thighs, and I could feel his love. I hated sleeping apart from him, but we both could control people, and were more effective separate than together.
His lips found my clit and I gasped my pleasure. “Umm, eat me, my horny stallion! Oh, hun, I'm so close! You're driving me wild!” My orgasm built quickly. His fingers slid into my pussy, and moved deliciously in and out of my cunt. I shuddered; a small climax rippled through me.
Mark kept eating me out, sucking hard on my clit. Another orgasm shot through me and I writhed on the soft cloud. “Let me suck you!” I cried out. I wanted to make my husband feel just as amazing.
He spun around easily, his body floating down to mine. I opened my mouth and engulfed his hard cock. I grabbed his firm ass, groping him and pulling his cock deep into my mouth. I could taste the salt of his pre-cum as I bobbed my head. Mark moaned his appreciation into my pussy. I pulled him deeper, relaxing my throat, and slid his entire cock into my mouth. His pubic hair tickled my cheeks as I massaged his dick with my mouth. Then, sucking hard, I slid up until only the tip remained in my mouth, swirling my tongue about the sensitive head, before deep-throating him again.
“Oh fuck! That feels amazing, Mare!” he groaned. “My naughty filly!”
Another orgasm spasmed through me, my insides squeezing tightly; I could feel my juices splashing on my husband's face. I moaned my pleasure on his cock, my mouth humming on his sensitive head. Salty cum suddenly flooded my mouth, and I joyfully drank my husband's seed down, enjoying the thick, salty cream.
Mark pulled away, twirling about above me and I giggled. He looked so majestic as he moved without gravity, his muscular body glistening with sweat. He was so yummy! Then he dropped back down to the cloud on top of me, and we kissed passionately, fencing each other with our tongues. I enjoyed my sweet, spicy flavor as I wrapped my legs around his hips, and pulled my husband's cock into my aching sheath.
“Fuck me, stallion!” I moaned as he penetrated me.
He took me hard and fast, driving me into the cotton-soft cloud. His cock felt amazing inside me. The bellboy I fucked last night may have had a dick that was a little bigger than Mark's, but he didn't know how to use his. My husband knew my cunt intimately, and angled his thrusts to hit all the good spots inside me.
“Fuck your filly!” I panted. “God, I love your cock!”
“Is that all you love?” Mark asked with a boyish grin.
“No! I love everything about you!” I pulled his face down and kissed him madly, running my hands down his broad back to his tight ass. Since he got the Gift his ass was so yummy; I loved to play with it.
Our groins slapped together, my clit grinding hard into his pubic bone, every thrust sending sparks of pleasure burning inside me. Mark's hand found my right breast and he played with my nipple. He broke the kiss and bent his back so he could suck my nipple into his mouth, the wonderful pressure driving me closer and closer to my climax.
“Yes, yes, yes!” I moaned over and over as his lips, his cock, drove me wild. I could feel a huge orgasm building inside me. A tsunami of passion that threatened to drown me. I couldn't wait!
Mark switched tits, his cock pistoning rapidly in and out of my cunt. I loved it! His shaft rubbed on all the pleasant spots, sending more pleasure to the growing orgasm-tsunami. I licked my fingers, then spread his ass and found his asshole. I massaged the puckered ring, then slipped my fingers in and found his prostate.
“Holy shit!” Mark groaned as his cock exploded inside me.
I loved massaging his prostate. I would only do it once in a while because I loved his surprised reaction; his dick always seemed to flood an extra pint of cum – all warm and sticky – inside me when I did it, right where it belonged. He buried his cock all the way inside me as the last of his semen poured out, and I rubbed my clit on his pubic bone. I came! My orgasm washed through me, surging through every fiber of my being in wave after wave of rapture.
“I love you!” I screamed as the torrent of passion overwhelmed me. As it receded, I reveled in the feel of Mark's strong arms holding me, his face nuzzling my neck.
We cuddled on that cloud for what seemed an eternity, my husband inside me, our lips gently kissing each other, loving each other. We didn't talk; we were beyond words, and just enjoyed each other's presence.
When I woke up, I was in the Waldorf-Astoria. The very suite Mark and I had stayed at the first time we came to New York. I smiled, remembering our first night, and the wild foursome we had with Rachel and Leah in this very bed. Xiu was snuggled up against me, the busty Asian slut's tits pressed into my back. Jessica's caramel face was inches from mine. She looked so peaceful as she slept. I closed the distance, and kissed her on the lips.
Her brown eyes opened and she smiled. “Good morning, Mistress.”
Xiu moved, rubbing against me from behind, her lips nuzzling at my neck. “Morning, Mistress,” she murmured sleepily.
I turned over and grabbed Xiu's nipple jewelry, a pink butterfly dangling on a silver chain from a barbell piercing, and gave it a hard, painful tug. Xiu gasped in pain, lust shining in her eyes. Xiu was a masochist and nothing got her wetter than having her nipple piercings painfully pulled. “I have to pee,” I told her.
Xiu threw back the covers and slid down my body, spreading my pussy open. Her mouth latched onto my urethra and I relaxed, sighing as I pissed into her mouth. I could feel her sucking and swallowing all of my urine. The nasty sounds she made as she drank my piss just made my pussy wetter. Pleasure tingled through me as the pee flowed out. Once you've experienced peeing in a pretty woman's mouth, how can you possibly ever use a toilet again?
Jessica bent over and captured one of my dusky nipples and started sucking as I finished peeing in Xiu's mouth. The Asian slut licked at my pussy, searching for any errant drops of piss. Her tongue felt great, far better than any toilet paper, thick and agile, not rough. She was gentler than Mark, her lips and tongue softer on my pussy. My husband was a hound, aggressively licking me out, whereas Xiu was a cat, taking gentle, careful licks. They weren't better or worse, just different. She licked through every fold and crevasse of my pussy, before her tongue started to lightly flick at my clit.
“Fuck yes!” I moaned. “I love your tongues on me, sluts!”
“We live to pleasure you and Master,” Jessica purred, reaching over to finger my other nipple as she sucked on the first.
The door opened and April walked in, naked save for her glasses and choker, carrying a tray that had a few sliced honeydew melons and a bowl of oatmeal. She set the tray on the nightstand and slipped into bed. The nerdy girl quickly sucked my other nipple into her mouth. Her legs wrapped around my right thigh and her wet pussy rubbed on my skin, slippery wet and hot.
“Looks like a party in here,” giggled Lillian.
The goth slut strutted in, dressed in a black corset that cupped her small, pale breasts and left her pink nipples bare. A very short skirt made of black gauze barely covered her pussy and her pale thighs were clad in black stockings held up by lacy, red garters.
I licked my lips. “Come sit on my face, Lillian.”
“Oh, I would love that, Mistress.”
Lillian practically skipped to me, climbing up onto the bed and straddling my face. Her pussy was shaved and I could smell her tart arousal as she lowered her wet cunt to my eager lips. I licked through her pussy, enjoying her flavor and the moans that issued from her lips. I began mimicking what Xiu was doing to my pussy. When Xiu's tongue slipped into my sheath, I shoved my tongue into Lillian's cunt, enjoying the feel of the silky, wet walls on my tongue. Then Xiu nibbled gently at my clit.
“Oh, Mistress!” Lillian gasped as I gently nipped at her clit with my teeth. “That feels wonderful. Thank you, thank you! I'm the luckiest slut in the world!”
April and Jessica continued nursing at my breasts, their lips and tongues sending pleasure tingling from my nipples down to my womb. Jessica sucked hard, nipping at my nipple, while April let her tongue do most of the work, swirling about my nub, then gently kissed my breast, while she humped hard at my thigh; I loved the feel of her cream on my skin. I had three mouths kissing and licking me, driving me closer and closer to a shuddering orgasm. When it finally exploded inside me, I screamed my pleasure into Lillian's pussy.
“Fuck yes!” moaned Lillian, cumming and flooding my mouth with her tart juices. “Thank you! Oh, thank you, Mistress!”
Lillian cuddled next to me, and I reached over her to grab a slice of honeydew melon as Xiu, April, and Jessica slipped into a daisy chain on the floor. I took a bite of the sweet melon, listening to the moans of pleasure from the three sluts, when I felt nausea churn in my stomach and I bolted to the bathroom.
Mark Glassner – The Willard Intercontinental – Washington D.C.
*This morning sickness is all your fault, Mark Glassner!* Mary sent. I could feel her discomfort in her thoughts.
I was balls deep in Desiree's pussy, fucking the Latina slut as she ate out Tibby's cunt, one of the two women I brought up to my hotel room last night. The other woman was Tibby's teenage daughter Bryanna, who knelt next to Desiree as Alison sucked my cum out of the teen's ass. I was enjoying one last romp with the mother and daughter before I left to attend to Congress.
*Just think of our daughter,* I sent back. *Just picture how beautiful she'll be when you hold her in your arms.*
*Who are you fucking?* There was a strange, accusatory tinge to her thought.
*Desiree while she eats out this MILF's ass. Alison is next to us, eating my cum out of the daughter's ass.*
*You're having an orgy while your wife is suffering?*
I frowned and stopped thrusting into Desiree. *What's wrong, Mare?*
*I just hate vomiting. And I wish you were here. I like it when you hold my hair. It's not the same with Lillian.*
*It's only until tomorrow. Then I'll be there to hold your hair. I love you.*
*I love you too. You can keep fucking Desiree. Make her scream for me and give my love to the other sluts.*
I resumed thrusting back into Desiree's cunt. “Was that mi Reina?” she asked.
“Yeah, she said she loves all of her sluts.”
Alison beamed, her lips sticky with cum. “Don't stop!” Bryanna gasped. “I'm so close to cumming. Keep licking me slut!”
Alison giggled and dived back into the teen's ass. Desiree's cunt squeezed on my cock; the slut was desperate for my cum. My balls tightened; I was nearing that wonderful edge, about to plummet off into the rapture of release.
“Fucking slut!” I groaned, slapping her full ass, watching her nut-brown cheeks jiggle.
“Cum in me, mi Rey!” she cooed. “Fill me with your spunk so I can make Alison eat me out.”
“Umm, I would love that,” Alison purred. “I love eating Master's cum out of a woman's hole, particularly when that woman's my sexy wife!”
“Then keep eating my ass if you love his cum!” Bryanna moaned. “Oh Momma, I'm so close to cumming!”
“Me too, pumpkin,” Tibby gasped. “Oh god, her tongue is driving me wild. This slut is an expert on muff diving!”
“I taught her well,” Alison giggled. “Make that bitch howl, my Latin beauty!”
“Umm, I will, mi Sirenita. And I want to hear that teenage puta explode on your lips!”
“Oh fucking yes! I'm going to explode!” the teen girl shouted. “Holy shit! Her tongue's wiggling up my butthole! Oh my Gods! Oh my fucking Gods!” Her body shook and she collapsed onto her belly. There was a pleased look on Alison's face—a self-satisfied cat licking her lips.
I was almost there, just a few more strokes and I would be basting Desiree's snatch with a huge load of cum. I gripped her hips and slammed into her, savoring every velvety inch of her cunt as my cock plowed in and out. She felt wonderful, driving my balls to distraction, and I unloaded inside her with a low grunt.
“Oh yes, oh yes!” Tibby panted, her pussy grinding into Desiree's face. Tibby collapsed on the bed, quaking as her orgasm crashed through her.
Desiree hadn't climaxed yet, so, after I pulled out of her cunt, I grabbed her clit and rolled it between my fingers a few times. She bucked and screamed, orgasming hard. Her cunt still gaped open; I could see the pink muscles inside spasming as she came, expelling my white cum with her juices.
“Thank you, mi Rey!”
“That was fucking hot!” Alison moaned, then kissed her wife as her fingers rapidly frigged her clit. The two sluts shared the flavor of a mother's cunt and a daughter's ass as Alison writhed, her orgasm shivering through her.
I sent Bryanna and her mother off, both bubbling with joy at spending the night with their God. Violet brought in my breakfast: scrambled eggs with cheese, bacon, and hash browns. I wolfed it down and dressed in the suit that Korina had laid out for me. The sluts wore their provocative clothes: Violet was the naughty schoolgirl this morning, Alison was stunning as a slutty genie, Desiree wore a naughty nurse's outfit, and Korina dressed as a sexy goth girl.
The crowd waiting outside was even larger than last night, a tide somehow being held back by my soldiers, surging against them in their eagerness to see me. My soldiers were calling themselves the Legion: nearly 10,000 Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines that had sworn oaths of fidelity to me and had been bound by the Ragily prayer, the Monk version of the Zimmah spell. Unlike the Warlock spell, Ragily didn't bind their life-force to me, but they would stay loyal as long as they served, and were gifted with certain advantages in fighting the supernatural.
A cadre of the bodyguards formed up around me, dressed as sexy cops. All were volunteers now, and their numbers had swelled to one hundred—all bound to me by the Zimmah spell. My poor mom's cunt was getting raw from the number of times I had to fuck her earlier this week to bind all these cops to me. 51, commander of the bodyguards, saluted me.
“Good morning, sir,” she said, a smile on her ebony face.
“Let's get going,” I said after greeting her with a kiss. Two of the bodyguards opened the hotel door and I stepped out to the cheering crowd.
Everything went blue around me, a shimmering field of rippling energy.
I froze; someone just shot at me and the bullet was deflected by my amulet. A loud gunshot cracked across the square and all the bodyguards and soldiers drew their weapons, scanning the crowd. Fear spurred my heart into overdrive and flooded ice through my veins. I was engulfed in blue two more times in rapid succession. I caught a muzzle flash from an apartment window to my left across the street. Only, it looked like the drapes were still drawn across that window.
I stared at the window and saw the fourth muzzle flash – a tongue of red-orange fire – pass through the curtain, but not disturb the fabric in anyway, before everything went blue around me again. One of the bodyguards tried to draw me back and I shook her off. I could see soldiers already pushing through the crowd, racing to that building while the counter-snipers on the hotel's roof opened fire.
An idea popped into my head. There were news crews here – wherever Mary or I went, there were always news and paparazzi around – and they were broadcasting the attack to the world. This was the perfect opportunity to demonstrate some Godly powers.
After the fourth shot bounced off the Tyrant's shield I stopped firing and retreated from the window. The counter-snipers had figured out my position and were firing blindly at me, and one round had already whizzed past my head. I quickly disassembled my rifle and put it into its case. The soldiers out on the streets would be in the building and crashing through this apartment door in about a minute.
Plenty of time to escape.
I unsheathed a bronze knife. “Pasaq! I shouted and stabbed the air. My knife sank into nothingness, the tip vanishing seemingly into thin air. I started to saw the knife, cutting through the very fabric of reality, and began carving a portal to the Shadows.
Slipping into the Shadows, the highest level of the Abyss, was not for the faint of heart, but it was a useful spell Noel had taught us after we made our Pacts. The best part: this spell wasn't found in the Magicks of the Witch of Endor. Noel was positive that Mark knew nothing about it. Apparently, after Noel had been freed from the Tyrants' slavery, she had used her time to research the occult, and she found several other grimoires that had spells in them.
Spells that worked once we all had sold our souls to the Devil.
“Get inside, Master!” 51 shouted at me.
“Stay back!” I ordered her. “I don't want to hurt you.”
51 let go of me and I unleashed Molech's flames. The fire danced harmlessly on me, but anyone touching me would be burned. I then muttered, “Uwph,” the levitation spell, and soared over the crowd towards that window. This was the perfect opportunity to demonstrate my Godly Powers, and I swallowed my fear. Flying – even a few stories above the ground – unnerved me. I focused on the window, trying to ignore the growing distance between me and the ground. As I flew, I summoned my armor, the gold materializing about me, weighing me down slightly and forcing me to correct my trajectory.
I braced myself to crash through the window, crossing my arms and relying on my armor's forearm-guards – the vambraces – to protect my face. Only nothing was there. It was an illusion. I landed in a living room that looked like it belonged to an old lady, tidy, adorned with doilies and vases and pictures of children hanging on the walls. In the center of the room was a man, dark haired and muscular, somehow drawing lines that glowed white in the air.
Drawn by a dagger that appeared to be sunk into nothingness. What the hell was he doing?
The man whirled, yanking his dagger out of the nothingness. It was bronze and glinted sharply as the man went into a fighting stance, the dagger held low. I slipped into an aikido stance, the martial art Azrael had taught me in my dreams. We eyed each other for a moment and then he lashed out with the knife.
I followed the arc, slid to the side and went to grab his knife hand. He moved; I missed the grab, his dagger scraping harmlessly across my gold breastplate. His foot lashed out and caught me on the knee between the greeves and the metal skirt; the pain flashed through me.
I limped back and peered at him and saw only a black aura. He was a Thrall. “Stop!” I ordered him.
He ignored me.
How the hell did he do that? There was no red fringe around his black aura; he wasn't under the Zimmah ritual. So why didn't my power work on him? As I pondered that, he thrust his knife at my face; I quickly brought my arm up and let the stroke glance off my vambrace. I grabbed his hand, shutting off my flames – I wanted to capture the assassin, not burn him to death – and grappled him.
*Are you okay, Mark?* Mary's thought suddenly intruded as the assassin and I fell to the floor in a heap of grasping limbs.
*Busy!* I thought back.
*Oh God, Mark! Be careful!*
The man was on top of me, his dagger slamming down at my face. I grabbed his wrist with my right hand, halting his blow. We strained against each other. I threw an awkward punch at his face with my left hand and he blocked it. I heaved, and rolled him onto his back. He landed hard and the knife skittered away from him. I drew back my fist and punched him as hard as I could in the face.
My fist landed on his brow; I almost screamed in pain as I broke two of the knuckles on my right hand on his skull. The man blinked, looking stunned and trying to shake off the blow, while blood poured from a cut in his eyebrow. I grabbed the knife with my left hand and placed it at his throat.
“Who are you!” I demanded.
“A patriot,” he spat back. “Kill me, Tyrant. You will learn nothing from me!”
“How are you ignoring my commands?”
He spat in my face, stinging my eyes. Anger flashed through me like a firestorm and for a moment I started to press the knife into his throat before I stopped myself. You need him alive, I reminded myself. Adrenaline pounded through me, making it hard to think straight. This man tried to kill me and every instinct made me want to drive the dagger home in retribution. I took in a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain in my wrenched knee and broken knuckles, and calmed myself down.
There was an explosion at the door, wooden splinters raining, followed by my shouting soldiers. They froze in surprise and snapped to attention.
“My Lord,” the sergeant saluted in surprise.
“Take him,” I ordered, rolling off the man.
As the soldiers grabbed the assassin, I closed my eyes and concentrated on healing my broken knuckles and wrenched knee. The pain melted away as the bones reknit and torn ligaments mended. I stood up, dismissing my armor, and it fell off me in golden sparkles. The prisoner was bound with plastic cuffs and the soldiers were searching him roughly.
*I'm safe, Mary,* I sent.
*What were you thinking!* Mary demanded. *I just watched you on the news, flying like a comet at the man who tried to kill you! We have bodyguards and soldiers for shit like that! I about had a heart-attack watching your idiocy!*
I felt sheepish. *Sorry, Mare. I thought it would be good PR. You know, Gods shouldn't run from danger. *
*Good PR? Good fucking PR?* I could feel an almost hysterical incredulity through the sending. *You idiot! You're too important to risk on goddamn foolishness like that.*
I let the insult slide; she was just scared. *Watch out, Mare. This guy looked like a regular Thrall, but he ignored my orders.*
Unease filled her sending, *Sam gets back tonight. I'm flying down to D.C. with her as soon as her plane lands.*
*What about the UN?*
*The UN can go fuck itself, Mark!* Her fear and concern poured through the sending. *I need to see that you're all right. In person. I can always fly back to New York tomorrow in time.*
*Okay, Mare. Love you.*
*I love you too, even if you can be pigheadedly stupid sometimes. Good PR!*
Sheila Robbins, New York City
“Pasaq!” I shouted and stabbed my bronze knife into the air and slowly drew open a portal into the Shadows.
I was in an apartment looking down at the Waldorf-Astoria, the owner sleeping peacefully on his bed. On the news, they were showing Baxter getting dragged out, captured by Mark. I cursed, the Tyrant was far more powerful than Noel had reckoned. How had he deflected the bullet? The news clearly showed that the first shot caught the bastard off-guard.
I didn't have time to think about that now. Down at the hotel, I could see Mary's party preparing to leave and I jumped into the Shadows.
Clearly, sniper rifles were not the way to defeat them. They must have some sort of spell in place to protect them from gunfire. I was going to try a different way to kill Mary. I could slip through the Shadows and pop out right behind her and shove my dagger through her back before anyone could react. I knew just where to strike to slide past the ribs and find her heart. My blade was thick; it would destroy her heart. She would be dead before a cardiothoracic surgeon could even have a chance to save her.
Ten years in the CIA had taught me a few things.
I was surprisingly calm as I moved through the Shadows. I was going to die. It was unavoidable. Once I stepped out, I would have a few seconds to plunge my knife into her back before all those soldiers and sluts they called bodyguards would react and gun me down. It would be worth it. I would have killed one of the Tyrants.
Sometimes the mission is so important, so vital, to your Country's freedom that you have to give up your life. A lesson I learned at the Farm during my training. I had spent years in backwater hellholes to protect my Country, so there was no way in hell I could stand back and watch the Tyrants destroy it. I was prepared to die to keep it free.
Moving through the Shadows was different. Distances didn't measure directly. After taking a few steps, I could see Mary through the mists when I concentrated. I thrust my dagger into the veil that separated the mortal world and the afterlife, and started to carve my portal. It was faster to create on this side, somehow easier to return to the mortal world than to enter the spiritual. I drew the portal rapidly, my heart beating faster and faster. Three sides down, my knife sliding upwards to complete the doorway.
I was going to die with Mary's blood on my blade.
A cold hand grabbed me and yanked me backwards face-to-face with a blonde, naked woman. She stared fiercely into my eyes; hers were blue and filled with an icy fury. “You will not touch our Mistress,” she hissed. Anger filled her voice, a terrible, cold rage that I had never felt in the living.
Our? I glanced around as I struggled in her cold grip only to see more women. Maybe a dozen of them, surrounding me. Shit! I stabbed my bronze knife at the blonde's chest, aiming for her heart. I would need to kill her quickly if I had any chance against the rest. The blade bounced off her breast, the tip slightly bent. The blonde didn't even seem to notice the blow.
“You should not have come here, mortal,” the blonde told me. She had Scandinavian cheekbones and she reminded me of a Valkyrie—beautiful, implacable, deadly.
Her other hand lashed out, grabbing my throat, and squeezed. I struggled in vain as cold fingers choked off my air. No! I couldn't die! Not without stabbing that Mary in the fucking heart! I could not fail and let that bitch live!
I tried to saw through the fingers about my throat with the bronze blade, while my booted feet lashed at her legs. My toe cracked against her shin, and my knife didn't even seem to irritate the skin of her fingers. My vision fuzzed, everything going black around me as my lungs burned for oxygen.
No! No! No! I will not be defeated by some naked, blonde bimbo!
The knife clattered from my hand. The strength fled my body. It was getting too hard to think; my vision reduced to a narrow tunnel filled with her fierce, blue eyes. No, I weakly protested as the tunnel shrank, narrowed, vanished.
I was falling, falling, falling.
Into darkness. Into fire.
“Welcome, welcome,” a familiar voice roared as the flames began to consume me, cracking my skin. Lucifer appeared before me, shining like the sun. A red chain – molten, burning – bound about my neck, led to him. It was one of thousands. Everywhere I looked there were burning men and women; all the foolish idiots that sold their souls to him.
Oh God, I made a mistake. I tried to scream, but the flames burned down my throat when I opened my mouth, filling every fiber of my soul with pain. Nothing was worth this torment. No Country, no Flag, no person. Oh God, nothing was worth this torment!
Mark Glassner – Washington D.C.
The Honorable Senator from the Great State of Texas was speaking when I walked into the Senate. His eyes fixed flinty on me as a great uproar went through the room. All the senators who were not under my power pulled earplugs out of their pockets and quickly put them into their ears. Irritation flashed through me; people were getting wise to the limitations of our powers. It didn't matter; my soldiers had already surrounded the Capital Building, trapping most of the Senators and Congressmen inside.
The Senator from Texas, Ronald Bybee, put in his own earplugs and kept orating, “The Great State of Texas can no longer stand-by and watch as our Great Nation kowtows to this monster!” His finger pointed at me, jabbing with such violence like he wanted to reach across the room and plunge his finger deep into my heart. “Governor Holt has asked me to convey his decisions. As of today, October 7th, 2013, the Great State of Texas secedes from the Union and will once again be the Republic of Texas!”
I surveyed the Senators. Half looked worshipfully at me, kneeling down, while their colleagues with their earplugs either scowled defiantly or stared fearfully at me. Up in the gallery, the C-SPAN cameras rolled. The Legion streamed around me, fanning about the room, their boots echoing loudly.
“Do not kill anyone,” I ordered. “Remove their earplugs.”
I watched as my soldiers surged into the Senators. I felt a pang of guilt. I was betraying everything my Country stood for: Freedom, Liberty, Democracy. Our forefathers had reject the tyranny of Kings, and here I was imposing the harsher tyranny of a God upon them. It was all for the greater good, I told myself. Mary hinted that something bad was coming; we needed to prepare the world. Besides, once we had every man, woman, and child enthralled to us there would be an end to violence—to the suffering that men callously inflicted on each other. Everyone would be happy and live peacefully with their neighbors.
That was worth a little tyranny, right?
*33 governors and 11 lieutenant governors arrived for the meeting. Six States didn't send anyone,* Mary sent. She was at a meeting of State Governors; we needed to get the State Governments under our thumbs just as much as the Federal Government. *How is it going at Congress?*
*I take it Texas is one of the six that didn't send a representative?*
*How did you know?* Surprise pulsed in her thought.
*Texas just seceded from the Union.*
*Does the Govenor of Texas know you have his National Guard under your control?* Mary asked.
*He's about to find out the hard way, I'm afraid.* I paused, considering Mary's news. *I think we should arrest those governors that just sent their lieutenants, and place their lieutenants in charge of those States.*
*Yeah, I think that's a good idea.* Bitter regret filled her reply. *Are we doing the right thing?*
The commotion had died down, the resistant Senators had been cowed and were under guard; their earplugs removed. Only a few of them had to be roughly handled. Geraldine Medley, one of Washington State's two senators walked up to the podium. “Senators, I'm proud to welcome our Lord and Protector, Mark Glassner!”
The loyal senators clapped and a few of the more bold, captured senators booed as I strode up to the Podium. “I am here today to have the Senate confirm that I am your loving God, here to protect you from the coming Darkness.”
As I spoke, my enemies became my most fervent allies. The Senate passed a constitutional amendment declaring us the Gods of America and our worship as the official State Religion. Then they agreed to a treaty placing America beneath the auspices of our Theocracy—the first sovereign state to be brought beneath our world government. They passed other laws, stripping all other religions of their tax exemption and further imposing a tax on all churches, synagogues, temples, mosques, shrines, and any other place of worship that didn't follow us.
With the Senate in hand, I walked over to the House of Representatives to deal with the Congressmen and -women. My soldiers had already secured them and, after I had finished speaking, they unanimously voted for the laws, treaty, and amendments that the Senate had passed. I felt dirty as I left Congress, and kept telling myself it was all for the greater good.
After leaving Congress, I visited a few of the Embassies in D.C.: the British, French, and German, and placed their ambassadors under our control. The situation with Europe was tense. All the world leaders not under our power were avoiding our phone calls, making it difficult to get them under control. The ones that were under our power were facing considerable political turmoil. The Prime Minister of Britain, loyal to us, had been forced to resign by a Motion of No Confidence. Various parties were now vying for power in their Parliament. Worse happened to the unfortunate President of Pakistan: he had been beheaded by fundamentalists rallying behind the Taliban.
Mary arrived at the hotel that evening, flying down from New York just like she promised. It had been a long day, and I was tired and happy to see my wife.
“Mark!” Mary cried, rushing to me and throwing her arms around my neck and kissing me on the lips. Her hands ran all over my body. “You're not hurt, are you?”
“No, no, I'm fine, Mare!”
Then she poked me hard in the chest. “You need to be more careful! Good PR! Really, Mark?”
Then she kissed me again and clung to me. Beyond my wife, I could see both Sam and Candy. They both looked tired and Candy had her arms wrapped around Sam's waist. “You have it?” I asked them.
“Yes, sir,” Sam answered. “Though we did run into some trouble.”
Mary nodded. “I had to heal Candy. She had a badly broken leg, and Sam had some cuts too.”
“Lilith,” Candy spat. “One of her children.”
“An Alukah,” Sam explained. “A type of vampire. It killed two police officers and almost drained me dry of my blood.” Sam glanced fondly at Candy. “But she saved my life.”
Candy flushed. “It was nothing, Sam. You would have done the same for me.”
“She was amazing,” Sam continued. “She broke her leg jumping out of a second story window and then dragged herself back into the Motherhouse to save me.” Sam gave her a brief kiss on the lips. “Anyway, I can start constructing the Matmown right away.”
“Good,” Mary smiled, then glanced at me. “So, you captured a man immune to your powers?”
Sam's eyes lit up. “A Warlock?”
“No, he has a black aura. Only, there's no red fringe indicating he's under the Zimmah spell,” I answered.
“Interesting,” Sam smiled.
“That's one word for it,” I muttered as I led them to the elevator.
The elevator creaked down to the basement. The walls were bare, mortared concrete blocks, the floor a hard slab of more concrete. Soldiers guarded a utility room and muffled heavy metal music bled through the door. Was that Cannibal Corpse? The soldiers saluted, then they opened the door.
The assassin was handcuffed to a chair, a black bag over his head. A CIA interrogator leaned against the wall and straightened when I entered. He quickly turned the music off and the room plunged into ringing silence.
“What have you learned?” I asked.
The CIA interrogator shrugged. “Not much, my Lord. He's Agent Jerrold Baxter, FBI. Thirteen years in the FBI, seven as an HRT sniper.” I frowned at the acronym. “Hostage Rescue Team. A counter-terrorist unit. Highly trained. No black marks on his record, three citations for bravery and one Medal of Valor, a very prestigious award in the FBI.”
Mary pulled the mask off the man then stuck a finger underneath her skirt. It came away wet with her juices and she traced a symbol on the man's head—the Mark of Qayin. It was necessary to anchor any prayers she needed to cast on the prisoner. She murmured a Nun's prayer, then frowned, straightening. “He's not a Thrall.”
I looked at my wife in confusion. “What? His aura?”
“If he were a Thrall he would be staring blankly ahead,” Mary replied.
“It is possible he's a Warlock,” Sam suggested. “If he made the right wish, perhaps it could have camouflaged his aura. Or perhaps there is a spell that can do the same.”
Mary reached down and unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock. “What the fuck!” the assassin gasped.
Mary grimaced and stroked him, then bent down and sucked his cock into her mouth. A bewildered expression filled the assassin's face as Mary's head bobbed up and down. I gritted my teeth, hating to see my wife degrade herself. Memories flashed through my mind of Brandon holding her face, ramming his cock into her mouth, while she pretended to love it. I fought down the bile and anger. If I could I would bring Brandon back from the dead just to put another bullet in his head.
Sweat broke out on the man's face and I could see him struggling to resist. He fought against his orgasm for a while, but Mary never stopped sucking, one hand gently massaging his balls. She alternated between deep-throating him, and licking just the tip of his cock. He squirmed in the chair; his face grew red and his breath quickened.
“Shit!” he moaned.
Mary quickly pulled her mouth off his cock, white cum shooting up into the air, and hissed, “Shalak.” The Mark of Qayin blazed white on the man's head and his aura became silver.
A regular mortal's aura.
Mary coughed and spat out his cum. The CIA interrogator handed her a water bottle and she noisily washed her mouth out, spitting into the corner of the room as I studied the man. My mind whirled. A Warlock that looked like a Thrall. A quarter of the nation must be under our powers by now; a sea of people that a Warlock with the right wish or spell could hide in. I glanced at Sam: eyes furrowed, mind churning away. She was always thinking, always working out problems..
“Why did you try to kill me?” I finally asked.
His aura turned black as my power affected him. “For Liberty!” he spat. “Did you think that you could enslave our Great Nation and patriots would not rise up and fight you?”
“There are more of you?” Mary asked, walking back.
“Many,” he spat. “We will not rest until you two are dead!”
“What are their names?” I demanded.
He frowned, and struggled to talk. “I...can't...say!” he gasped.
“Ask him what his wishes were,” Sam suggested. I did.
“I wished to be immune from another person's control; to make my aura appear black like a Thrall's; and that anyone who signed our pledge could not have their names revealed to the Tyrants, Mark and Mary Glassner, and any who serve them.” He laughed, an almost maniacal, unhinged sound. “You see, as long as one of us still has our Pact, no-one can be forced to reveal our names!”
“You all made a Pact?”
His grin was wild. “All the Patriots! I may have failed today, but there will be others. We shall not stop! We are everywhere! We are legion!”
General Gonzalo Olmos – The Governor’s Mansion, Austin, Texas
Governor Quincy Holt, the traitor to his Gods and Country, stood on the porch of the Governor's Mansion besides the massive, white Doric columns that supported the roof. Local and national media were in attendance, filming the traitor as he prepared to make his speech declaring that Texas had seceded from the Union. The lawn was full of men and women cheering and clapping, waving Texan flags.
No US Flag flew on the mansion, only the State Flag. The Republic of Texas's flag.
“It is with a heavy heart that I made my decision,” the traitor said into the microphones. “But I could not let the Great State of Texas fall into the hands of a false messiah. There is only one God, and his name is not Mark Glassner!”
A great cheer went up from the crowd. Signs were waved, reading: “Jesus is my savior, not Mark,” “ 'Thou shalt have no gods before me.' Exodus 20:3,” “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the exercise thereof!” and many more.
They were all traitors.
“General Olmos,” Captain Brentmeyers saluted.
I was the Adjutant General for the Texan National Guard. When Governor Holt mobilized the Guard to secede from the Union, I had been so sick to my stomach. His actions today would not pass unanswered. I would help my Gods preserve this Great Nation and not let some disgusting politician pull it apart like a murder of crows over a carcass. There would be no second Civil War if I could help it.
All of my soldiers agreed with me.
“Everything is ready, sir,” the captain told me, his young face pale.
“It will be okay, son,” I told him, clasping his shoulder and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “For our Country and for our Gods.”
He swallowed, straightening his back. “Yes, sir!”
The traitor continued his speech as I marched along the edge of the crowd towards the porch. My soldiers were positioned around the lawn, supposedly a show of support for the traitorous Governor. The bastard nodded to me – a jovial smile crossing his fat, ruddy face and a pleased, oily look filled his eyes as he saw me; the disgusting slug lusted for power – as I climbed the stairs to join him.
“General Olmos and I will protect...”
His oily eyes bulged in surprise as I drew my service handgun – a Colt .45 with a nickle-plated grip that I had polished until it gleamed like silver – and placed it to the traitor's forehead. “For Mark and Mary!” I roared and executed him.