The Gathering

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Chapter Twenty-Two

     …He places the body of the Mayor, his contact, his faithful follower, lamb -- Still kicking and bleeding from the gash, onto Henderman’s desk screaming for release. Yours will be a release, only not the kind you expected, you cheating dog. He growls to himself as he exams the pulsing eyes. His will be a fitting question. For he’ll hold the position of their human god, the one from the churches that carry his soiled name. Christ be thy name... Fitting, as he smiles and laughs internally.

     Simon falls to quiet as he lay on his back, next to paralyzed and anticipating an end to the pain, any end, for it would be better than living like this. The pain becomes a numb that encompasses his whole, while he looks up toward the ceiling for what he believes to be the last thing in this life. Then the alien fingers, elongated and thin, blood stained and fluttering as they carry the burden of jeweled gold and silver.
     Suddenly the point, the bleeding edge of his salvation as it descends growing larger as it approaches. Its point buries into his left eye, popping the membrane and then burning, as it enters and drinks. The pain keeps him awake. This life is the gift from the dying, the sacrifice pristine that will feed his god, Lord Kurse, with the sustenance of eternal salvation and supremacy. The offering delivered in time for the preparation of his coming, of his rebirth and his revenge.
     Simon screams as his essence, life force drains into the burning that pierces his left eye. However, life still breathes in his withering lungs as the pain borders on perdition. Then a release as the flame exits his face for a moment of prelude. Suddenly the right eye burns as he unknowingly opens it to greet the descending point. This one is the feast for the priest, for his efforts and devotion, to a rewarding, forgiving god. Simon’s life force spews into the brilliant glow of his index finger and ascends to fill him with sustenance and fulfillment. And the image dies, along with Simon...


Chapter Twenty-Three

     The man’s speed borders on the indescribable as he descends upon the tall deity as though time itself displaced around him. His left foot strikes first with the right to follow. The thunderous slap fills the hall with the discerning ring of crushing bone and ripping flesh. The deity’s head snaps, propelling blood and drool to paint the adjacent decor. Roth’s head returns to face the smaller foe and simply allows a smile to overcome his blood soaked lips. Though, he is not without his strengths by demonstrating his prowess with a single step forward and driving his knife-edged hand into the other’s throat. The human catches the blow in mid leap as he attempts to defy the attack, but takes the assault and tumbles from the force. From his left hand the amulet dislodges from convulsing fingers and falters across the carpeted deck until it falls to rest just before the pillared entrance of the elevator. The leather clad human spasms on the deck, clenching his throat as though it were torn out. Suddenly, ‘Blue-Eyes’ approaches Roth from behind then jabs a solid fist into his right kidney. Roth falters with the blow, eyes rolling back into his head as the wind exits his lungs, sucking out his strength like a vacuum. Carter then steps forward, attempting to succor the fallen man but notices the other as he jumps into the fray of combat. This one is zealous as he lands a devastating blow to Roth’s lower mid section. Suddenly, the piercing betrayal of blue as it flashes momentarily from Roth’s extending hand. “Yet, I will deal with you first...” The guttural words resonate from somewhere within him as he faces and prepares to attack the blue-eyed juggernaut.

     She quickly steps into action for she knows the effects of the weapon and the human obviously did not. She springs upward with a knuckle punch to Roth’s folded elbow sending ripples of pain up his forearm and fingers. Blue-eyes sees the opportunity, watching the fingers extend from a phantom blow, he pushes in with his shoulder and grips Roth around the chest in a mock bear hug slash tackle. Roth’s ribs convulse with the assault as though a feral Baal-rog had come crashing into him, covering his attacker's clothing with a carpet of blood, mucous and spittle.
     A deep faded haze overcomes his sight as tinnitus ravages his ears with a wicked aria of sinuous pitches for the macabre. As he hits the deck, head smashing against the solidity first, he sees the impression of his amulet, as it remains trapped between him and the bulkhead beyond. Then, he suddenly notices a black form, goblin-sized demon sitting above his first human opponent -- mild juicer to say the least. An insult to his presence for he is High Priest of a God... He is impervious to anything like him but not the second. This one must be possessed and only a god can deal with him -- appropriately. Or could they? He questions, as the faded haze turns to absence, black.
     The corridor quickly fills with the resonance of screaming. Two distinctive yells overpower the otherwise silence and deities begin to appear into the hall, curious to its origin. Carter and blue eyes turn to face the source, one with shock the other with morbid curiosity, just like the deity’s. The first is the sound of fear and absolute pain created by the human juicer. His body obscured by black and evil. The second is the sound of contempt and absolute hatred created by the small black deity whom Carter knows as Deano Bravo.
     Deano starts with the toes and begins to work his way up. However, this is an act for the patient and requires much time to enjoy thoroughly, which is a luxury he does not have. Therefore he decides to quicken the pace by sinking his alien, white teeth into the man’s most prominent muscles, tearing upward, extracting the fibers from the nest. He devours the human’s flesh, the man still living to experience the greatest horror known to man -- That of being eaten alive.
     “Deano... No!” Carter protests, rushing over to the human’s aid, but Deano moves with blind fury and systematically bites into the primary muscles. This one he will let live, for the remainder of his miserable life, but not without cementing his contempt in way of permanent scarring. He leaps up to the man’s face, digging clawed fingers into the abdomens, just under the armor, ripping flesh and gripping muscle with a pull. He then tears at his face, only letting go when the flesh of his chin greets the threads of hair on his upper forehead.
     Carter manages to pull him off, sending them interlocked, across the deck. The unconscious Juicer remains limber in Deano’s grip, a blood mass form with no apparent chance for survival. “How could you?” She scolds, releasing him and he the Juicer.
     “I don’t owe you any explanation Kar-Tarr, and I didn’t invite you to this dance, so keep your holier than...” Then a blank stare, as he looks at the carnage and the manifesting Security Orb. His face, chest and abdomen carry the crimson guerdon of vindication while looking past her, breathless and satiated. Suddenly, the deities fade into the seclusion of their rooms and she turns to face his gaze. The Security Orbs are the surveillance eyes for the Blind Women and other in-tuned deities of the ship’s inner defenses. This means, when you see one of them, the rest will soon follow and they are prepared to deal with any challenge presented to them. It is just a question of numbers.
     Carter turns to face Deano and they exchange a tense glance then she shifts toward the exit toward the stairs leading down to the main deck, realizing that they would be there waiting for them. This is getting out of control she thought as she witnesses the look in Deano’s eyes. He is considering, preparing to take on the populous of this ship and he is about to start with the easiest target. “Deano, come on, this way.” She urges, with a tug of his left elbow. At first, he is unyielding and maintains his ground, looking up toward the orb, then his eyes shift toward the left, toward the white fingers then the opening to the outside world. This time, it is he who leads as she follows still anchored to his elbow.
     Blue-eyes looks upon the orb as it attempts some kind of spell binding, perhaps he is the intended target but the attempt is futile and ineffective, at least for now. Then he looks upon the shifting body of Roth on the deck and beyond him the object if his desire. This was easy. Too easy and he hopes to get some prime tail with it, in of the likes of that woman. 'Who is she?' Without looking, he leaps in the air and kicks the orb like a soccer ball, launching it pitching down the length of the corridor. In his flight, he sweeps downward and gathers the amulet, cupping it diligently in his massive hand and secures it in a hidden pouch just under his belt, on his back.

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Chapter Twenty-Four

     “What are you?” Her voice carries over the howl of the outside world. Trepidation becomes her savior as she stands before him. Her eyes attempt a deep gaze into his, attempting to find an answer and holds that gaze. The wind sheers at the flesh with viperous lashes turning pale white to red blush and tears at her hair as it flutters with the currents and freezes from the bitterness. His eyes, cold and blank, return her stare without answers, without question, without the semblance of acknowledgment. The cold does not seem to faze him as he turns his head to see the approach of the human.

     “Hey guys! What’s going on?” Blue-eyes questions upon noticing them out in the cold. She looks obviously disturbed about something. For she continues to look scornfully upon the smaller, impish fellow, who stood facing his approach with blood and fleshy tissue draping his face and upper body. He looks like a blood-crazed cannibal caught with his dinners’ cock in his mouth, but he was not about to say anything. But he did look funny. “I’m Sam Haynes...” He introduces himself, to break the ice, so to speak. The focus of his introduction was directed toward her, and she hazards a brief and impartial look then returns it to the other. “My friends call me Apocalypse.”
     Deano snickers, the idea that this dud had friends and that they actually called him Apocalypse. What were they? Could they even read? “Hey Sam!” The imp speaks, with a hollow and guttural voice, deep and penetrating and very alien. “Where’s your pumpkin lantern?” Then he offers a macabre smile. His teeth stained to cast his black lips under red.
     “What are you talking about little man?” Sam asks. His attention focuses solely on him and the massive blood spot. This was a battle in the makings and Carter did not have the soul to see it through.
     “What do you want Sam?” She asks, now averting her attention from the imp to him. He offers a brief smile upon seeing her eyes then becomes glacial when returning toward her friend.
     “I owe you, from back there and I plan to repay it. And by the looks of things you’re going to need my help. No’s not an option.” He assures her with his eyes and charming face returning to her with earnest cemented upon it.
     She opens her mouth to protest and finds him interlocked, engaged in a stare down with Deano. Deano is obviously up for the challenge. “It was nothing -- don’t worry about it.”
     “Who’s worried?” Deadlocked and emotionless.
     “Deano, you look like a crazed cannibal after Thanksgiving Supper, you better clean yourself up.” Still unable to accept his savage methods, but he was right in saying that she was not invited to this dance. It was not any of her business and she should have not gotten involved. But she did and now she will have to learn to deal with the consequences.
     “Deano? Huh.” He says with a quirky smile, “Sounds like a dog’s name.” Maintaining the smile.
     “Yeah! And I’m Carter.” Holding Deano back with an assertive hand. He hardly notices the strength and its superiority to his, and again her brace was only a minor set back. If he had wanted this man dead, he would be.
     “I heard...” He changes his focus and his face becomes more pleasant. “Back there in the hall.” He finishes, pointing a thumb and a quick nudge toward the exit.
     “So. How are we getting out of this?” She questions, to no one in particular. She jets’ a quizzical glance from one face to the other as Deano maintains the hostility and Sam, his quirky smile.
     Deano removes his jacket – a foreign couture against anything the others have seen. Beneath he wears a white silk shirt, with long sleeves buttoned with gold cuffs. With the jacket, he cleans his blood soaked face then discards it to the deck, a look of disappointment on his face. “Get on my back.” He speaks, his voice still guttural rumbles.
     “Pardon?” She questions, shooting a confused look at him, his request just as foreign as his suit.
     “Get on my back and I’ll carry you down to the first deck.”
     “What about a rope?” She questions, looking at Sam for some help. Sam returns the look with ‘I don’t have one’ blankness in them.
     “Don’t worry about it... I don’t need the rope.”
     “What about me?” Sam questions looking down on him as Carter mounts his back like a piggy ride.
     “I don’t give a fuck about you. Jump down.” Curt and to the point - just like a B-rated actor in a crucial scene.
     “Yeah! Well, fuck you.” Not knowing how to take the suggestion.
     Carter’s grip teeters on the verge of crushing his ribs. He steps over the edge and continues to walk vertically down to the first level, where a terrace waits and greets them with an amorous couple in the throws of intimacy. Then the free falling body of Sam as he drops himself from the upper deck to the next, just catching the last set of rails on his descent. The ocean waves rush up as though wanting to grip his ankles and pull him in, but fail and die several feet down. He effortlessly brings himself up and onto the terrace where the couple take notice and attempt to find security behind the licentiousness of their clothing. He shrugs and scuffs at their presence, ugly aliens he thinks to himself and follows behind the other two.
     They pass through the exit and find the corridor, which looks just like the last and use the service entrance that leads to the center court below. Looking back, Deano comments under his breath; “We look like the Three Stooges” and continues out into the atrium where people walk yet there are no security guards.
     “What was that?” Sam asks.
     “What do we do now?” Carter says in tow, her question to drown out Sam’s. She did not know what to think of him for he often wished to challenge Deano, a challenge best not offered, if he knew what is good for him. And again, she surmises no.
     “You’re the brains of this outfit. I can find my own way out of this garbage haler. Without dragging you two bone heads behind me like a lead ball.”
     “And what makes you so fucking good? Mr. 'I’m too fucking important for you... Stooges?”
     As Carter looks around to figure out her options, Deano points toward the oncoming Orb and the security unit that follow. She looks up at the Orb and questions their maneuverability as she looks over toward the arena for a likely cover. Faces, how can it discern all the faces? Can it be as good as her own eyes, maybe better but they will have to “Filter out the thousands of faces inside the Arena?” She completes out loud, for the other two to hear.
     “Good idea.” Sam says pessimistically as he contemplates a full out assault on the Orb and guards. However, it is the bobbing of her ass, as she finds her way through the wave of denizens, which lures him to follow. He does so with the little black guy towing behind him, like the lead ball.