The Devil's Pact - S01 E329

Story 19 hours ago

The Devil's Pact - S01 E329

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 329

"Who's on the phone?" I asked. The world had changed today. My new God, Brandon Fitzsimmons, had finally overthrown the false God Mark and was hunting down his wife, Mary.

"Him," Eustace said with emphasis and I finally understood.

I snatched the phone from him. The moment Brandon had spoken during his press conference, it all became suddenly clear. Brandon was the true God and had soundly defeated the false one. No, Brandon wasn't a God, he was the God,

My God.

"This is the President, my Lord, I respectfully said.

I found myself to be suddenly nervous as I spoke to an actual God. I've spoken to almost every Head of State on the planet, knowing every time that I was more powerful than any of them. For the first time since I was elected President of the United States, I was the lesser power.

It was humbling.

"You shall fly to Tacoma with your cabinet and surrender the Country to me," my God ordered.

"Absolutely, my Lord," I answered. The phone clicked as my God hung up on me.

I was going to meet my God in person. I never thought it would happen while I was alive.

Mark Glassner

The beating seemed to go on for an eternity. An eternity of pain and suffering. This must be hell, I thought with bleak amusement. I sold my soul and my punishment was to be beaten by the followers of a man I wronged.

It was poetic.

I had used my powers for my own pleasures, not caring about the lives I hurt or destroyed. Mary was right to free our slaves, and to tell me not to break up relationships just because I was horny or feeling vindictive. I needed to be responsible with my powers.

I passed out sometime during the beating. The pain brought me back to consciousness. I lay on something hard, cold; the agony slowed my mind. I fought through the fog, struggling to move, to survey my surroundings. Metal clinked, digging into my wrists and ankles, they had manacled me hand and foot, and dumped me onto the floor of a jail cell. Two soldiers stood outside the bars, M16s grasped in their hands, uncaring eyes fixed on me, like I was an insect in a collection, pinned to a piece of cork.

My mouth was parched, and I spotted a sink. I struggled to move, desperate for water. The pain was excruciating just stretching my legs, the metal of the leg irons biting into my ankles, constricting my movement. I did not know why I was still alive. I think it was the Gift; a lesser man surely could not have survived. I grit my teeth, mustered the will to fight through the pain, and pulled myself across the rough floor. The metal sink was above me, and I tried to grab the rim with my right arm, momentarily forgetting the foot of steel manacling my wrists together. Grunting, pushed myself up onto my knees, then grasped it with both hands, pulling myself up and staring at my reflection in the polished, stainless steel mirror.

My face was a bloody ruin, swollen so badly that I couldn't recognize myself. I opened my mouth and saw the ruins of my teeth and inspected the damage: gums bleeding, shattered molars throbbing in pain, gaps where front teeth were missing. I was naked, I realized, except for the manacles biting into wrists and ankles. I didn't even remember them stripping me naked, and blacks and blues and yellows covered my body. There didn't seem to be any part of me that wasn't bruised.

I cupped cold water in my hands, the chains rattling, and slowly sipped it tenderly, trying not to brush my swollen face. The shooting pain in my broken teeth increased as the cold water poured into my lips. I closed my eyes, and forced myself to keep drinking through the pain. I drank until my stomach felt ready to burst, then I stumbled to the cot.

*We've landed in Kansas, Mary sent me as I curled up on the hard mattress, trying to get comfortable despite the metal restraining me.

Good. The beatings have stopped. I think I'm going to sleep.