The devil's Pact - S01 E352

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The devil's Pact - S01 E352

Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 352

"Shit!" 51 gasped behind me. There was a meaty sound and a wet thud.

I reached Mark, kneeling next to him. There was a blackened wound on his chest. His armor had stopped the worst of the Dimme's attack, but that wound was growing, shadowy tendrils inching across his body. I had to heal him, fast. "Tsa..."

My spell was cut short as a hand crushed my throat. I was slammed onto my back, pinned by Brandon as he straddled my stomach, a mad look in his eyes. I couldn't breathe. My lungs burned. I clawed at his face, leaving red scratches. His grip tightened, iron crushing the life out of me. No! I couldn't die! Not when we came so close to defeating him. Not when I was pregnant. I had to fight. For our unbom child!

I started grasping at the fingers squeezing my throat, trying to pry then off. Other women were leaping on Brandon, trying to force hirn off of me. 27 was thrown off, her head slamming into the concrete wall and she fell heavily to the floor. The world was starting to grow black, and it was getting harder and harder to think, to fight. I wanted to give up, to relax, to let that blissful darkness take me away from all of this pain.

My hand went limp.

No, keep fighting, I weakly told myself. Our child would be named Chasity if it was a girl or Albert if it was a boy. I had to keep fighting for our child. I wanted to see him or her be born. To hold our child in my arms. I would not give up! reached inside me, trying to find the strength to keep the darkness at bay.

I found something, glowing in my soul. The power that flowed into me from Mark.

The fire of Molech.

Brandon screamed, his hand released my throat as he stumbled back. I coughed, gasping lungfuls of the sweetest air I had ever tasted. Fire roared about my body, dancing harmlessly on my skin. Desiree and 51 wrestled the screaming Brandon to the ground, his hands blackened ruins. I coughed, and turned to Mark. The black wound was growing, the shadows spreading, reaching for his heart.

"Tsariy!" I screamed hoarsely as I touched him.

Red light engulfed my husband, his body convulsing beneath my hand. When it passed, his blue eyes were shining up at me. His hand reached out and caressed my face. I winced; my nose was broken and my face swollen from Brandon's blow. Mark whispered and my world turned scarlet. I could feel my nose straitening out, the swelling in my face vanishing, the pain in my throat and the bruises and scrapes on my side all melted away.

"My filly!" Mark cried out, crushing me to him.

I hugged him just as fiercely, my tears rolling down my cheeks. "My stallion!"

Mark kissed me and everything seemed to stop. My husband was safe and we were together again. I could feel his muscular chest pressing against me, his hands roaming my back, and I touched him everywhere, feeling his strong muscles. My heart sang for joy and I could feel tears misting my eyes. I broke the kiss, and stared into his deep blue eyes and stroked his cheek.

Then I bent over and whispered into his ear, "We've started something terrible. A darkness approaches. We have to take some responsibility and fight back, Mark."

I couldn't say anymore. Lucifer could be watching us right now. Only in a Matmown would it be safe to talk. I pressed my finger to his lips when he started to speak, shaking my head ever so slightly. There was confusion in his eyes, but also trust.

Debra Horne-Dannell

"Something has happened, Forrest," I reported into my microphone, speaking with Forrest Murphy back in the Q13 Fox studios while I stared into the camera manned by Jarret. The world had changed a moment ago. I felt like I had returned to myself. "Everything is different. It's like I'm waking up from a dream."

Around me in the square before the Tacoma Courthouse, were US Soldiers who served the God Brandon Fitzsimmons. No, that couldn't be right? He could not be a God. Everywhere I looked, soldiers were shaking their heads, looking confused. A young soldier, no more than twenty, sat down and started sobbing into his hands.

"We felt it, too, Debra, Forrest replied through my earpiece. He was anchoring the news desk back at the Q13 Fox studio in Seattle. "Why did we ever believe Brandon was a God?"

"He cast a spell," I realized. "Led us astray from our true Gods."

It was all coming back to me. My worship and love for Mark and Mary Glassner was suppressed by the false God's enchantment. I was free. It felt wonderful. "Our real Gods, Mark and Mary, are responsible," continued reporting. A smile grew on my face. It was unprofessional, but I could not contain the joy I felt at being free. "I just know it! The soldiers under Brandon's control seem to be freed as well. Many look dazed, sick even. Disgusted at what Brandon forced thern to do. We have all heard the reports of the atrocities committed the last few days in Tacoma."

I just shot that man," sobbed the young soldier, staring at his hands, "Oh, God, why did I do that?"

The doors to the jail suddenly opened and two naked women, one Black and one Hispanic, walked out carrying M16s. I recognized the Black woman as 51, the chief bodyguard of my Gods. Then Desiree and a brunette walked out, dragging a manacled man.

Brandon Fitzsimmons.

And the last to walk out were my Gods. They were naked, their arms entwined. An aura of fire danced about the pair. My breath caught in my throat; even naked, they were magnificent. Mark's chiseled body, as perfect a male specimen as you would find on any Greek statue, and Mary's womanly figure, as beautiful as any pin-up model. Power and majesty radiated out from the pair.

present the false god, Brandon Fitzsimmons!" Mark roared.

Desiree kicked the back of his leg and the fat, balding man fell to his knees. Whatever Illusion Brandon had used to make himself look young and fit had been broken. He stared blankly at the ground, utterly defeated.

"He enslaved you with his dark magic!" Mary shouted. "But we have freed you! Do not feel guilty for what you did under his control. Only Brandon bears responsibility for the murders and the rapes. Only Brandon!"

The soldiers around me looked up at Mark and Mary with hope and relief. The young man that had been sobbing near me gazed at then with such a worshipful expression. "It wasn't me," he whispered. "It wasn't me!"

"Brandon Fitzsimmons is guilty of mass murder and rape!" Mary cried out. "He sacrificed over fifty women to the demon Molech!"

Mark looked down at the defeated man. "For his crimes, I condemn him to death!"

With Mark's sentence, 51 aimed her M16, I felt a vicious surge of triumph in my heart as the M16 barked and Brandon fell lifeless to the ground.

"A darkness approaches!" Mark bellowed. "Brandon was merely the first. Only Mary and I can protect you! Serve us, worship us, and we shall fight for you, protect you! We are the only hope for the world! We are your Gods, and we love you all!"

The soldiers fell to their knees in worship. It took me a moment to realize that I knelt with them.

Brandon Fitzsimmons The Abyss

The gun barked.

I was falling, falling, falling into darkness.

Then the darkness gave way to fire, to pain. To agony beyond anything I ever felt alive, I screamed and screamed as the flames danced on my skin, igniting every nerve. Around me thousands screamed, millions. I burned, my flesh sizzling, but I would not die, and the pain would not end. My flesh was never consumed. My torment would be unceasing.

"Welcome, Brandon," Lucifer taunted. A collar of molten-red metal encircled my neck, a chain leading off to the radiant figure floating before the thousands of tormented souls bound to him. "Did you enjoy your wishes?" He savored my torment, delighted in it, drank in my agony. Malice and sadism dripped from every word he uttered, "I hope they were worth the price."

To be continued....