Search This Blog

Friday, March 12, 2021

THE BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, Chapter 1, Part 1

 

 Posted 3-12-21

Updated 5-11-21

Updated 01-05-22


 AUTHOR'S NOTE: The back story of Necromantra, a supporting character in MANTRA Magazine (Malibu Comics), is rich and complex. Most Ultraverse fans will already be familiar with Necromantra's exploits as the Ultraverse’s most powerful and evil femme fatale and for this reason we have limited the expository material presented herein. The character’s career summary is appended as an appendix at the end of this story segment for the benefit of those new to the Malibu universe. Chronologically, The Beauty and the Beast continues and concludes (as part five) the four‑part Necromantra miniseries published in 1995.

Necromantra, the Arielles, the Tradesmen, the Darkur, the Aerwa, and some of the major characters featured in this story are original creations of Malibu Comics and are copyrighted by Marvel Comics, Inc.


THE BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

A story of Necromantra

By Aladdin

Edited by Christopher Leeson



Part 1 of Chapter 1

The road wound before me like a serpent’s trail. I could see nothing to the right or left except a cornfield shrouded by night. Where was I bound to? Did I have to be somewhere? I couldn’t recall. I thought of taking my bearing from the stars, but couldn't recognize any of the constellations. In fact, the whole countryside had an eerie and unreal cast to it, though it baffled me to explain what was wrong. I kept asking myself, where was I and how had I come here?

But I had another question even more important than these.

What was my name?

I had no personal memories whatsoever. Who was I? Looking down at myself, I beheld a cloaked body that might as well have belonged to stranger.

Perplexed, I again glanced skyward. I couldn’t remember what a proper moon should look like, but this moon somehow looked odd. But at least it was giving off a little welcome light. I held my up hands, hoping that their appearance might evoke some of my missing memories. I was surprised to see that they looked so  youthful. Was I young? While I had been walking, I had assumed that I was old. But why should I think such a thing? It was not as though I carried with me any memories of a long life. Nor was I feeling the bodily aches that so often remind a person of advanced years. So why had I been supposing that I was old?  

But there was something else that surprised me even more than my apparent youth. The hands I was holding up looked like a woman’s.

Was I woman?

Just as I had been seeing myself as old, I had also assumed that I was a man.

Feeling beneath my cloak, I touched a contoured body, firm but slender. Its smooth skin felt as warm silk to my touch. The feel of my breasts should have been enough to convince me of my sex, but being female seemed so wrong that I continued checking, thereby confirming
absolutely my womanhood. What was wrong with me? How could I have forgotten something as basic as my own sex?

There was a hoarse call from overhead and I recognized it for a crow's cry. How strange it was that I knew what a crow sounded like while being unable to remember so much as my own name. The flap of  the bird’s wings had arced over my head and so I looked back. The creature of Nature had settle to earth almost camouflaged amid a crisscross of moon-shadows. The tightening of my lips told me that I possessed the power to smile. I said, "Aren’t you supposed to be a day-bird, Master Crow? Why are you out so late?" The timbre of my own voice sounded soft and high-pitched, absolutely unfamiliar to me.

My fair-feathered visitor, I could see, was pecking at something and I presumed that he had found some corn. Just then, behind the bird, I noticed a table set up by the side of the lane. I stepped toward it, causing the crow to walk out of my path. The table was cluttered with cups, dishes and platters; there were enough stools for several eaters. Had there been a picnic? Why had the diners abandoned everything upon leaving? Or had they fled from the roadside in sudden fear?

I frowned thoughtfully. What had caused me to think so readily about fear and flight? Did I have a reason to be afraid myself? Might there have been some forgotten danger that had put me onto this rustic road?  I did sense something like fear lurking at the back of my mind. Or had the feeling been aroused by nothing more than this location's darkness, loneliness, quietude, and emptiness?  

Standing beside the table, I made out a child's teddy bear seated on one of the stools. A toy should be cared for by a child, I thought. A toy without a child seemed sad somehow. Would the child return, or would the bear have to sit where it was alone, until a strong gust toppled it to the soil? It would languish there, I knew, dank and dirty, unwanted, unneeded, forgotten. In the end, its cloth would be rotten, its seams broken, its every fiber would go away with the birds for building nests. But, alas, wasn’t that the cruel way of Nature? Hadn't the detritus of death always provided the wherewithal to support the new life that will not arrive until tomorrow?

As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I saw something that made me even sadder ‑‑ an executed man suspended from a cross. As I stared at him, I was set to wondering what his crime had been and who had punished him.

My feet wanted to move toward the corpse. A few steps along, I gave a sigh of relief. This was no tragedy after all. I was seeing not a corpse but a scarecrow, a very crude homunculus tied to a wooden frame. But what a poor excuse for a scarecrow! A crow searched for grubs and worms only a few yards away, entirely undaunted.

It was then that I heard something moving among the shadows of the growing corn. My eyes searched out the night-prowler almost at once.  It was no night‑stalking beast, after all, but a wandering girl‑child.

She should have been able to see me, but the waif never glanced my way.

The small wayfarer, here at this ungodly hour, caused me wonder if she were a living tyke or a haunting spirit. The night-child made for the disorderly table and took an empty stool from its side. This she toted up to the feet of the scarecrow. The girl did not hesitate to climb up upon it then. Standing on her tiptoes, she reaching aloft to touch the head of the pathetic effigy.

I heard myself speaking aloud: "Girl, why are you out here at  night? Do you have a home and parents?"

She still disdained to look my way, but chose to get down from the stool just then and walk away into the brake-like expanse of corn. She made no sound during in her departure, moving as quietly as a field mouse.

When I could no longer see the girl, I again contemplated whether it had been a young person or a ghostly manifestation. The stool was still there and I wanted to know if it was real or something phantasmagorical. Therefore I walked to it and put a hand upon its seat. It surely felt like solid wood.  If the stool was real, had the girl standing upon it been real also?  It didn’t seem logical that a ghost should require a material stool to stand upon.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a red spark. Turning, I drifted toward the spot where the glint had been. It turned out that I was walking directly toward the avian, who now scurried away. It deigned to retire only a few yards before stopping and staring back at me with – I supposed – indignation.

There was another carmine glint from the ground and I advanced to stand above it. Seeing nothing at my feet, I sank to one knee and groped through the earth-chunks and grass. My fingers touched something anomalous and picked it up. The moonlight illuminated something like a ruby fixed in a metal setting. It had a chain attached in the form of a pendant. I dangled it in front of my eyes and its scintillation filled my mind with flashes of a blonde girl’s face. I paused, fascinated. If this was a memory, I surely needed to take it seriously. I was sure that the face looked familiar and this person seemed to be important to me.  Contemplating that face gave me a sense of loneliness and loss.

For some reason I found myself wishing myself to be not where I was, but with that girl, whoever she was.

"Go back," someone behind me said.

Startled, I turned but saw nothing beyond the moon-illuminated stalks of corn. No matter what I had supposedly heard, I was still alone. Dismally alone. Who had spoken? Had I heard a ghost? Had it been the crow? I somehow recalled that crows could be trained to pronounce words.

For no reason, a child's rhyme came to mind:  `Birdie with the yellow bill hopped upon my window sill, cocked its shining eye and said....'

What did it say?

"Go back."

I looked again at the crow, trying to make out if it had truly been the speaker.

“Go back.”

Yes, it was the crow. I smiled ruefully. So that was what the birdie with the yellow bill had said!

*****

The next thing I knew, I was elsewhere and hearing a woman screaming.

I felt I should help a being in trouble if I could, until I realized that I was myself the screaming person.

My first impulse was to sit up, but found that I could move neither my arms nor legs. Is this sleep paralysis? I asked myself. But my clearing senses made it all too clear that this was not the case. My immobility was the intended effect of cords having been fastened around my wrists and ankles. I was tied to a rack or a similar frame. Was I someone’s captive? I heard voices. I could not understand their language but, even so, listened carefully to them. The speech gradually became comprehensible, but yet my ears still only heard gibberish. It was as though the conversant beings were projecting thoughts from their minds directly into mine. As they spoke, they seemed not to know that I was listening in.

"Have you succeeded, wizard?" one asked. I did not like his voice; it was hard and somehow inhuman.

"I believe so, Tradesman," replied the one called wizard. "It is a pernicious devil, this Soul‑Rider, one that cannot easily be cast out. Our spells have weakened its grip, but if the witch is to avoid a new possession, she must use her own great power frequently to rebuff and banish it. I think that if her heart is set upon being free, she will succeed."  

"As long as the slave has the potential for relapsing, her value will be lessened," stated the one called Tradesman. “Are her powers diminished by being partially possessed?"

"I doubt it, Great One. Hopefully, she will be more cooperative that she was before, when fully dominated by the demon."

"Any acquisition that will not accept commands must be destroyed," stated Tradesman.

As I lay there, my thoughts seemed to be forming up into some kind of order.

I gasped as I began to see snatches from my past. I had thought that I wanted to remember who and what I was. But now that the process had begun, I did not like the memories that I was getting!

My teeth clenched and my womanly hands fisted. I was being told by the voice of guilty recollections that I had committed murder, and I had murdered the person whom I had loved most in the world.

Afraid that this indictment was true, I no longer wanted to remember.
I didn’t want to become all over again the person whom I remembered. It would be better for me to go back to that lonely road and become a ghost again, a ghost blessed by forgetfulness and with no company at all except for other ghosts.

If only such a thing were possible! 


TO BE CONTINUED, Chapter 1, Part 2.



APPENDIX TO THE BEAUTY AND THE BEAST,
A Story of Thanasi

By Aladdin and
Edited by Christopher Leeson

 In the mid-Fifth Century, Archimage the wizard came to Earth as an exile from his homeland on the Godwheel and began to recruit fighting men for an elite force. His intention was to wage war against his necromancer brother, Boneyard, who had attacked and stolen kingdom. Two of those whom he recruited were the knights Lukasz and Thanasi, fighting men who had already proven their prowess during the last days of the Roman Empire.  Boneyard would occasionally venture to Earth himself to take reprisals against the knights and their loved ones, slaying Lukasz’s wife Marinna. Thanasi, already the former’s friend, stood by him in his bitter grief.
 

From that time until the present era, the two men remained comrades, fighting many battles against Boneyard and his agents. The wizard’s men stood by him for more than a thousand years because he could place their souls into new bodies in the event of their death or incapacity. Over this long period of time, neither Archimage nor Lukasz were given any reason to doubt the nobility of Thanasi’s character or his loyalty.

 Then came a day when Archimage realized that one of his band had betrayed him. Aided by some internal enemy, Boneyard struck decisively. The knights were slaughtered to a man, while Boneyard took Archimage captive.

 But Archimage had prepared a defense. In his last moment of freedom, he triggered a pre-prepared spell. Its purpose was to put the soul of Lukasz, his best knight, into the body of a young divorced mother named Eden Blake. Archimage had already chosen her to be the mortal vessel for his champion because he had learned that Eden was an undiscovered magical ultra of great power. Though Lukasz was shocked to be draped in such a shape, he rapidly, if grudgingly, adjusted and set himself/herself to the study and use of sorcery. Determined to regain his manhood, he made it his mission to rescue the only person who could help him achieve that, his imprisoned master Archimage.
 

Lukasz, calling his female persona Mantra, soon learned that the knights’ betrayer had been his own best friend Thanasi.  The latter’s reward had been to receive from Boneyard a form of immortality, the ability to steal bodies at will. But when Mantra next met Thanasi, he was wildly hostile and seemed to be suffering from a personality change. The traitor knight was obsessed with destroying the only person whom he still feared, the sorceress Mantra, being convinced that he would never be safe as long as Lukasz lived in any form.

 As the feud became more bitter, Lukasz recognized that it could only end in the death of one of them. Thanasi was a threat not only to Mantra’s life, but to the friends and family that he had acquired while living the life of the divorced housewife Eden Blake.

Lukasz, meanwhile, learned that the spirit of Eden Blake was still attached to her former body and the two of them were able to communicate telepathically.  The knight-turned-sorceress continued to seek for a way to return his soul to a male body, but he also wanted to restore Eden to her own.  At last, with the help of the ultra Pinnacle, Lukasz managed to transfer his soul into the empty shell of a male clone, intending to leave Mantra’s body in possession of Eden.  But when he exited Eden’s body, Thanasi's soul immediately entered it, keeping Eden’s spirit suppressed.

 Their face-off was brief. A minute later, both Lukasz, now male, and Thanasi, in Eden’s body, were whisked off by the will of an evil god to the artificial mega-world of the Godwheel.  While Lukasz had resisted falling into the mental and emotional patterns of a woman, Thanasi’s reaction proved to be very different. He regarded his change as the beginining of an exciting adventure. He/she continued to be cruel, paranoid, bloodthirsty, and treacherous, but had also become a vicious, mock-seductive witch.  Thanasi christened his knew identity "Necromantra." 

When later defeated in battle, Thanasi’s spirit retreated back into limbo, but it continued to haunt Eden Blake.  When Lukasz and Eden returned home to Earth, they made love for the first time and this tryst resulted in a magical pregnancy. Thanasi at once entered the body of the fetus and placed it under his influence while Eden came to term with unnatural speed.  When born, the new parents named the girl-child Marinna, after Lukasz’s late wife. But this infant matured into a young woman before their eyes and attacked both her parents, even kidnapping Eden and her daughter Evie.

 Lukasz, aided by Pinnacle, traced Necromantra to her lair and they jointly fought her. Eden, present as Thanasi’s prisoner, also joined the fight, but was struck down.  With her dying breath, she urged Lukasz to take back her body and use its powers to save both himself and Evie.  Forced by circumstances, Lukasz complied and the magic that was spontaneously released healed Eden’s wounds, allowing Mantra to fight and defeat Necromantra. Mantra cast her into a dimensional rift that the witch had herself opened.  The villainess’s ultimate fate could not be known at the time, but Lukasz hoped that she was finally dead.

 Nonetheless, Necromantra had survived, having been cast out of the portal into a medieval-style human kingdom on the Godwheel.  Weakened by her ordeal, she was rescued from the attack of a giant snake through the intervention of a nobly-born maiden named Arielle, assisted by her father’s hunting party.
 

The father, a local ruler named Tavon, took a fancy to the mystery woman and Necromancer accepted his advances, but only for her self-serving ends.  She sought out a wizard for advice on how to regain full power and did so by means of a ritual of sacrifice, one that fatally victimized both the wizard and her husband. Afterwards, the witch assumed the authority of a queen-regent in behalf of Arielle due to her young age.  The grieving Arielle did not know who had murdered her father and so continued her friendship with Necromantra, even after learning her stepmother was a powerful and ruthless sorceress. Necromantra’s politics were tyranical and warlike. During a battle with a neighboring power, she was hard-pressed. She saved herself by calling up a horned demon that had a tie to her that she did not as yet understand.
 

But there was a worse danger arising for Necromantra. Her mother/father Mantra had, before her unnatural birth, traded the life of her “next-born child” to the alien tribe of the Tradesmen in exchange for a favor.  The birth of Marinna to Eden Blake had fulfilled the terms of that bargain and the Tradesmen knew that Necromantra was was Mantra’s child. Under the agreement, she was also their slave.  They sent an agent to seize her, but the horned demon appeared again to slay the powerful Tradesman.

The Tradesman were furious but undaunted. They brought in a new ally, an artificial being called Lord Pumpkin, to attack and overcome the sorceress-queen.  When his first attempts failed, the Tradesman enhanced Lord Pumpkin’s power with a magical red jewel. With this, he attacked again and fought her to exhaustion.  Only Arielle was still standing by her at that deadly hour, but in the moment of crisis the demon reemerged and energized itself by taking the girl's life as a sacrifice.


 Even so, the Tradesmen overcame and captured her. They proceeded to teleport Necromantra away, along with the dead body of Arielle.  Lord Pumpkin, incidentally, was himself vanquished a short while later by the intervention of a god whom he had tried to cheat.

 The story ends strangely, with Necromantra being seen walking through a benighted country lane. This scene is enigmatic. Had Necromantra somehow escaped from the Tradesmen so soon? Or was this closing tableau merely meant to represent a metaphor, or even a dream…?

 Necromantra would reappear again in three of the last Mantra stories, published in the world of “Black September,” but they do not explain her escape from the Tradesmen. Black September was a far-ranging revision revision of the Ultraverse universe, in which the world's familiar history had been changed. The fans seemed to dislike all of the changes made and the company's sales plummeted catastrophically. The company was kept on life support by the owner, Marvel Comics, for a year, and then cancelled. They never again revisited the Ultraverse or used any of its characters.


 When addressing plot of THE BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, we were interested in explaining how Thanasi could have convincingly changed from a noble knight into a vicious witch.  We are guessing that the key lies in the existence of the mysterious demon featured in the 4-issue miniseries. 


NOTE: Necromantra also appears in my novel THE WOUNDED WORLD, but that story features the Necromantra who was part of the Black September world. Our intention in THE BEAUTY AND THE BEAST is to imagine that Necromantra's might have taken a powerful turn had the Ultraverse been allowed to continue. After all, it had already been established that the Ultraverse existed in many different alternate worlds.

End


Saturday, February 6, 2021

The Falling Star: Chapter 7, Part 2

 
Posted 04-07-18

Revised 02-07-21






An Angel from Hell story

By Christopher Leeson


Chapter 7, Part 2


Exiting the hotel by way of the stair, Jezebel filled Holly in.

“If those two aren't for real” said the ex-waitress, “it means that the bad guys must have planted that Holiday Inn message inside the Bible. That's not possible,
is it? We didn't even know ourselves where we'd end up that night. And why would they get sneaky now? Those tough guys who came for us were using muscle, not tricks. It doesn't add up.”

“There's one more thing that doesn't add up,” admitted Jezebel. “The girl with the reverend had a familiar face.”

“You knew her?”

“No. I just kn
ow the face. She's a dead ringer for...someone."

"Who?"

Jezebel took a breath. "A younger version of Princess Diana.”

“The Princess Diana?”

The angel nodded.

Holly shook her head. “But she's dead. It has to be another impostor.”

“If it's an impostor, how could the Cabal think that it would be a good idea to shove her into my way?
I shoot that kind of person on sight!”

“That's super weird, all right. But you said the girl was young. The real Di would have to be in her fifties by now.”

Jezebel sighed. “Holly, you’
re going to have to toss your idea of science out the window. Scientists work for money, and the big money is always with the Cabalists. What scientists tell the people doesn't have to be true; it just has to serve Cabalist ends. Like global warming and evolution. A lot of scientists know about people like the princess, but they keep quiet. Hell, a lot of scientists are her sort. She's Nephilim.”

“What's that?”

“It means that she's descended from fallen angels who mixed with humans -- human or other creatures.”

The singer looked amazed. “There really are fallen angels? Are you saying that those old paintings of angels making out with hot girls come straight out of history?”

Jezebel grimaced uneasily. “Ah, yes. The Nephilim are half immortal. That lets them live about five hundred years. A lot of them shape-shift. They pretend to age. Then they stage phony death scenes and funerals. While they're supposed to be dead, they're really just lying low for a while. Later on, they set up a new identity and go back into the world. The British queen of today used to be Queen Victoria.”

“That's creepy. Are these Nephilim always bad people?”

“Most serial killers and career criminals are Nephilim. Most terrorists and radicals, too. Wherever there's money or power, Nephilim act like pigs at a trough. Watch out for anyone who just shows up with a lot of inherited money. They're probably Nephilim.”

“I guess a person wouldn't want to run into that kind.”

“You've already met hundreds or thousands. The music industry is full of them.”

Holly blinked. “No wonder show people seem so crazy! But it's unbelievable.”

“It's real. I could tell you plenty more, but why keep you awake at night?”

“If all that's possible, what should we do?”

“Normally I'd say we should get out of town, but something tells me that we should hear them out.”

“That's scary, especially if one of them isn't human.”

“I wish I could say that it'd be perfectly safe, but I can't,” said Jezebel.

Holly nodded thoughtfully. “Okay, Jill. If these Neph-guys are all over the place, meeting one more shouldn't be the end of the world.”

“Not yet anyway. We should go in separately. I'll enter the restaurant first, and you should follow a couple minutes later. I don't want you to be left alone for very long.”

The Watcher took a few bills from her wallet. “Buy something to eat or drink. You're an actress. Try to act like an ordinary customer. Don't look around too much. I'll be be
close by, watching out for Nephilim thugs. If things don't look suspicious, I'll go sit down with the couple. I don't know how long this will take. If I take off my coat, that will be your signal to come over and join us. But if I leave Culver's without taking it off, follow me outside a minute or two later.”

“Then what?”

“Beats me. If the Cabal knows we're in Omaha, we have to leave." Jezebel hoped it wouldn't come to that. To pay for food, lodgings, and gas she would probably need to steal. Committing crimes could make them fugitives from the law as well as from the Cabal.

“Do you mind if I pray for guidance and protection?” Holly asked.

Jezebel shrugged. “Yeah, sure, go for it. But make it snappy. The more time the enemy has, the more dangerous things they'll be able to do. They might have heavy backup. I only wish I could go in wearing a good disguise.”

“We still have that little red dress in the car,” Holly suggested.

“Forget it!”

 Jezebel stepped into the restaurant, still thinking about Frances. A righteous Nephilim? That idea was a tough sell. She knew that most Nephilim were born violent, and rarely possessed any sense of right and wrong. Not only Nephilim, but most Satanist children, were routinely brutalized, especially emotionally, to turn them into what humans called psychopaths. 

They had taken over the world before the Flood. Drowning was a good way to kill them, so the Father had  used a flood. But even though Noah, his wife, and his boys were of pure human stock, the Scriptures were silent about the sons' wives. Had the Father waited so long to act that no truly human women had remained alive? It had to mean something that so many of Noah's grandchildren had been Nephilim.

But, also, there had been water-breathing Nephilim, and sea creatures had not been killed by the flood. Many ocean beasts had been chosen by fallen angels for mixing. That fact hadn't bothered Jezebel before, but now she no longer thought that it had been such a good idea. These angel-mortal offspring were the strangest-looking of all the Nephilim. There had been land giants and sea giants. The latter were the basis of most legends about sea monsters. But she also knew that some of the sea-born Nephilim could shape-shift, like the selkies and kelpies. By mating with humans, strains of ocean-spawned Nephilim had been able to return to the land. 

 
Jezebel gritted her teeth. I
f she misunderstood the situation and made a mistake, she'd probably be held responsible for the consequences. To avoid blame, she intended to leave the final decision as to what to do with Holly up to Holly.
 

The Creator was always testing men and angels. Was this another test? Was the Father creating a situation so confusing that Jezebel would have to humble herself and ask for discernment? Well, that wouldn't happen. Only the weak asked for help. If she couldn't respect the weak herself, how could the Father?

 
                                                                            #

Decorated mostly blue and white, Culver's large windows made
the interior feel airy. The noonday crowd hadn't descended as yet, so empty sections still remained. None of the staff or customers seemed to be glowing violet, and that was reassuring. Just then, she saw Holly enter. The girl took a quick glance around and went to the serving counter.

Jezebel turned toward the nearby window and peered outside. Not seeing any Nephilim, she checked her watch. It had been twenty minutes since she'd left apartment 432. The angel wondered whether the couple was going to be punctual.

They were.

The Watcher let the pair pass while she kept out of sight. For a moment, Jezebel stood on watch, but observed no
characters with bad auras following Orson and Frances. Game to take a risk, she joined the waiting line behind the enigmatic couple.

Orson looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, there you are,” he whispered. The blonde nodded in silence.

The three advanced through the queue and placed their orders. Jezebel had eaten at the apartment and so asked for no more than fries and a soft drink. Garland and his false sister made selections from the breakfast menu. When the food came up, the pair carried their portions into an unoccupied area. The angel looked around again for threats and then joined them.

Frances had taken the chair that Jezebel wanted. “Go to the other side, queeny,” the angel said. “I want to see who comes in through the door.” Frances complied with a look of annoyance and Jezebel appropriated her seat.

The pair just sat there, apparently waiting for her to say something.

Jezebel took a deep breath and asked, “So, if I were the girl you that came here to help, where would we go from here?”

Orson appeared to be brimming with that annoying earnestness of his. “Until you feel able to make plans of your own, Frances has agreed to share her apartment in Jasper.”

“Jasper?”

“It's a town in the Ozarks. My church is there.”

“It sounds dull.”

The man gave a smile. “Dull can be another word for peaceful, I like to say.”

“Well, it sure does sound peaceful. What's its other charms?”

“We have 466 citizens at last census, and it's the courthouse for Newton County. You needn't live there long-term, but it might be a good idea to close in for a while. Frances and I will be on hand to help you get oriented and settled down.”

“Okay, say I settle into this thriving town of Jasper. What then?”

“You'll probably want to find work. There aren't many jobs nearby, but there's usually openings in Branson. That's across the line into Missouri, about fifty miles away. A lot of Jasper people work over there, so we'll be able to find you a commuter to ride with. That should be good until you get a car of your own.”

While Reverend Garland was speaking, Jezebel had been studying Frances. “Do you work in Branson, too?”

“No,” she said. “I teach at Kingston School. Elementary.”

“Then I hope you're a vegetarian.” She unsubtlely eyed the sausage on the woman's plastic plate. “Oh, I guess not.”

The young woman's glance became a glare.

Jezebel's was deliberately riling her. If she could make the hybrid mad enough, the girl might give something away, something that didn't jive with their cover story."

"Are you always so rude?" Frances asked.

"Usually."

The Watcher considered the nearness of Jasper to Branson. Being close to a teeming tourist-trap could pose a risk. Branson was a show-business town and Holly – Pelosia – might be tempted to repeat old habits. The entertainment industry drew Cabalists in like dung flies. The girl needed to shun the public eye.

“Jasper may be workable,” she said offhandedly. “But what made the pair of start hiding fugitives? I've told you that the Cabal is involved, and that make it dangerous.”

Reverend Garland met her challenging glance. “When the Lord asks something of a person, He always has a good reason.”

“Do you hide a lot of people on the run?”

“No, Frances was my first.”

Jezebel shifted toward the blonde. “How you fit into all this, Highness? Are you really Princess Di?”

The woman scowled. “Don't speak that name. I'm Frances Dillon.” She was using her Arkansas accent again.

“What in hell is British royalty doing in Arkansas? Are you hiding, too?”

Frances' expression changed. “Yes. I'm hiding from my own family,
especially. They murdered my uncle, because he became too outspoken about Agenda 21."

“Agenda 21? I've heard about it,” said Jezebel. It was the code name for the Cabalist plan to kill seven billion people and enslave the survivors. It was all over the internet.

Frances was still speaking. “At the very least, I'd be kept under house arrest for years, until I managed to make them trust me again. I can't let that happen. They can twist a person's mind in a hundred different ways.

 
“The Cabal went through a lot of work to make the world think that the Princess of Wales was dead,” the angel reminded Frances. “Who was in that car wreck anyway?”

The British girl seemed to struggle with herself before she answered. “A look-alike. I had more than one. This lady didn't happen to be a clone. She had a soul. She was working
to earn an MBA. We talked sometimes. When she took my place that day, she didn't know...what was planned. But I did and I didn't warn her. That's who I was. I was even willing to let friends die.” She stopped for a moment, then forced herself to finish. “It made me realize that I’d let my handlers get into my mind. That wasn't the kind of person that I wanted to be, but if I didn't do what I was told, what happened to Uncle James could happen to me.” She glanced away.

“So you're claiming to be from a high-ranking Cabalist family?” Jezebel asked.

Frances shook her head. “I've said too much.”

She looked fiercely at Orson. “Who is this person? Why should we trust her with our secrets?”

The clergyman seemed unsure.

The Watcher spoke up. “My license says I'm Jill – and you don't need to know my last name. I was sent by God. That's all you need to know, isn't it?”

Frances scowled. “Who really sent you? You have killer eyes. I know what killer eyes look like.”

Jezebel showed a bitter grin. “How you talk. I haven't offed anyone since early Friday. And they were only a pair of ghuls.” Then she shrugged. “Well, maybe killed a security guard, too. I just left him lying and didn't bother to check.”

Orson looked amazed. “I trust you're joking, Miss...Jill.”

She pointed at his chest. “Hey, do you think that the guy upstairs likes Cabalist flunkies?”

The clergyman turned his gaze skyward. After a moment of contemplation, he said, “The Lord tells me that you mean exactly what you say, and He also affirms that you are, indeed, serving Him.”

“That should make you feel better,” said Jezebel. “Did he mention whether I'm doing a good job?”

When words failed Orson, the angel gave sudden vent. “Why is it that the Father – or the Son – talks to you so easily, but never to me?”

“I can't say,” the reverend replied.

Next to him, Frances was shaking her head. “This might be a bad idea, Orson. We should go.”

The minister seemed less certain. “The Lord gave me a name. He spoke the name Sampson as if it should reassure me. Does that name mean anything to you...Jill?”

She shrugged. “Never met the gentleman. I heard plenty about him, though.”

Orson regarded Frances. “Sampson killed thousands, but only those who had earned God's wrath.” To Jezebel he said, “Is it also your mission to protect the righteous, Miss Jill?”

Jezebel's eyes narrowed. “Lately. I've been told that if I don't happen to like a person's aura I can I can do what comes naturally. That part of my job suits me.”

“I'm not sure this person is safe to be around,” the British princess counseled her companion.

“Believe me, lady, I'm not.”

Jezebel decided to up the ante. “Listen. I'm not the person who needs protection. That's someone else, but I'm not going to turn her over to just anyone. Orson, here, is pretty convincing," she said to Frances. "But you don't fit in. Nephilim are nothing but trouble. I'd rather bet on an inside straight than buy into the idea that you've found God. The
Sorwins are Reptilian Nephilim, and royal reptilians only marry other Reptilians. Your species considers human flesh a delicacy, especially children's flesh. I'm not running a meat wagon to deliver your next lunch.”

Frances flushed. “I'm not a Reptilian. I despise every wesen species, but I hate that kind most of all!”

Jezebel studied her hard expression, and then grinned lopsidedly. “Nice attitude. But maybe you're just shamming. I ought to slap you around and see if I can't make you morph. Are you betting that I can't?”

Frances, red-faced, looked askance at the reverend. The latter looked troubled, but remained calm.

“Dear one,” said Garland, “the Lord is telling me that you should tell your story honestly. It might make a difference.”

Frances seemed unsure. After a moment, she said, “I-I don't know where to begin.”

Taking a sip of orange soda, the angel leaned back in her chair and waited. She put a French fry between her lips. Nice flavor.

Frances slowly drew in closer and whispered, “The Reptilians have made themselves powerful, both socially and politically, but they are still only wesen. People call them a royal family, but my bloodline represents true Royalty. We have no animal genetics. I descend from fallen angels and the daughters of men. Jacob Rottweiler is my father, and he is the real king of this world, for now. My mother was selected from the purest Nephilim lines to be one of his mistresses. My father chose to raise me as a Royal princess.”

Jezebel knew that Jacob Rottweiler was a British baron, but also knew the wealth and power he represented. He had trillions of dollars in personal wealth, and controlled underlings who commanded hundreds of trillions. Next to him, a mere queen of Great Britain was no more than an unlovely handmaiden, a servant in the truest sense.

“I was taken from my real mother young, and had no regular contact with my father. At his behest, I was inserted into a Cabalist family called the Spinsters, one of the few great British houses that isn't Reptilian. That was the end of my happy upbringing. I missed my mother badly, but she wasn't allowed to come near me, and I couldn't visit her, either.

“Years before, Countess Spinster had faked a pregnancy overseas and returned with a daughter. The girl was in reality a kidnapped infant. They treated her like a beloved child until she was ready to go to school. Then the Cabal took her away suddenly and I was brought in to assume her identity. I shudder to think what must have become of the poor child. The Cabal worships Baal, and he demands the sacrifice of children. Every year, almost fifty million babies are sacrificed to him.

“But though I grew up in that house, I never really became a Spinster, and they didn't want me to. They were more like servants than parents,
especially since they had no parenting skills. Their real children are very troubled people and I always tried to stay away from them. The earl divorced the countess when I was eight, but kept me with him.

"He and his people reminded me every day that I was special, that I was a Rottweiler. I was told that I was being prepared for something very important. They kept me out in society, all the while making useful contacts for me. My tutors drilled me on how to be charming and persuasive, how to be at ease in public. I never felt I had a real family; I was an actress in training and my home was only a stage.

“It wasn't until my early teens that I was told what was expected of me. I had been selected from infancy to become the Princess of Wales. I was horrified. I'd been introduced to the
Sorwins before and they were frightening, loathsome. Prince Philip was the worst. He came from a Nazi family of Reptilians with SS ties, and seemed even less human than the queen.”

The angel frowned. “If this was some kind of drawn-out plot to make you queen, why were you allowed to divorce?”

Frances dried her eyes with a Culver's napkin. “The divorce was planned years in advance. Before the marriage, even. That was the day I had been dreaming of, my beautiful, wonderful divorce. It couldn't have come too soon. There was nothing between Charles and me. He wanted Camilla and only Camilla. She was a lizard like he was.”

Jezebel wasn't sure that she should believe any of this, but was willing to play along. “So what was the deception all about?”

“For centuries, the Rottweilers had been against mixing their Royal blood with that of what they considered mongrel beasts. But the
Sorwins had been successfully acquiring wealth and power, mostly through drug-running and human trafficking. My father couldn't look at money without wanting to control it himself, even if it meant sacrificing a daughter. For their part, the Sorwins wanted to introduce true royalty into their sham of a bloodline.

Half my job was accomplished once I'd given those monsters an heir and a spare. That part was absolutely degrading, but I'm even more sorry for what they made me do afterwards. I can't believe that God can ever forgive me."

She choked. This confession was either hard for her, or else she was doing a good job of making it appear so. After all, she had already confessed to having been trained from childhood to be an actress.

Orson Garland touched her hand. “Dear Frances, I have told you so many times: Your repentance is true; I know it is, and you know it, too. You have been long since forgiven
by the only One who matters. There will be no damnation for you, no Lake of Fire. Have faith.”

The girl nodded, trying to make herself believe.

“What was this other half of your job?” the Watcher asked.

Frances took a deep breath. “My – My task was to destroy Great Britain.”

Eyes shut, she clenched her fists upon the table and rested her forehead upon them. “And I did it,” she whispered.

TO BE CONTINUED Chapter 8, Part 1


The Falling Star: Chapter 8, Part 2


Posted 02-07-21

Revised 02-09-21





An Angel from Hell story

By Christopher Leeson


Chapter 8, Part 2



After that, Watcher had no place to go except home. But this apartment building was no real home for her. It felt like it was just another place of exile; it was like floating into a void. From the moment she stepped inside, she had registered an emotion, and not a pleasant one. Whatever was plaguing the mortal nervous system that had enveloped her, it was not anything that an angel should be suffering from. In the In-Between Place, she hadn’t felt anything like it, so why now? She searched the back of her mind, wondering whether Jill Arendel knew what this feeling should be called. She did. Its name was loneliness.
 

Jezebel dropped what little she had been carrying onto the seat of a chair, and then the girl drifted to the window. She could see that there was only meaningless activity going on below. So many people, so many useless lives. Why did they exist at all? To eat? They reminded her of ants. Remembering that she was imprisoned in a body like theirs, experiencing feelings like theirs, made her feel unclean.

When she left the window, Jezebel preferred not to think about the world outside. It wasn’t part of who she really was, and she didn’t want it to be. She spread out at full-length on the couch, and then did nothing at all, except to stare at the ceiling. Without intending to, she dropped off to sleep. By the time the Watcher awoke, the winter’s daylight had ebbed away. Getting up to turn on the lights seemed like to much effort to do.

“I thought you could use some company,” said a woman's voice.

The Watcher's reaction was to throw herself into a roll across the carpet and come up to her knees clutching a makeshift weapon, a glass pop bottle. Then she recognized Shekinah and felt foolish.

“What are you doing here?” the blonde asked, rising gracelessly.

“My duty. And my duty, if you care to ask, is to look after you.”

The room was dark but, even so, the angel was easy to see. A light from some undefined source was falling on her. Jezebel had seen, and used, that trick a million times.

“Haven’t you anything better to do than spy on me? Why should the chief of the Seraphim be carrying on like a guardian angel? Is it a demotion? That’s something I definitely want to hear about!”

“I'm sorry to disappoint you. The Father gave me this assignment because he rates it an important one,” said Shekinah. “Isn't it logical that he would choose me to carry it out? If you recall, it's not the first time that I've sought to win forgiveness for fallen angels.”

“Did he actually say that that's was your job?”

“No. I just assume it.”

Jezebel made a sour face. “I’ve assumed a few things, too, and look how far it's gotten me. Does it ever make you angry that the Father refuses to explain things clearly?”

“No. I’ve learned humility.”

“You used to be a human. If you ask me, that gives you plenty to be humble about.”

The Watcher sidled over to into Jill Arendel’s easy chair and dropped into it. “Have you come with another mission for me? What's next? Getting a cat out of a tree? That would make as much sense as the silly trip that I've just finished.”

“Your mission wasn't pointless,” said the angel in white. “It delivered Susan Wevers out of the hands of evil, and it’s rebounded very well upon you, too. The admitted simplicity of the assignment was intended to give you sufficient leisure to take stock and get oriented.”

“Get oriented to what?” Jezebel asked.

“To having a human heart.”

She didn't like to be reminded about any of her human parts. “You bitch!” she burst out. “You let me be raped!”

“Was that my fault? Did you ever appeal to the Father or the Son for mercy?"

Jezebel glowered. “I deal with my own problems. Now why are you here, just when I don’t need you? After all, no one is trying to kill me at the moment.”

“I've been at your side continually since we last spoke. I gave you the address that let you know where you should take Miss Wevers. And I also gifted you a hundred dollars when you needed it. But this evening I've come by to commend you on an assignment well carried out.”

“A commendation? I'm sure the Father has seen all the sinning I had to do to bring it off.”

Shekinah nodded. “You certainly sinned more than necessary. Truly, if you were still an angel, you would now be in irreparable trouble. But because you're human, your sins can be forgiven. The problem is, you cannot be forgiven unless you petition your Lord for such an act of grace.”

"Whatever," she said with a toss of her hands.

“Why are you behaving this way?”

“What way?"

“After waiting five thousand years of knowing yourself doomed, shouldn't you be leaping at the chance to ask to have your sins forgiven?”

“The Father is asking me to grovel, and I resent that idea!”

“It always comes down to pride with you fallen angels,” asked Shekinah, “doesn’t it?

“Drop it! If I'd ever thought about cooperation, that thought went away when I was dumped into this contemptible life of Jill Arendel.”

“What is so
contemptible about the life of Jill Arendel? It gives you presentablility and a career that allows you to travel about very freely without arousing suspicion. Also, as a beautiful woman, you will be welcomed into strategic places that might otherwise have been closed to you. As I see it, the guise of Miss Arendel shall suit your work requirements very well."

“I don’t care about the work. It’s just a means to an end,” said Jezebel.

“It can be so much more.”

“Spare me. Without respect, I reject.”

“You know many things that makes you a good agent,
said Shekinah. "But there is a difference between knowledge and wisdom. You have considerable room for growth in the wisdom category.”

“Did Jill get so wise from living this life?” Jezebel asked.

“Tragically, no. But you’re coming into her life with new perspectives.”

“Here’s a perspective I don’t have. How am I supposed to avoid sin if I have to go around as an erotic dancer with a Jezebel spirit urging me to do stupid things?”

Shekinah's expression became more serious. “You were doing stupid things even before you had such a spirit. And why do you pretend to abhor sinning today while you are stubbornly refusing to rid yourself of the ancient sin that holds you at the edge of doom?”

The Watcher was staring down at the carpet. "I don't feel like entertaining company right now, Shekinah.”

“No? I could feel your pain from the other side of this planet, much less from across the room.”

“Just go."

“May I ask a few questions first?”

“What?!” asked Jezebel testily.

“For one thing, I’d like to ask whether you are missing the companionship of Miss Wevers.”

"Missing her? She means nothing to me. It was ridiculous being forced to be her babysitter.”

“Didn't you like her at all? Didn’t I hear you promise to kill anyone who harms her?”

Jezebel stood up, but turned her back on the angel. “I was only warning those two Bible-thumpers that they had better not be playing me for a fool. The girl herself was unimportant.”

Shekinah smiled. “I hope that's not true. She was good for you, and you were good for her.”

The Watcher turned, ready with a good rebuke, but was surprised to see that Shekinah was now wearing an entirely new garment -- a brightly-colored club dress replete with accessories.

“What do you have on?"


“My present apparel has to do with my next question,” replied Shekinah.

“What question? A request for a dance?”

She laughed. "It’s not as simple as that. I would like to invite you out for a dinner and a show.”

"That sounds like such a repulsively human things to ask."

"Well, I used to be human, and you are presently one."

Jezebel raised her chin. “Why go to dinner? You don't need to eat.”

“No, but you do.”

“Why should you care? You're not my friend.”

“I'm not your enemy either. I’m your guide. I'm your conduit to the Father. Why are you so resentful of me? I earnestly did all I could to win redemption for all of you Watchers years ago. I would still like to help you redeem yourself in the present day.”

“Why? To put another feather in your cap?”

“No, this is all about you, not me,” Shekinah said. “A few days ago, I doubted that you could be saved. I even feared that you would kill Miss Wevers yourself, in some moment of pointless pique. Instead, you were faithfully protective and, at times, almost kind. The outcome of your mission came as such a surprise that I’m now ready to believe
almost anything. You may indeed be the best of a very bad lot.”

Jezebel said through a twisted grin. “Don't you mean a very, very bad lot?”

The angel laughed again. “There you see? I've already started thinking better about you Watchers. Now, about the invitation....”

“What’s the show?”

“It’s a performance of Bell, Book, and Candle,” said Shekinah, “about a witch who is redeemed by love. You will need to dress for the venue, of course. But Jill Arendel’s closet contains some very excellent items for club wear.”

“Yes, you'd know what's in her closet. You’re the one who stuffed that nasty little red number into my luggage, aren’t you?”

“Guilty. I anticipated that you might wish to recharge your sin-power at some point. Obviously, a dress of that type would be an excellent facilitator.”

"Why am I being tempted to sin?" the Watcher asked.

"You will be sinning anyway. It's your nature. But while you are doing so, you can also be advancing the will of the Father. Remember, what the enemy intends for evil, the Father will use for good."

This put Jezebel into a mood to vent, to throw her unwanted visitor out, but she held back. A seasoned warrior had to be on guard against insubordination and the penalties it could bring. There was a hierarchy in Heaven and it was only sensible to respect it. She could get nothing from Hell, but Heaven still held out some possibilities. Besides, did she really want to be left alone right now, with nothing to do, with no one for company, with nowhere to go?

“Well, I am hungry. It'll take me a little while to change,” Jezebel finally said.

Shekinah smiled again. “Yes, I expect so.”


END


Wednesday, January 13, 2021

Busted: A Tale of Zhor in Rhyme: Part 18 - Finale

 

BY CHRISTOPHER LEESON
 

Posted Jan. 13, 2021

 

 

There’s not too much more to be told,

Lu’s been many times bought and sold.

Good masters she’s had,

Though most have been bad,

And they’ve all kept her hooking for gold.


At first selling sex wasn’t fun;

Lu did it ‘cause she couldn’t run.

She faces the street,

All shapely and sweet,

And works hard until till each day is done.


One thing about Zhor gives her cheer;

They have a great youth potion here.

She’s as hot as can be,

Though now ninety-three,

And well worth a glance or a leer.


Lu's an alcove girl who's on a roll,

'Bout thirty men daily she’ll brol.

Though she gets the pleasure,

Her man keeps the treasure,

And that’s because he’s in control.


Ignited girls learn sex is fun;

Lu sells it and she sells a ton.

She works nearly nude,

'Long lanes mean and rude,

From morning till the day is done.


Her garment is just an arcoy;

'Twill catch the eye of any boy.

It’s skimpy, it’s small,

Almost nothing at all,

And gives her no need to be coy.


Lu’s right for this life and that’s so;

She’s always been hard, we all know.

On Zhor for this long,

Her memories aren’t strong;

Lou’s just a dream long ago.


She has a few friends and some smiles;

Remember, all lives have their trials.

If her job isn’t great,

Them’s the breaks, it’s just fate;

A smart girl makes good with her wiles.


We can wrap up Lu’s story now fast,

Since what’s left to tell isn’t vast.

When Lulu goes slumming,

Her business is humming,

And each day’s as good as the last.


End

 

Saturday, December 12, 2020

Busted: A Tale of Zhor in Rhyme: Part 17

 

BY CHRISTOPHER LEESON
 
Posted Dec. 11, 2020

 

 

An orgasm took her, and how!

Every nerve in Lu's body cried, “Wow!”

She couldn’t stop coming,

Her whole soul was humming.

The guy really knew how to plow!


From pleasure she near lost her mind,

This sex was a mind-blowing kind.

The trip, the best ever,

She hoped ‘twould end never.

Oh how her hips ‘gainst his hips did grind.


Lu hardly could breathe; she was gasping.

Her moans of lust rose raw and rasping.

With balm she was filling

Each burst felt more thrilling.

She liked that Tip's his vigor was lasting.


Her climaxes numbered a score;

She’d never banged like this before.

Her mind was a whirl

Having fun as a girl,

Like wanton young Helen of yore.

 

Lu groaned when her slave-master quit;

It made her so mad she could spit.

Her blood felt on fire!

How dare the rogue tire!

She hadn’t grown sated one wit.


Her lord, who had risen, looked down,

He grinned, showing no trace of frown.

Lu’d lit, ‘twas so clear,

He thought with a leer,

And now he could sell her downtown.


The scoundrel told Lu she’d ignited,

And said he was wholly delighted.

Ablaze with slave fire,

She'd please any buyer,

Wild, wanton, and excited.


To be caged without sex for a day

Put Lu in an impatient way.

Bondage now thrilled her,

Sweet thoughts of it filled her.

An eager slave she would now stay.


By cart, Lu was sent to the block;

Being auctioned off brought her to shock.

She was offered up nude

To coarse rascals lewd.

These men of her beauty took stock.


One fellow pronounced the best bid

And the hammer went down when he did.

Lu’s secret heart cursed,

Expecting the worst,

As from the high deck she was led.

 

 

To Be Continued, Part in 18