At 7:20 Max Spiers speaks on the inversion of altruistic organizations and people. He eludes to it being an elaborate but very esoteric ritual done by very public and powerful figures.

Max was murdered for the price of bringing to the world secrets of the powerful and occult fueled players of this chess board we live on.

If what Max is saying is true, all major mainstream movements, especially those thrust into the conciousness of the world by the mainstream media, is a part of this “reversal” as he put it.

Consider #Antifa for a moment. It claims to be antifascist and its more brainwashed followers will argue this point relentlessly, but if we ponder their intolerance to any and all rebuttals or counter points of view we see the truth of their organization. They claim altruistic rebellion against authoritarian regimes, but that is the very thing they want to put in place. An intolerant regime that crushes any opposition with violence.

Many propaganda factories otherwise known as mainstream media outlets, have been equating big antifa protests to how soldiers stormed the beaches of normandy to fight the fascist nazis. By their violent and intolerant actions, antifa bears a closer resemblance to the Nazis then they could ever achieve with hardened selfless and fearless soldiers. I am a #UsArmyVeteran and it sickens me when traitorous “toilet papers of record” make this comparison (Gerald Celente).

Reversal. Inversion. The priest who is supposed to open us to the divine is the man who molests children and who thrusts them into darkness. The womb. Motherhood. The divine feminine. Turned on its head to hate instead of nurture, through third wave feminism, to deny their importance to the universe. The womb. The safest place, for new life has been turned into a slaughter house where most babies are killed, harvested for organs and stem cells or cells harvested for vaccine manufacture…

Barrack Obama. The first African American President. He caused a genocide of North Africans in libya and called it a kinetic action. He later went on on to win a Nobel “Peace” prize. Let that sink in…

He also is a huge supporter of #PlannedParenthood who in turn is responsible for 52% of African American babies never to be born in this country ( Blackgenocide.org ).

Inversion. An inverted cross represents the highest disrespect of the christian god. It turns the cross on its head and has been a symbol of evil for centuries.

Inversion and reversal is more than it seems. I believe it is a ritual of high magic. I submit to you that at the very least it is destabilizing our consciousness. Time will tell to what end.

The Mandalorian vs Boba Fett (Fan Fiction)

Context- This story is told under the premise that Mando is a purist, orthodox Mandalorian whereas Boba Fett does not hold to the same beliefs or tenets.

Boba uses the armor as a tool whereas Mando lives the armor and its creed. Mando is a cleric or even paladin figure and Boba Fett though amazingly gifted a warrior, is an elite mercenary, with no moral compass. Boba is a creature of ego, as opposed to Mando, who is a creature forged of identity and selfless purpose. This ironic and fundamental difference between the two could foster a rivalry as profound as Batman and the Joker. Light versus darkness.

-Interaction between Boba Fett and Mando-

Mando scanned the dark perimeter of a lush green Glenn on Endor’s equator. The darkness had one small ring of a camp fire that glowed and pulsed and gave birth to many shadows. Boba Fett sat in front of the camp fire drinking and reliving his great exploits in his mind, chuckling to himself every so often. He knew Mando would come. He was waiting for him.

Mando dispensed with concealment, wanting to be seen. Allowing himself to be seen. But as a point of skill, walked into the fire light without a sound. Boba helmet off, took one last swig of dargelian whiskey, smirked and plopped his helmet on. Drunk, but with murderous promise Boba said, “Welcome, traveller!”

Mando looked down and scowled under his helmet at this grotesque pretender to what he loved so dear. “You don’t deserve to wear that.”

“So you keep saying.” Boba fett corked his whiskey and scratched his crotch. “I think the Mandalorian I beat would disagree….oh wait he’s dead, hehe.”

“You wanted an answer. You wanted to know if I would help you on a job.”

“Boba Fett sneered through his helmet and said, “Where’s Baby Bastard Yoda?”

Mando paused and steadied himself before answering. “Where’s your father?”

Boba stood up and approached mando and closed in, helmet to helmet so they could see each other’s eyes. “Put your hands up.”

Mando threw 3 punches all intended to be blocked, and ended with a downward head butt that clanged his helmet and bloodied Boba’s nose. Blood dripped from the wound visibly beneath his helmet in a black drip from the fire light.

Mando disengaged and stepped a few feet back and circled, he pulled a blade out of his right shoulder that Boba had slipped in upon the headbutt perfectly timed. Boba howled with laughter.

Singing birds erupted from Mando’s wrist launcher and Boba immediately engaged his jet pack and shot a line around Mando’s ankle whisking him into the night sky.

The singing birds exploded on massive Endorian trees felling some as Mando twisted in Boba’s ascent. Mando engaged his pack and executed an upper cut that sent Boba sprawling to the ground. Boba landed and backed away, scrambling.

Mando landed before him in the campfire light in super hero pose. He stalked forward with his arm outstretched and liquid flame shot from his wrist. A fireball of death loomed forward.

Boba in a heart beat raised his arm and fired from his gauntlet a cryo spray that froze the massive fireball. The now frozen fire ball hit the ground like a massive Boulder of granite. The thud shook the nearby earth. Boba raised his blaster rifle and fired 3 bolts before a throwing dagger grenade lodged into his rifle. Boba discarded it and charged Mando.

The rifle exploded and mando charged forward to meet Boba Fett.

Boba fainted low appearing to go for a double leg take down but then at the last second, jet pack engaged, rose with a devastating knee.

Mando saw it coming.

He had drilled with his Mandalorian caretaker endlessly as child, in the darkness when all hope was lost. When his need to see his murdered mother and father was more than his need for water, still he trained. He knew his opponent.

Mando felt the strike coming. He spun with a burst of his jetback not off the ground, but like a top and connected with three devastating elbow strikes.

Boba’s visor cracked and his blood shot eye was visible through a hole. One eye gazing out in abject hatred, but on his back. Mando stood before him, but Boba needed him closer for his final attack.

“Is it true what they say about you Mando? Once or twice, before the little green kid, you were worse than me.”

Mando like a wraith stepped closer, with a need building in himself to end the poison coming from Boba’s mouth forever. To rid the galaxy of it.

“Yeah Mando, there are alot of Mercs out there, who still remember who you were, who you really are. How sadistic you were, how cold.” From a hidden sleeve sewn into his glove and slight of hand, Boba fiddled out an acid burst capsule. It was his last one. Very hard to come by. Production of the weapon had ceased long ago when times were far more brutal than today. It was to be used only in a time of extreme emergency.

In the fire light, as Mando approached Boba’s deceptively beaten and prostrate form his one visible eye gleamed like a distant sun going supernova.

Boba, faster than the eye could perceive, rolled forward and threw with all his might the acid capsule. A smile creeped a deep dark line across his face at the horror and high pitched screaming that was about to begin.

Mando raised his hand. The capsule stopped in mid flight and exploded. The acid followed the path that the force shield carved. Mando, in his mind, made a flat wall. The bright green acid slimed down the invisible wall and collected at its base smoking and devouring itself into a deep dark hole.

Boba stood stunned at the power of the force he had just witnessed. From behind, baby Yoda flipped from tree to tree like a pinball infused with cosmic energy and landed on Mando’s Shoulder. In the bird like voice of a child he said, “I can take you in warm, or I can take you in cold.”

Mando smiled inside his helmet, “That’s my line, son.”

Baby Yoda laughed and force lifted Boba’s struggling form to the ship. Once put in place in the cargo hold, Mando flipped a switch with his mind and Boba’s promise of revenge was blotted out by the sound of the Carbonite as it solidified.

Zatoichi the Jedi (FanFiction, unless I can find an artist) ep. 1

Once upon a time in a galaxy far far away…

There was a boy born to blindness. His father was a disheveled gangster who worked, or at least was beholden to, Ilithor the Hutt.

On tattoine, if one is not a moisture farmer or mechanic or black marketeer, one’s options for steady income can be hard pressed. Gambling for some, passes the time, but for others it leads to unpayable debts.

It was this that led to Zatoshazza to be muscle for Ilithor. He did bad things for a living, but his heart was pure, and every spare dime that wasn’t given to Ilithor was spent on data disks his blind son could scan to learn about the wider universe and all its marvels.

The boy was a voracious scanner of data disks and his father loved to see his son smile and the excitement at each disk given. Zatoichi had an input jack that connected to the sight receptors of his brain and though his physical eyes long became useless, his young mind greedily gobbled up every piece of information these disks carried. His father had accumulated a library for him. From jedi training to long lost philosophical debate, Zatoichi loved it all. He just didn’t love it, somehow he could incorporate it through his will to manifest it into his reality. This small boy, blind and all, marooned on a outer rim world, was one of the most powerful jedi the universe would come to know.

But the force is balanced, and so though this amazing power was within this young and small and blind vessel, he was very very humble and as merciful to butterflies as he was to the bullies in the neighborhood.

Zatoichi, 9 years old walking about with his walking stick for as he pondered deep thoughts he found his legs would carry him about in some mesmerizing meditative autopiloted manner.

One such day brought him to the scream of a young girl, not 2 years younger than him. He sensed 3 older boys standing over her and he stayed unnoticed in the periphery.

“Hi little bitch. Is your whore mother around for a spin?”

Some folks in the outer rim had to make ends meet at the cost of their dignity and yet still more passed their time rubbing salt in the wounds of the morally compromised.

The little lion girl put her hands on her hips defiant with strawberry blonde curls she stood in the light of the two suns of tatooine with her lion like hair she screamed at the top of her lungs,”Buzz off slime-o!”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth, you little red maggot?”

The firey child launched herself at the much taller much fatter foe and began to launch, in her mind, her most powerful assaults. To the big fat bully it was just a seven year old smacking a 14 year old. “Don’t touch me you little witch!” He shoved her hard to the ground and the child got the wind knocked out of her. Big and heavy tears of injustice ran down her cheeks.

Zatoich felt a heat build inside him that must have been akin to a term he had scanned called pressure. It built and built and before he knew it, he approached the big fat bully.

The bully still did not notice Zatoichi’s approach and towered over the red lion little girl sucking up her pain and anguish like how ,in Zatoichi’s mind Illithor the Hutt must do.

It wasn’t anger though that moved Zatoichi to action but the imbalance of power before him. Just as the bully went to kick the little red lion girl, Zatoichi blocked it with his walking stick in a powerful horse stance, with head bowed in shadow.

Zatoichi moved impossibly fast to the fat and towering bully’s perspective and just for a moment he considered his great error in persecuting the little girl. He pondered inwardly an refused to face the fact that the true reason for his wrath was his anger. His own father was cheating on his mother with the little girl’s mother. He gazed at the little boy’s white gaze with no pupils. “Hey guys, look at this little blind rat. Are you a hero come to save the day?” He lashed out with a wild haymaker. The bully wanted to make an example of the blind boy. He wanted to hurt him for igniting the thoughts in his mind of his father’s infidelity.

Zatoichi responded calmly, “I am balance.” He spun like a whirlwind that caught the bull in the ankle and swept his feet in the air to collapse in the dust. His friends saw him fall and with jaws dropped they ran.

Zatoichi approached the red lion girl. “Are you OK my friend?” His dark curly hair blew in the desert wind and the little red lion girl reached her hand to his.

“I’m OK.” She wiped the dust off of her and smiled at the blind boy. She just knew in her gut they were going to be good friends.

13 years later Lana the lion girl strode through the market place of dathomir confidently. Her blind companion tailed her with his dark green jedi cloak drawn low, covering his dark cherubim curls. Lana was approaching the head of the market to foster a deal that would insure any food not sold would be donated to the homeless shelter making sure the street children would eat regularly forever.

However, the head of the pickpocket arm of the thieves guild depended on the hunger of the children and exploited it regularly. Soetoro started out as an abandoned child and ended up a cold rotten hearted cancer of a Gamorian. He spoke perfect common tongue, but still drooled as profusely as his brethren guards at Jabba’s palace. He learned early in the street that it was his will and unattachment to moral codes that insured his rise to power and success. He was a very pale sickly green, with tufts of red hair the popped out of the tips of his ears. His eyes were black, not a shred of white to be found.

He had sacrificed his goodness and compassion and friends and family to be the head of the pickpockets and would not relent to this lion bitch outsider.

He was not obese like his countrymen. He was athletic and tone. He stepped out from the shadows to block Lana’s path. “Lana, I gave you more than anyone else a chance to drop this little humanitarian effort. The kids are mine, and I feed them. I love them like they were my own litter. I give them purpose. I give them responsibility. They work for their food. They earn their food.” His smile was a dark and smelly tomb of lies.

Lana did not flinch. She turned up her head at the foul beast, balled her fist and spoke plain truth to the pig. “You’re not the first slaver I’ve met. Your lies may work on the provincial imperial governor, but they won’t work on me, slime-o. Making these kids steal for you is the least of what you take from them. From the ones you think are pretty. The ones you mold to turn a profit in other ways. The street speaks slime-o. Outta the way. Your rule over these children is over.”

Soetoro’s smile turned into a impossibly low frown. “Kill her.” An eruption of blaster fire erupted from adjoining rooftops.

It saddened Zatoichi to know that more than a few of the shooters were long abused and indoctrinated children with intense Stockholm Syndrome. He quieted his mind and allowed his hero to enter his mind. The pointy eared little green jedi master known as yoda.

John The Shepherd

John The Shepherd

by Hector M. Rivera


The hooded figure darted from shadow to shadow blanketed by a bright noon day. The gutted torn buildings gave birth to crooked shadows like some demented Dr. Suess nightmare. Empty rusted cars provided his cover as he slowly neared his prize. It was being guarded by a behemoth of a street marauder who had taken up residence in a corner dry cleaner now since decimated by the dirty bombs that had given birth to ultimate anarchy ten years prior.

Time seemed to slow as all the other countless violent confrontations had been. John had been forced to meet out justice to many a rapist on the streets. He had saved many women and saved many children and had made many enemies, for he clung to a defense of innocence that should have perished with all the other sheeple who trusted their task masters so blindly.

His prize was a few cans of beans near a make shift camp fire. The behemoth’s skin was marred by dirt and refuse. He was a punk rock pig enshrined in his spikes and fashion firsts. The behemoth lounged like a lion after mating with a harem of lionesses.

The giant of a man did not notice John’s passage nearer and nearer to him.

John jumped from shadow to shadow like a brown sparrow in a rose garden. He stopped to catch his breath in the shadow of another car nearer to the mouth of the giant’s den. He crouched quiet as a cat and waited. The wind blew. The clouds drifted softly and quietly and quite un-interested in his latest challenge. He scanned the ground at his feet and beheld a blade of grass that poked out of a crack in the asphalt. John began to weep and readied himself for what was ahead.

The behemoth began searching lazily for a can opener that escaped him. “Where the fuck did I put that shit?”
“Its behind you.” John seemed to appear like a wraith. He was covered in a long hooded brown cloak. His boots were desert combat shit kickers. His cargo pants were olive green and as broken and comfy as a bed of ferns in a tranquil forest. His shirt was worn and open at the neck, brown like the hood. His belt was equipped with sheaths. Malevolent machetes dangled in their homes ready for blood and unashamed of the stuff.

“Hahahahaha. You just fucked up squirt. You know who I am?” The behemoth grinned and exposed his rotten teeth. If his tongue was visible perhaps it would dart out and smell the air like a lizard.

Un-phased and hands on hilts, “You are a killer of children. An ambusher of Adam. A devourer of Eve.” Slowly his close combat swords hissed out and somewhere in John’s mind he thought he heard a snake like “Yesss.”

Gone was the mirth of the behemoth and sweat beaded his brow. “I have one. A boy, young and ripe. Take him…Take him and go!” Urine leaked beneath him and the golden color was rich with fear.

John spit on the ground. “On your feet demon.” A whisper or maybe it was a threat but most assuredly it was a promise of doom. The behemoth began to stand but seemed to stumble and through the confusion and in an instant produced a 9mm pistol from the ether of his filth.

John veered left and in a vibrating blur returned his swords to their tombs. The behemoth’s head tumbled like a boulder and thudded on the ground like a granite headstone. The impact was followed by a shrill cry of a boy child. A loin clothed form of a young dark haired boy trembled his way out in the open with his dog collar and chain twinkling in the noon sunlight. His lips quivered and could not determine whether John was his salvation or new master.

John bent to his knees and opened his arms wide and bowed his head. “My lord, I am here to save you. I am a protector of children. A shepherd for the weak and abused. Many a lady and Lord have I saved. Come my lord and I will take you home.”

The boy ran and embraced John and his tinkling chain was sheered by the weight of his faith.

On the outskirts of town a camp was to be seen and rightly the most odd looking camp indeed. Thirty children peopled this makeshift village and all tended to a mobile camp the way soldiers would make work at their base of operations. John knelt by the pond near their camp and he prayed with his eyes closed. “Thank you for my Dark days Lord Jesus. Thank you for the justice you mete out. Most of all, Thank you for your mercy, for I deserve none of it yet you cause your rain to fall on the just as well as the unjust. Amen.”

The dark haired boy now fully clothed and fed crept behind his savior. “Are you praying?” He voiced this unsure if it would elicit wrath.

John tilted his head to take in the boy and rubbed his eyes from the glow of his innocence. “I always pray when I find a lord or lady to take care of. I am your servant. Have you eaten?”

“Yes, the oldest Boy Jarrod, had a stew and fed all the other children with it. It was delicious.”

John smiled broadly and warmly. “Jarrod was the first. I would soldier for him till the end of my days.”

Quizzically The dark haired boy looked at John. “Aren’t you in charge here?”

John Smiled warmly and yet grimly and said, “Only God is in charge of man. I serve and I will do so till my last my lord. What is your name?”

“My name is Barnabas. My family was killed on the road entering this city.”

John approached the boy and put his hand reassuringly on the boy’s shoulder. “No worries my lord, we are all family here. All of us, now thirty, are family. We will help each other and God willing, we will find more lords and ladies on the road to tend to. You don’t have to pray if you don’t want to Barnabas. I do enough praying for all of us.” John walked off and in the earth of the camp his footfalls seemed to echo like a deep and powerful drum.

Barnabas watched John as he left and under his breath thanked God in heaven.

Chapter 1

If there could ever exist a more polar opposite entity on the then most rotten earth, no personage could top Bilder. Bilder was the leader of a township located 10 miles south of John’s current camp. Bilder was a villain who indulged in several appetites. Cannabilism is the eating of human flesh. Bilder didn’t just stop there. His gold toothed chrome like grin shined out and promised slow doom to his potential meals.

Bilder’s favorite meal of choice was people. He fed on them both psychologically as well as physically. His entourage consisted mostly of children he decided to spare so that they could make up his proletariat. Bilder developed a love affair with Stockholm syndrome at an early age to survive. His manipulations and brutal methods insured the most unbreakable of mind controls.

He chose children, because like veal, in his diseased mind, younger meant juicier. Juicier screams and juicier blood. Juicier flesh to pound and consume or mold into his death squads.

Those that survived and that were chosen to continue on in life continued in an expression of death in his every orders. Mercy was a bit of meat stuck between his teeth that he could not dislodge. Mercy was a cancer to Bilder.

No one rose in his township to challenge his authority. He gelded all newborn males in the village and he called this ritual his baptism. Bilder was very religious. He was at his faith’s center. There was nothing greater than he, because he was the strongest, and most sadistic. His demonic and diabolical tendencies proved that he was willing his rule into existence and because no one ever came to challenge him, or find the ability to topple him, his ascension as the most high was predestined by his own hand.

His throne room resided in the town of Bilderberg. City hall was his home. His inner sanctum, from where he dictated his orders was painted a startling white. His suit was also white but stained with old blood from his many meals. He enjoyed his meat fresh and uncooked, preferably still screaming. It was because of this characteristic of his favorite delicacy that his white suits always had garish color.

His court was peopled by some of the citizenry of Bilderberg. His abused proletariat surrounded him and limited access to him, though this was totally unnecessary as all cowed in fear of him.

“It’s another beautiful day in paradise.”

His orderlies cringed at his delight. His good moods often led to the disection of others. Though pleased, Bilder always needed reassurance, even if he always thought he was right. He called upon his wisest and oldest stewards, long since baptized in his vision of the corrupt day dream.

“Melchior, come.” Like a dog he beckoned him with his slithering and feminine tongue.

“How goes the outskirts of my kingdom?”

Melchior bowed as he responded, “All is well save a few less deer in the forest.”

Bilder laughed. A grotesque sounding thing devoid of happiness. Just happiness at the unhappiness of others.

“A recent scout has told me of campfires burning on the edge of my woods. I didn’t permit this melchior.”

He brought his white clad arm up and nibbled, then licked a splotch of blood on his sleeve from one of his most recent meals. His gray blue eyes sparkled as almost still hearing the screams of his last victim.

“I have no need of strangers coming to my town. The merchants are coming soon and with our wonderful children we will become the center of the universe!”

This caravan of merchants arrived once a year and came from towns very far away. Gladiators guarded their wares and riches followed their paths. To the most evil and depraved, young flesh was the most sought after and since those evil ones had all the money, Bilder knew he could ascend to higher states of power if he could give the wider evil world what it wanted and what it craved.

“Send a group of 5 melchior….no quarter….no mercy….but bring me the young alive.”

Bilder smiled and flowers wilted and newly castrated slaves wept and covered their raped areas. They prayed one day, before their minds and souls were destroyed bilder would see justice.

Bilder slowly grinned. His golden tipped teeth smelled of rotten iron blood.

Chapter 2
James. Samuel. Byrd. Beetle. Be’elzeebub. They were the five that Bilder sent. They were professionals, long ago seasoned into remorseless killing machines.

James was a 6 foot blond of two hundred untiring pounds of stamina. His weapon of choice was a baseball bat with 6 inch iron spikes. It was a mace that won every race. He along with the other 5 had been kidnapped and raped by the road. Bilder had adopted them into his family and baptized them thoroughly into his reality. Sadly james was a favorite of Bilder because he could take pain without screaming. This excited Bilder’s nether regions and so they played and played until Bilder was exhausted or James would be in shock. Though he would never pass away. He just didn’t seem to be able to die. His durability made him confident and this confidence led him to be point on the ambush of John’s camp. James just could not understand how quiet John could be. As quiet as a blade of grass poking through the concrete.

James never made it 200 yards to the camp. John recieved night terrors from all the times he’s seen and battled hell on earth. It sharpened his senses into having a knack for foretelling impending doom. When the terrors would strike he would be paralyzed and in his minds eye he would feel violations of the devil as he bucked and convulsed. Through this torment he could see when certain doom was coming and also see when it was time to save another lord and lady from the terrible, terrible road.

James gasped. He tried to lift his weapon but all he saw was a bloodied arm and fingers twitching on the hilt…it was his arm severed neatly above the elbow. He felt the warm gush of his blood down his right side but didn’t scream. James never screamed.

John knew he was in shock by the sweat on James’ brow and slight gyration by his knees. “Who sent you?”


James saw a flash of light. Perhaps the sun glimmering off of steel, and then the world began to tumble and he couldn’t scream if he wanted because his headless body bled out.

Samuel smiled when he was nervous and nothing about this raid added up in his scrambled little brain. Samuel was not a deep thinker but he could sure remember a plan and did not shy away from blood letting. His personality aided the raid of an encampment. He and the others spaced out into a slowly closing perimeter. Each able body inched closer to the destruction of the unsuspecting camp. Samuel never heard John coming. It was over before it even started.

John neatly sliced the achiles tendons of Samuel in a glamorous display of swashbucklery. Samuel collapsed in a heap amd managed the words “ahh shit” before he hit the ground never knowing that was the last time he would ever breathe. That soon it would be the last time that he would ever breathe.

John spoke, “One of you is dead already. Who sent you? Who is Bilder?”

Knowing his time had come, Samuel decided to speak the truth, in the hopes that if there were a God, he would take pity on him for his last act on earth being one of speaking the truth.

“He’s evil! I know I deserve this end but you have to know that Bilder is the Devil in Human flesh! He is Satan in human form!”

John looked at the bleeding man and was moved by his last act of truth. He bled his truth out, not just from his brutal wounds but he spouted truth to save his soul from his battered lips.

John looked at the decimated man and pitied him. “I will stop him. His reign of terror will end and time will over grow and come to forget his blight upon the land.”

Samuel cried and whispered “Kill me strange one.”

John obliged with a double cut of his blades that sliced his head in 3 pieces.

Byrd, from a tree he’d climbed to scout the camp was felled by one of Jarrod’s arrows. John had left him well briefed. Jarrod had come to trust John’s premonitions and his trusted bow and arrows were ready. As Byrd fell from the tree and struck the ground he noticed the arrow protruding from his chest. He felt the warm slick of his life blood escape his body. He stared up and saw the 16 year old looking at home in the forest. He appeared as some elven ranger from a tplkien daydream and the peppered with zombie apocalypse grit and charm. He was indeed an archer and the last glimpse of his blond hair and blue eyes and fair skin that Byrd saw was ended when Jarrod’s boot drove through his skull.

Beetle and Beezlebub made themselves at home in the camp and the smaller children wept. The young ones knew Jarrod and John were not back yet and here these strange men were finishing Jarrod’s wonderous stew. They looked like the ying and yang symbol. Beetle dressed in white, like a clone of Bilder and Beezlebub dressed in black. Beetle spoke first. “There’s nobody here but whore meat. That means you cutey.” He said this with a wink aimed at a four year old with noticeable facial scars. Beezlebub laughed. “The big guns haven’t arrived yet. Something tells me we’re the only ones left of our little raiding party Beetle ol’ pal. Quick look behind you…” Beetle turned and soon regretted it as Beezlebub ran a rust dagger across his throat spilling his blood into the bubbling cauldron of stew. Beezlebub laughed and refilled his bowl. “Cant wait to meet the man in charge.”

John knelt behind a fern covered outcropping near the camp. Jarrod was by his side. He could smell the fear of his lords and ladies as strangers violated their inner sanctum. Smoke climbed into the pristine blue sky and John knew he must act quickly.
Jarrod rubbed tears from his eyes. He heard the hoarse laughter of the intruder. He heard the hyperventilated screams of the smaller children as they ran from this cancer on two legs called Beelzebub. “John, he’s gonna hurt them.” Jarrod said this in a pitiful matter. He said it in the most pitiful of pleas.
John, hearing this, took on the visage of absolute darkness. The normal light and almost autistic simplicity that usually graced his face was left with the dark and ruthless visage of the gaping maw of doom. He looked at Jarrod with this dark promise of destruction and Jarrod shuddered in fear. “Take to the tree facing the camp and cover me.”
Beelzebub witnessed some manner of miracle. John stepped out of a shadow. His swords were in his hands in one motion that began after he wiped the hair from his face. Darkness walked and blotted out the sun closer and closer to Beelzebub. It was as if he could not look away. “I know your gonna kill me. Look, I did you a favor. Ive ridden the world of Beetle. That bastard is still bleeding out hehe. Not into small talk huh? Before I leave this world I want to let you know about the sickest son of a bitch you ever met. His name is Bilder. He’s not really a he as much as he is the baddest motherfucker on the planet. He knows you’re here. He knows you exist and he wont stop until your all horribly horribly dead.”
Beelzebub said this more directed to the captive audience of the 4 to 13 year olds hiding behind things. The fear pleased him. Beelzebub was far far from redemption. So much so that he charged at the nearest 4 year old girl and and put a dagger to her throat and smiled at John.
“I’m gonna take this little cunt back to Bilder. We’ll call it a down payment. Remember, I did you a solid by killing Beetle. Now I’m gonna remove this little extra mouth to feed. That’s two solids I did for you so you can just let me walk out of here and I’ll put in a good word for you.”
The little girl wailed and Beelzebub wrenched her hair back and giggled a mirthless laugh. He whispered in her ear, “Shut your fucking mouth bitch or it’ll get a lot worse for you real real fast.” He licked her ear and she screamed , “JOHN!”
He glided. It was like he was a shadow himself because his legs were a blur. He came upon Beelzebub so fast that he was entranced by his movements. He knew to behold this man’s movements without a response meant his certain death, but he just could not take his eyes off this man glide to him.
John charged into a spear that left him parallel to the ground. He appeared as a “T” whirling blades. The arm that held the dagger fell to the ground and the sick sound of blood sizzling into the air drenched John. The next attack took the arm that held the girl’s hair. It held firm to the girl’s golden locks and johns next strikes severed the fingers and sent them tumbling into the skyline like a child drops their toys on a lush and clean carpet.
Beelzebub could not fathom that all this took seconds. He squirted his blood into the air and his gore made a swamp of mud at his feet. He dropped to his knees and breathed shallowly, so cold and so weak. “You—-you fucking retard! You killed mmmmeee!”
John’s blades sang into Beelzebub’s face and another twirl of his hilts exploded it. John was breathing heavy. “The threat is no more mysteries lords and ladies. Please come out from your hiding.
Slowly the other children crept from their holes of hiding. They had long ago learned from the merciless road of the apocalypse that nightmares rarely end so fast. But John was God sent. He had vanquished another foe.
“Jarrod. Help me gather the other bodies. We’ll burn these demons to dust.”
Jarrod stood in shock for a moment. Every time he saw John’s feats of swordsmanship it seemed like a Holy magic to him. God’s hand must be on this man for he moved like a ghost. He battled with a skill that only a legend could ever truly know. And yet this man. This man who saved him and saved all the other’s of the camp was the most humble soul he had ever known.
“Yes sir”, was all Jarrod could muster but John just raised his hand.”
“No, my Lord, I am your servant. You all are the Lord’s and Ladies of this Kingdom. Never forget that it was you who saved me.”
The corpses of the evil men burned and burned and nothing was left of them. Jarrod staring at the pyre whispered to john, “What will we do John? They’ll just keep coming. We can pick up and move just as we always have done. To be a nomad is no small blessing when we can live to breathe another day.”
“Bilder will never stop Jarrod.” The flames licked at the bones of the killers and the smoke that rose from them produced and acrid yet sulfourous gloom. “Ive met him before. Ive seen his work.”
John gazed as the smoke rise and pondered one of his first memories since the Lord of Hosts put him on the path of the salvation of the innocent in this inverted and rotten world. With no food in his belly he wandered up to the outskirts of a town. Screams filled the air and the pleading of little lambs bathed the landscape in putrid hell. Amidst the flames of the burning town sat a man dressed in white. He sat at a large table ripped from one of the mansions of the torn town. A family sat tied to chairs at the great table gagged. A Husband and his wife. Three children. Two boys and one girl. Twin boys and a young lady, toddler aged. Her round face so used to Cherubic smiles and laughter sat gaunt at the spectacle of Bilder’s excited and smiling face.
“This didn’t have to happen, but let me tell you a little secret. I always wanted it to.” The husband sounding quite helpless and moronic with the gag was pleading for his family to be spared. Bilder sat there head tilted perching his head on the outside of his palms like the characature of a southern belle. His smile was impossibly wide and shockingly golden.
The wife was shivering. One of the twin boys was not scared. Not the slightest bit. He was hot with rage and hatred toward the man in white who was dining on their misery.
Bilder could not have this. “Father Dear, could you please shut the fuck up. Your son is really bothering me.” The husband and wife said no please but were muffled from the gag. All Bilder could hear was the hot tears of hatred and the promise of vengeance from the young copy of his brother. “This won’t do.”
Bilder stood up from the head of the table, walked over to the young boy and sank his golden teeth into the boys throat. The boy tried to scream but all that escaped was crimson bubbles from the hole Bilder had just left. The young boys tongue was talented at telling jokes slithered out of the gaping wound. Bilder laughed. The boy struggled and Bilder wrenched and wrenched until his pound of flesh was extracted and more able too chew. The boy died and Bilder sat back down to savor and chew. “I don’t want to talk with my mouth open but they say proper digestion requires one hundred chews.” He dabbed his blood drenched mouth with a pristine napkin. The wife and husband screamed. The boy and girl wailed and it was all music to Bilder’s ears.
John knew God had saved him all these many battles just for Bilder. Bilder was his destiny.

Chapter 3

After the failed raid the children of the camp were jumping at shadows. Behind every tree lurked the golden toothed butcher, Bilder. It seemed he had touched the lives in some form or other, all the children of John’s camp. There was a solemn silence that held each child’s footsteps and it infuriated John like a budding volcano near climax. One little girl in particular. The girl with the golden locks seemed the saddest of all.

John found her sitting near a pond stabbing her reflection with a twig. “What troubles you my lady?” She sheepishly looked up. Her name was Mary and she tilted her head to look up at john and tumbles of golden curls fell in the sunlight. She smiled and darkness ran at full speed from John. He could feel her smile as much as behold it and strength returned to him and ever more doubt was flung away.

To the eye of the unknown and unfeeling predator, she was five years old and a small little thing. To john she was a grand cathedral that proved the existence of God just by its artistic beauty and sublime impact on the soul.

“The golden man…”

John knew she meant Bilder.

“The other children know him and sometimes in nightmares he comes to finish us off….the way he did our families.”

John flinched and immediately pondered the snake lady. The snake lady sometimes visited john in his dreams. She was beautiful and terrifying. Upon seeing her he would feel an animal urge he not normally used too, and she knew it well. Her skin was a mix of fleshy pinks and green scales with piercing yellow rattle snake promises of doom. Her hair was long and straight to the hip and long as a whip. It was black as midnight. She always appeared to him nude but her hair would hide slight details of her voluptuous curvy delights. She was the sort of beauty that could March you off a pier if not careful. She knew John wanted her but also knew he would never give in to the urge. John was weird like that. Most definitely a man but driven by an obsession to protect the innocent and not heave multiple body shaking orgasms.

She came to him again last night…

“Hello John.”
She smiled and circled him as he kneeled head bowed. She twiddled his hair as she walked a circle around him like a lion around its kill. “The golden man…I dont like him John.”

John winced at his mention. Bilder was a terrifying idea let alone human being.

“I know you serve God John, as I know you and I are eternally opposed. I’m a demon and your a prophet. But your cock still gets hard for me…just like I want to ride you till I pass out. We’re just not on the same side. Eternally opposed as the darkness is to light. The grass is so always so greener on the other ssssside.” She flashed a smile at him that made him question everything.

But no…he would not break his vow. She bent down behind him, hand on his shoulders and whispered in his ear. He could feel the weight of her heaving breasts and rock hard nipples.

“The golden man wants ussss both dead. His only purpose to consume, both the light and the dark. I guess that means we’re on the same side after all. She reached down his chest and playfully tugged at his enormous pulsating erection.”

Then he woke up screaming.

Back to the present this little church standing before him named mary. John must at all costs defend her. His flesh was weak but his heart was for these children.

John focused and willed his inner corruptions away. Mary needed him. “I will stop him my lady. I will never allow anyone to hurt you all ever again. The world is more broken now then it ever was. People suffer and cries go unanswered but I am not like this world.”

Mary smiled, but her eyes still echoed of the breaking Bilder had thrust on her. It would be ever apparent in her eyes like a dangling bit of glass from a broken out window.

“We will get through this Mary. I know because you are strongest of us all.”

John left her by the pond fiddling at her reflection and he knew he must find Jarrod. The head of the snake must be severed to rid the land of Bilder. The time had come for John to introduce himself.

“I’m going to sneak in Jarrod. Right into his bed chambers.”

Jarrod laughed. He was a boy beyond his years and suggested, “Why dont you just catch him on the road John? He’s a slaver….probably the only real money being made around here. Bilderberg is famous for it.”

John thought for a moment. “I have a bad feeling my lord. I’ve seen his work before. I saw him RIP apart a family the way you and me eat the stew. I just dont want to rush into this one. When I think of him I feel like I’m trapped in a whirlpool. An endless battle around and around till we both disappear into the hole.”

Jarrod smiled, so wise beyond his years. “The difference John is when you’re gone, the world will have us who you have taught and who you have truly loved. When his people lose him a cheer will rise up into the air to part the very clouds. He will not be mourned.”

“He will never stop coming jarrod.”

The fire he sat around with his closest brother crackled and spat tiny souls into the night sky. John sleepily walked to his tent, laid on his bedroll and drifted off to sleep. The crackle of the fire sounded like the splitting of ancient wood.

“That’s more like it.”
Bilder sat atop john. Perched on him, smiling greedily at him like some diabolical slumber party. He was wearing his white suit complete with crimson blood stains like some garish necklace. His golden tooh grin almost appeared red from the reflection of the dying fire.

John gazed up at him and beheld this magnificent force of evil. He did not flinch. He just stared at his fate to oppose this man and a resigned sigh escaped his lips.

Bilder was flabbergasted, but he hid it with a giggle. “You really dont keep much security. The boy in the tree with the bow? Unconcioussss.”

John’s mind exploded with rage at the violation. But he hid it with one tear.

Bilder just kept smiling excited by his surprise visit. He grinded his hips in to John a little and for one moment revealed a demonic snarl. Much much more scary for John was he could feel Bilder’s erection and Bilder knew it. His snarl returned to a coy smile and giggle. “I know why you don’t have a perimeter.” Every sentence was uttered like an over the top sadistic vaudevillian. And all the world a stage….

“What is your name?” He asked like a 4 year old playmate at the playground.
John did not hesitate. “My name John!” As the last syllable was stated John pushed out with his arms and legs like a coiled spring and launched Bilder into the darkness. An audible his could be heard as Bilder executed a backwards flip to land as a cat with both John’s blades 8n his hands. He grinned at John.

John saw all the children of the camp slumped over as if murdered in sleep. His forest camp had turned into the land of sleeping dolls. He screamed with rage. A guttural animal roar.

Bilder saw this savage howl and interrupted him, “John their just sleeping. I popped em with some night night juice. But you should know John deep deep down…That I see this place like a buffet! Bilder began to clap with a devilish grin but the blackest dead eyes. ”

John ‘s vision began to blur. “I popped you too Johnny boy! Thing is though, this is kind of a let down. Your not worthy for me I mean. You keep clinging on to the past. Chivalry is dead! You are a fossil. I’ll prove it to you. Bilderberg holds an annual gladiatorial payperview called Slaughterday! I’m sure you know it. I promoted the hell out of it. It’s got a hashtag and everything!

John stayed in his mind and every word of Bilder was an echoed challenge to come hither.

“Come at me bro?! You know what that means? It means I have spared you and your sleep over with the fresh meat. Come and survive my festivities. Take your fucking blades back, you suck. Bilder threw John’s blades to the ground and they clanked like the tin toys of a spoiled child.

John saw darkness, and Bilders footsteps turned into the sound of church bells that heralded doom.

“This is my sermon on the mount.” Bilder began all his gladiator exhibitions this way. In his mind there was no business like show business.
Flags all in white with separate and different and unique stains of blood adorned his kingdom walls of cars and burnt out bushes. It was a good fortification nonetheless. A lone trumpeter began the entrance of all. They were sad notes but the madness of constant abuse stopped everyone from noticing. John could feel the sad tones and notices the tears as they streamed the trumpeters face.

“Nothing is Perfect. That is to say the absence of all creation is the only light in the world. It used to be said that light could expel cancer but I know the truth and I bestow it to you all from my most noblest depths. Not for free. I give you security from the deadly world but truth I give. Light is the cancerous growth of the most perfect object known as nothing. We consume and so we are agents of this disappearing of the flawed light. We are all of us mothers to the heralding of the most sacred “nothing”. Oh silent night…silent forever. Let the games Begin!”

John waded through the hundreds in the crowd, hood drawn low and made his way to the front of the stage. Bilder’s games were like rock concerts that came complete with drug and alcohol tents.
John face was flush with anger. His pride was hurt when Bilder had penetrated his domain of innocence and protection. He would enter Bilder’s Butcher shop and make a statement.

Bilder screamed with glee. ” Step right up folks, who will be the first to enter the open international invitational motivational fuck the world kill em all, extravaganza??!!”

There was hesitation in the crowd.
John stepped forward as if in slow motion. The crowd acknowledged him. He strode forward with beads of water whisking away from his muddy boots. His blades dangled at his belt shrouded by his hood and coat. Bilder smiled brilliantly and his blonde yet more so white Scandinavian hair bounced erratically in the static discharged air of John’s approach.
“A hero approaches!” Bilder exaggerated every movement.

Like some demented game show. Bilder approached John with the Mic and said, “Tell everyone where your from.”
John glared at Bilder but a hush went through the crowd. They seemed to know without knowing that the ying had finally met its yang. John said nothing just stared at Bilder. His eyes like grave pits in the dark of night.

Bilder laughed at the silence of the crowd and but also resented them for it. “I’d like to introduce you to are friendly neighborhood weird guy in the woods!”

John’s sadness crept in him and his head lowered. He was angry that bilder had penetrated his sanctuary for the children of the road, but every once in a while depression would spread its venom in his veins. His anger began to melt and also his energy and confidence was giving way to the question of, am I really making a difference? Am I really helping anyone? I’m just a freak. A broken toy in a land of broken toy stores. But then he saw the small boy hiding in the alley. The poor boy seemed by the look of him that he had everything taken from him. Covered in filth and broken, but eyes gleaming at the prospect of John spinning Bilder’s world on its head. For that king he must. For that prince he must never give up. His head raised and the grave pits returned to the shock of white with a dash of red spectacle of Bilder.

Bilder screamed in the Mic, “To the pits”. The pits was a few slabs of concrete just out side the camp. It was shaped in a great circle, colored black.

“The first challenge will be unarmed combat.”

A giant thug approached John to remove his weapons and lost his arms in the process. Blood spurted and sprayed from the great man’s shoulder holes. He collapsed in a great thud and the crowd shuddered away from his collapse.

Someone in the crowd screams, “he said unarmed combat!” Bilder turns and mockingly stutters “it is unnnn armed hahaha! He kicked dirt on the thug as he bled out and howled with laughter. John you son of a bitch! Hehe stickler for the rules.”

John looked up with fresh blood on his face and screamed, “I am not here for your games or bread or circus. I am here as Gods justice. You are doomed.”

Bilder’s smile ended and said “Fuck your God”, with a stone cold face of granite and nothingness. “Fire on his position!”

From the periphery of the gathering, many yards out flaming arrows began to be fired 8n John’s direction. A few spectators were hit and they smoldered and skin melted as they collapsed in death.

John having a nose for survival lunged into the crowd and sought his cover and concealment there in. He popped in and out of view. Each time when visible getting closer to the firing line. Screams and curses and John getting closer to the archers all the time, until he did. One flame after another went out as he dispatched the archers. Bilder beheld the spectacle and grew sexually aroused as each flame of the archer was snuffed out. He rubbed and tugged as he straightened his shoulders and ran to meet john in their first battle. Bilder’s rapier was solid gold with a pearl handle. Exquisite and deadly, like the stinger of an ancient and enchanted wasp.

Bilder skidded to a halt ten feet from John and they began to circle each other blades drawn. The spin was slow and looked like some bizarre mating ritual but the promise of death was evident should even one error in execution present itself.

Bilder struck first and led with a kick that ended with a spin that brought forth his vicious elbow. John expected it and halted his advance. John suspected Bilder’s offense would be flashy and risky. Like the attack of a man who is sure of the outcome in his favor. John fought differently. John fought like a man who had accepted the fact that he was already dead. The second he was erupted from the womb, his God had made him an instrument of annihilation. Bombs, when they go off go boom and nothing is left but destruction. John is destined to detonate and destroy evil, but Bilder didnt know this.

Bilder launched a series of thrusts that were more like one long blur by his golden rapier. John calmly dodged and launched a straight punch still clutching the hilt that sent Bilder sprawling to the ground. A gasp escaped the crowd to God’s ears.
In slow motion, a cloud of dust erupted as the white golden toothed metor struck the earth. His golden smile transformed into a Golden snarl.

Now faster than the eye could detect he grasped at the gravel beneath him launching a blinding plume in John’s face. John barely raised his arm up in time to parry the blinding dirt and dust and the was blade of the white clad bastion struck home with a blinding flash of his that pierced John in his shoulder.



How did I end up here? My body is burned and I’m laying in a dumpster. I’m too weak to scream out for help. Who would help me anyway? Even God’s own advice was repugnant too me. No self respecting three piece suit could even stand to smell me let alone help me.

Most recently I was enjoyed by a teenage sadist who painted his canvas with gasoline and matches. I guess his x-box and date rapes grew tiresome. He approached me as I sat in a cold puddle in the alley shivering and hoping for death. I should have never looked up to see his dashing grin. His teeth were violations. He explained to me that he worked for the local shelter and was out trying to rescue during this latest of blizzards. I never questioned the validity of this. Not even after his help crunched the back of my skull with a pipe.

How did I end up here? She was a good woman. She had dreams and aspirations. Her name was Twyla and she believed in true love. My name was Douglas and I brought sorrow where ever my shadow fell. The love of a good woman was not enough for me. The purity of an angelic son could not rein me in. Wanderlust was my mistress and drugs and alcohol was a fiddle whose music I could not ignore. How many days did I ignore her? How many days did I make excuses to avoid my beautiful boy? The fiddle would begin to play and I would dance my life away. I would dance for hours and before too long, my loving home transformed into a seedy bar. The fiddle would play on and I would then materialize into backstage bedlam. Strange women’s moans lulled me to sleep and sand paper knuckles greeted me good morning. It must have been here that led me too the dumpster. No, it was before Twyla. Who am I kidding?

How did I end up here? I was 16. My father dropped in and paid my mom and I a visit. I hadn’t seen the old coot for eons. I wondered even then, if he was really sitting before me or some hallucination. Acid was a delicacy then. He told me a tale of mistakes made. Pop shared his failures with me. Epic failures of not realizing the mental condition my mother had. It appears that my mother, God rest her soul, was not “In her right mind”, as he put it.

Sure I remember days when Mom’s threats of suicide disturbed me. One might say it was a giant warning sign that those suicide threats would come after one of my occasional four year old temper tantrums of being forced to live in a soiled diaper. You will also hear no argument from me how it is not in the best interest of the child to burn cigarette butts on him, regardless if the voices told her it was the best way to be rid of the devil’s temptations in my head. I sat there realizing that the old coot had wanted to save me all along. He wanted to save me from this monstrous woman and her monstrous ways. Sad to say though that Pop wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. He never expected that when my mother politely excused herself from the dinner table to powder her nose, she was really returning with a double barrel shotgun. She blew him in half right in front of me. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him that I had really loved him. I’m sure that was the situation that led me to the dumpster and the rest of my minutes as a crispy critter.

You know, now that I think of it, I can’t even blame Mom or my half a Dad. Gosh, that was ghoulish of me to say. I was the reason I ended up in that Dumpster deep fried and served up like fast food into eternity. It was my choices and every foot step I plotted, that led me down that road. Here in the funeral parlor of the great green dumpster, the rat gnawing on my burnt finger is the only one left to pay his respects. It makes you wonder. How did I end up here? What could I have done diffe—

Clap If You Believe In Fairies

Clap If You Believe In Fairies

By Hector Rivera

Setting: dark room, one chair, light bulb swinging. The victim is tied to the chair. The killer stands freely moving about as he wishes. He wields a dull black tactical survival knife.

Note: The victim wakes up, tied to a chair.

Gregory: I’m glad your up. The last vessel in that chair went pee pee in her pants. I dont like the smell. At least awake you can hold it.

Victim: struggles with her bonds as she becomes more lucid. She stares fearfully at her captor, as fight or flight kicks in.

Gregory: Some of us love this part. When you realize how fucked you are and theres no getting out of it. Your eyes move around the room looking for an exit. You sit there waiting for your very own zorro to come marching in and woop my ass but good. You dont know, but I know, thats not happening darling. You just rolled snake eyes. Moral of the story? Never talk to strangers.

Note: He bludgeons her with the pommel of the kife knocking her out. Scene turns black with her unconsciousness.

Victim: She regains conciousness.

Gregory: That is some knot on your head! My uncle used to call those rose blossoms. Do you know why your here vessel? Mum’s the word huh? You’re here because i chose you. I pointed my finger down at you like Michaelangelo’s wet dream, and there you are. My own personal pin cushion.

Victim: Begins to cry.

Gregory: Hey hey there sugar tits…you can piss yourself if you want to…I get it…logic and plumbing.

Victim: Stops crying and noticeably lowers her head.

Gregory: pokes her knee with the knife but she doesnt stir. Like I was saying before..some of us like the begging and the pleading and the why god why’s. My favorite is the art of conversation. It’s a lost art vessel. Its nigh extinct even.

Victim: No longer the victim…Gavreel raises her head…just watching and studying her subject.

Gregory: I just got goosebumps….look at the hair standing on my arm….christ. Do you feel that? Your ice cold darlin. You look different. You ever see the look of a cat when it has its paw on the mouses tail. Its almost like the fucking feline is amused. Sucks for the mouse but as my uncle always said, When the universe shits on your doritos go get you a mouse and play with it till it stops moving. Man, you sure got your poker face on dont you. Lets see if there’s ice water in those veins of yours.

Note: He cuts her arm, not looking at the wound but staring in her eyes. She does not scream. Merely stares back at him. Gregory is panting heavy expecting guttural screams but only recieves back silence.

Gavreel: You have alot to learn.

Gregory: Oohhh the strong and silent type. So its a battle of wills huh?

Gavreel: Your uncle used to say a battle of wills is like a barrel of fish.

Note: shock and horror is splayed on his face.

Gavreel: Your uncle was a cancer to this earth….you know that. When you were four and he killed that puppy in front of you. Do you really think that is the way a precious life is supposed to be lived?

Gregory: Vessel needs more cutting…thats fine….thats fine…

Note: His cutting produces blood on the floor but Gavreel does not stir. The blood loss makes the vessel lose conciousness but eventually she regains herself.

Gregory: I knew you were special, when I picked you in that bar. You just were glowing. Like God put you on this earth just for me.

Gavreel: You were young when he broke you. Shattered your little mind into a million fucking pieces.

Gregory: How are you even speaking in functional sentences? Did you see what I just did to you?

Gavreel: Gregory, I want you to be still and listen very carefully to me. This…is your last chance. You will not be afforded any other opportunities to save yourself. Once you consciously choose to continue this path from here on out, your soul will be damned. That means forever Gregory. You know what forever is dont you? Remember when you were 6 and that fantastic Uncle got bored and decided to teach you about sodomy and pain thresholds? Youd pass out and hed wake you up again and again and the rough ride just didnt seem to end. That felt like forever Gregory, but i guarantee you, that was not a blip on forever’s fucking radar screen.

Gregory: You dont know that….how could you know that…nobody…

Gavreel: You still think we’re in your basement? You still think time is passing? I assure you, we are on pause.

Gregory: Your a tricky cunt like that Doctor I followed home. She was tricky too but her bones are still down here with us. She thought she could play mind games and twist me in knots but I proved her wrong and she shit her britches like all the others when i squeezed her intestines with both clenched fists!

Gavreel: Do you believe in God Gregory?

Gregory: What do you mean like Jumping Jones Jesus fucking Christ?!!Make no mistake! I am fucking God here!!

Gavreel: Im an angel. Ive been sent to make you see the wrongs you have done.

Gregory: Hello Angel.

Gavreel: Gavreel.

Gregory: Id like to introduce you to my friend here under this sheet.

Gavreel: I dont feel pain Gregory.

Gregory: Its called a car battery and your about to get aquainted with it for an hour or two.

Note: The vessel passes out but the angel feels no pain. Eventually the vessel regains conciousness.

Gregory: You dont scream. (Said so sadly)

Gavreel: You can change. You can never hurt another person again and feel real joy and real love.

Gregory: I dont believe in God. I dont believe in anything. Your no angel. Angels do not exist. Should I clap if i believe in faries? None of this is real. Im probably in my bathroom imagining all this while an embolism pops in my head as i push out a log of shit. Ive probably passed over to the land of the drooling insane.

Gavreel: This is real… and I am an angel and I can prove it to you.

Gregory: Im listening.

Gavreel: If angels exist than demons should too. Look behind you.

Note:Gregory turns around and out of the shadows walks out the demon in the personage of his Uncle.

Gavreel: This has been your companion guiding you in all of your life.

Uncle Bale: Hey kiddo…We should just get another girl…this bitch is killing my buzz.

Note:Gregory faints….fade to black.

Note: Gregory is now tied to the chair. Gavreel exists now in the periphery.

Uncle Bale: Greggy. Wake up you little pussy lol.

Gregg: Your dead….what the fuck is going on (deeply afraid).

Uncle Bale: im not really your uncle. Im not even human but we have soooo much in common. You are a twisted piece of shit greggy. In a very endearing way. Lets face it, humanity is a meat bag waiting to get lanced. Get your kicks before the whole shit house burns up in flames my dude. I love to watch you work. This little halo cunt has no fucking idea hehe. Theres no going back.

Gregory: (shivering and in shock) you hurt me….i was just a little boy…a baby (stuttered).

Uncle Bale: Awwww you want me to call you a waaambulance greggy? Hehe. Nononono you got fortified my boy. A stiff spine reinforced by a stiff pecker but your wounds healed greggy and Uncle Bailey made you stronger didnt he heheh. Now you are the God Greggy. And when they beg you to let them go or when they beg you to stop cutting or when they beg you to finally let them die, you indeed are their God.

Gavreel: (now equally again restrained in a chair next to the newly restrained Gregory) You can end this Gregory. There is still time to save yourself. Let the girl go and never return to this life.

Uncle Bale: nononononono. This wont do at all. (Duct tapes Gavreel’s mouth shut.) Shes like a fucking hen house haha.

Gregory: Who invited you into my house. Get out!

Uncle Bale: you gave me an all access pass when you were leaking out of your bottom in your uncles basement. You were curled up in a little ball yearning for death and you begged god to save you. He didnt come so i came instead and you welcomed me in with open arms and we’ve been pals ever since. I think its been about 20 girls in the hole when its all said and done. You think you can walk away from that greggy (intense hatred)? You dont get to walk away from me you stuck little piggy. You dont get to quit on me greggy weggy. Ill see you burn first you little snot nosed pup.

Gregory: Help me God…save me (shaking, sweating, broken)

Gavreel: (no longer bound and no longer bleeding and scarred she puts her finger on his head and says “Follow me”.

Uncle Bale: Ill find you greggy….I love the way you taste…I can smell you for miles and ill be under your bed waiting for you to kill again. Ill be waiting…me and all your girls(slow backing up shot of the uncle and the arms of girls reaching out as the camera pans out) hehehehehe…i love you.