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|Xeogaming Forums - Story Realm - Moloch (Working Title)||| ||
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Dr. Thread Killa, to you.
Look, I'm an ass sometimes. Get over it.
From: Manhattan, NYC, ASA, Terran
Since last post: 1705 days
Last activity: 1702 days
|My NaNoWriMo entry, thus far:
Book One: Chapter One
The bus dropped me off at a vacant and overgrown lot next to the OnSight Publishing Building G employee parking lot. I, and the rest of the employees, filtered off the bus and made our way towards our respective buildings. I had just crossed past the parking gates when he appeared. I could feel what little of a soul I had painstakingly developed over the years flushed instantly out of my body. He grinned.
“It is destiny that you succumb, and what morsel of effort you make to escape will be ultimately dashed," he spoke in somber tones, a voice the permeated each and every cell of my being. I shuddered slightly at the chill of the departed warmth, and continued walking.
"It doesn't matter what you do, what you think might pull you away from us, what has been decided for you is set and cannot be altered, no matter what you may attempt, " he moved ahead of me, but I stepped aside and past him. He remained behind staring at me; I could feel his lack of eyes penetrating through me, "there is nothing you can ever do to deny yourself your true calling.
"Your father accepted his role, and you see what it did for him. Now, it is your turn. The time is nearing when we shall all rule this world again, and you shall be our leader."
A darkness, familiar yet obscure, welled up inside me. It rose and blurred my vision, and I could feel what he was preaching, this messenger to all things of darkness and pestilence. It burned, and I felt powerful. But, I couldn't be that. I didn't want to follow in my father's footsteps. I didn't want to be that level of malevolence.
I had made progress across the street, my stride never faltering, and past the badge-controlled doors to the elevator, but no mortal security solution could impede my morose valet. He stood, behind me in the elevator, watching the floors count upward as I did. Finally, on the top floor, I diverted to the balcony instead of my cubicle, with my handler following in tow.
"Your calling is upon us, and I wish to groom my successor." He stood near the doors, dark form resembling a blur, something onto which the eye could not lock. A blur in the corner of one's eye, when you think you've seen the shadow of someone or something; that was what they were. The messengers and caretakers of the dark underworld. The opposite of the positive energies in the world, the other side of the balance spectrum.
"No, I don’t want to do this anymore," I turned to face the other buildings, looking away from him, "I am not his successor, I am not the 'chosen one', and I will not dive back into the darkness."
He appeared like smoke being blown in a breeze, encircling me, igniting the dormant side of me that I had attempted to put to rest so many times before. Filling me with a sense of unyielding strength and power, a sudden insatiable hunger for those that opposed us, to fill the void of a soul I had been trying to recreate with the warmth and friendship of those around me. My eyes glazed over, their inherent browns disappearing and refilling as a solid black with hints of red. It felt so good, yet...
"No," I growled at him in a voice I had not heard since my active days, "I do not want this, I want to be the better person here, I do not want to 'fill the void' this way."
Storming off towards the door, I cast him aside, dispersing his being into the air around me, forcefully pushing down the dark energy into a ball somewhere deep in my being, concentrating the energy for a single release.
A deep breath. Then two. A third. I can feel it washing within, but it cannot control me. It is not who I am. The voice within beckons, "It's time." No, I whisper to myself, it isn't. It will never be.
My cubicle is meant to be a two-person space, but I am alone for now until someone else is hired. Until then, the space behind me is occupied by another being, the ultimate servant of doom. He chills the nape of my neck as I stare intently at my monitors, all methods of avoidance working against me.
He scoffs, a fiery brilliance expelling as he speaks, "Did you really think you could escape it?" Another deep breath. "Moving up here, closer to the light, it wasn't going to help. It is not your place to be the light, and any form of exalting happiness you create for yourself will only be taken away. As long as you walk this earth and bear his blood, you cannot escape your ultimate assignment."
I swiveled around in my chair, gazed into the depths of his being, dressed in that jet-black suit, pressed shirt and tie, slicked back hair and eyes as cold and fiery as the very brimstone and perceptions of evil that man had created. I stare at him, attempting to quell the rise of negativity filtering within, the sheer brilliance of internal energies changing all perceived hues of color. He shifts slightly.
"As you wish, I shall manifest in true form," his form dissolving, the lights all dimmed, the power drained from my laptop and my external monitor powered off. The building was immediately filled with a higher sense of choking cold and everyone immediately shuddered in a single breath that could be heard throughout the building. The lively colors of the cubicle, its blues and greens, had dissolved into a single gray, a time-filtered cloud of black revolving around me, his innocuous form seething where the chair had been. "Better?"
“Quite,” I lurched forward diving my arm deep into the swirling darkness, feeling the piercing essence suck violently into the pores of my hand and arm, and grinned.
“Take what you need, it is only a glimpse of what you will become.”
Blinking, I pull back, my hand and lower arm drenched in a seepage of molasses-like black goop, dripping into little puffs of smoke on the carpet, immediate pain coursing through that extremity in efforts to regenerate my mortal hindrances. I can’t scream in pain, or even let out a whimper for fear of discovery by coworkers. It pains so much, but I can’t give him the satisfaction of seeing that either. I know he can sense it, and I know it brings him much joy in his deviated ways.
The day had progressed as it normally does, but with a seething undertone of lingering murkiness, almost in a form of a low-lying film that I could tangibly detect while walking around the halls of Building D. The end of the day had been reached, and it was time to collect myself and retreat to the restroom before making my trek back to my bus.
At six in the afternoon, the building had dropped down to the remaining few people that came in later and left later, with hardly a soul in the restroom.
I stood at the urinal and listened to the liquid hitting the back of the porcelain when the door opened. Looking over my shoulder, I noticed no one enter and resumed my gaze, but in the corner of my eye a shadow lurked. It didn't surprise me that I couldn't sense his presence, for this was the Dark Lord in all his glory.
I zipped up and walked towards the sinks. My eyes began to refocus and a quick glance in the mirror revealed what I already knew, it was starting. My presence was known, and it made the lower drudge of humanity quite pleased to know someone in their frame of mind was lurking.
It was a feeling that once had been quite welcomed, serving as a trainer to the new "recruits", responding to mass summonings, and participating in the annual soul harvest. It was the single activity that my father and I shared, since I hated baseball and he was a devotee of the sport. Some fathers groom their sons for positions as doctors or lawyers; mine was working on creating the successor to the dark underground. But, I was not pure. He had married a lighter energy person, and the mixture had produced a gray child. Despite this, I was naturally drawn towards the darkness, towards the black, giving me a darker gray. But, as a gray, I could stray in either direction—light or dark.
Scents of burning flesh filled the restroom, "I don't understand why you resist. Your father would have..."
"My father," I growled at him, eyes flooding in a red I hadn't seen since high school, an unfamiliar strength coursing through my body, a sheer flow of pure evil, "is nothing to me. I don't want to be him, and I will never be him."
He moved around me, staring into my eyes and touching my chin as he spoke, "You're right. You're nothing like him, you're better than he ever was." I pulled away from him, shoving him aside and stormed out of the restroom. Once outside of the building, everything around me had changed: hours had gone by and it was the dead of night, only security and a few sparse workers hovered about the campus. In the light of the moon, the intensity of my field of vision increased, and I could finally sense the Dark Lord around me, his presence strikingly strong compared to mine.
"Feel it. You know you need this, you know that we need you for the Harvest."
"Fuck the Harvest," a sharp pain ravaged the inside of my body, I fell to one knee, a hand piercing the concrete and clutching the broken stone. He was right, energy of this surge required immense replenishment, and I well knew that I could only survive on dark energy. My body craved it as fuel; while others needed food and water to survive, I needed the fresh harvest of a darkened soul to keep my will alive.
In past years, it was kept to a great minimum by not actively practicing anything remotely associated to my being, just a quick fix on occasion, which could be easily satisfied by driving through the bad part of town. However, the Dark Lord's presence and sheer ignition of my true power required a greater amount to satiate my thirst, and much as I didn't want to participate in the soul harvest, my body required it to continue to live.
The pain grew worse, but I was able to pull myself back to standing, my eyes searching the distance for any possible target--no one was safe.
A smirk grew over the face of the Dark Lord, "Yes, Moloch, find your prey."
That name, it ignited feelings of discontent and malevolence within me. I hated it, despised it with every inch of my very being. It was the chant that rang in my ears when others worked so desperately to summon me from afar; the calling that rang fear in the hearts of the light warriors.
"No," I growled pulling back and starting a walk towards the train station. Something kept pulling me back towards the marsh adjacent to the office buildings, and the pain increased as I moved away from it. Reaching the end of the parking lot, I coughed a small stream of blood into the cold night air. He stood in front of me, catching the blood in his fingertips and slowly licking it off.
"Fine. You can leave your mortal form and join me for all eternity, or you can satisfy your demonic needs and remain mortal. Either way, I win." He dissolved into the desolate expanse before me.
Breathing heavily, pain shooting in several directions throughout my torso, a steady stream of blood flowing through my parted mouth and onto the concrete, I held my aching body on all fours, eyes ablaze with negative energy. The winds kicked up and shifted, swirling around me, rustling my clothing and backpack, blowing my blood away from me and into the grass and trees around me. A low, deep rumbling erupted within me, an almost animal instinct rising, forcing me to stand up again. I wiped the stream from my lips and walked back through campus, towards the marsh, out by the state park. The summoning was growing stronger and the pain began to ease, that name--Moloch--echoing internally with increasing intensity.
Standing in the middle of the field, a bonfire burned surrounded by people whom considered themselves Satanists or some other dark energy worshippers, expounding the collective draw of the energy. The taste was almost divine, the shared energy and chanting for their demonic fiend. MOLOCH! It thumped through my skull, rattling my skeleton down to my toes. MOLOCH! APPEAR!! WE SUMMON THEE!
Just an excerpt, still working on rewriting the first chapter...
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