Archangel Crusader (17 page)

Rather than stare at the stage and enjoy the music, Krastinios savored the closeness of the two very beings he would use to bring down his archenemy. Easy work indeed with such trusting, naive, and oh so enjoyable females. He checked once again on the psychic shield he had placed on Jennifer to prevent her from reaching her father. The invisible barrier held. Not a chip in it. A little more patience, and all would be won.

In the meantime, the ballet unfolded on stage in the glorious colors of old Italy. The dancers breathed in the passion of Shakespeare, swaying to the music of Tchaikowsky brought alive by the choreography of Nureyev. Krastinios allowed his mind to wander for a while to his next commitment of the night.

At the intermission, he said his goodbyes, promising to take Jennifer and Tori to dinner at La Tour D'Argent in two days. Jennifer, forgetting her manners, squealed with glee while Tori stared wordlessly, uneasy about something but agreeing nevertheless.

"Wonderful! I will pick you up the day after tomorrow, at six-thirty sharp," Krastinios said as he departed.

*****

When he reached the bottom of the wide stairs fronting the esplanade of the Opera House, a black Mercedes with dark windows pulled silently to the curb. The back door opened and Krastinios slipped inside in a fluid motion. The door made no sound as it closed. The luxury sedan then took the Avenue de l'Opéra in the direction of the River Seine, the traffic lights turning green as the car approached them along the Quai du Louvre.

Within a few minutes, the Mercedes reached the Pont Notre Dame. Past the Prefecture de Police, in front of which two uniformed officers stood guard, the majestic cathedral appeared on the left, its front portals and south walls flooded with electric light. The north side, however, along the rue du Cloître Notre Dame, remained bathed in cold shadows. The quiet vehicle entered the dark street, slowed then stopped for a brief moment along the wrought iron fence. Krastinios exited quickly, then the car vanished into the night traffic.

The black metal gate turned on its hinges. A few stone steps led to a red portal. It opened under Krastinios’ smooth hand, releasing a fragrant cloud of myrrh and benzoin from inside. He entered the cathedral, light steps caressing the mosaic of the marble floor.

When he reached the heart of the sanctuary, he knelt. The impossible height of the venerable ribbed vault was lit only by the pale glow of the outside projectors, through the Chartres-blue stained-glass windows. Krastinios looked up and invoked humbly the one Being he feared and depended upon, his Nefarious Father. Only Lufriec could understand what His son was going through.

"Father, you made me powerful but not as powerful as Thee. Why is it, Father, that I need to maim and kill for my very survival? I know they are simple, uninteresting humans, but isn't there any other way?"

Just then, a shimmer enlivened the very air. In the diffuse brilliance above the altar, a shape slowly came to focus. A green spark sizzled and smoked on the altar stone, leaving an electric scent. Hissing sounds reverberated, bouncing off the high stone pillars while tears of longing welled in Krastinios' velvet eyes. The great shape came to life as the huge monk in a silver robe pushed back the hood, revealing a Reptilian face. The enormous dark eyes of the powerful alien changed color, swirling with emotions, from black to brown and dark green. A forked tongue lashed the still air.

"My son," Lufriec roared, the sound filling the gothic edifice to its highest arches, "For you there is no other way. You need the flux of energy from many human lives lost in agony before you can reach the level required to fulfill your destiny. Remember that your nemesis also accumulates strength. You must prevail in the end. The survival of our race is at stake..."

"I know, Father." Krastinios bowed humbly.

"Make the most of tonight’sl offering, my son." Lufriec gave the cathedral a circular gaze. “By the way, I like your choice of place." There was a hint of cold glee in the voice now. "It is absolutely perfect."

"Thank you, Father, I thought you would like it." Krastinios smiled, then serious again, he implored, "Bless me, Father, for I need the support of your might."

"Rise, my son, my pride and joy. You have my unconditional support. I bless you, my child, with the powers of your birthright. May you succeed in your dangerous quest."

The apparition rippled and vanished in a vibration of hissing chords that lingered after he had gone. A small serpent of green light slithered and disappeared beyond the edge of the altar. Then silence and semi-darkness took possession of the medieval edifice once more, with only the smell of incense and the glow of the projectors filtering through the stained-glass windows.

Krastinios felt rejuvenated. He circled the altar to reach the hidden door behind it. A slight pressure of long fingers on the head of a golden cherub prompted the opening of a low door in the stone wall. The floor slid to reveal a secret staircase that led down to the buried crypt.

Krastinios descended into darkness. Materializing a lit candle, he set it in a niche in the wall to light the stairs then continued down to the low-ceilinged room. He inhaled the cool musty air and walked to the altar set on a central platform surrounded by stone steps. From the center of the circular room, his long shadow danced, caressing the thick pillars all the way to the stone benches. Stone effigies lay very still on the sepulchers lining the periphery of the wall.

Concentrating for a few seconds, Krastinios purified the place for the special occasion. Red torches suddenly appeared in sconces, illuminating the domed ceiling. The altar, floor and circular stone rims shone as if made of polished black marble. The temperature in the room rose to a more comfortable level while a pentagram drew itself, red on the smooth black floor, the altar standing in its center.

Soon, several black-hooded silhouettes, each carrying a candle, shuffled silently along the outside perimeter of the circle. They took their places on the semicircular benches, setting the candles in the niches of the wall. A slumped veiled figure, supported by two sturdy males, was then led to the altar. The Chosen. Once there, she thankfully collapsed, her nudity under the black transparency of the muslin veil becoming evident in the glow of the torches.

Krastinios waved a hand toward the door. The opening in the wall sealed itself shut with a rasping of stone, then an eerie harmony echoed throughout the crypt. When a loud clap resounded, the hooded participants rose, then Krastinios intoned a ritual in Latin. "Oh Nefarious Father, deign to look upon us with compassion. We implore Thy presence and Thy blessing as we celebrate Thy power in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Serpent. Et cum spiritu tuo."

"Amen," came the chorus reply.

From nowhere, Krastinios produced gold decanters full of wine, with matching goblets that he passed around. He also distributed baskets of delicacies. The aphrodisiac in the wine and the cocaine in the food would soon enliven the mood.

Casting an appraising look on the sacrificial lamb, chosen for her beauty as well as for her sexual endurance, Krastinios then ascended the steps to the altar. At present, drugged as she was, the young woman had no knowledge of her surrounding. Soon enough, however, the narcotic would wear off.

Krastinios delicately removed the veil shading her face, then stared into the unfocused pupils. Her eyes look darker than their natural pale green. How he liked the sweet helplessness, the vulnerable expression on the Chosen's face. Krastinios then removed the pins from the lustrous coppery hair and smiled encouragingly. The Chosen smiled back, as if charmed and comforted by his attention.

The participants stared, some of them holding their breath. When he had everyone’s attention, Krastinios pulled out the bejeweled dagger he used for human sacrifices. The sinuous blade gleamed in the warm light. Applying the exquisite razor-sharp edge to the front of the woman's long black veil, he slit the flimsy fabric then pulled her nudity toward him in a soft embrace, gently kissing her lips. The Chosen smiled nebulously and melted in his arms, slowly waking to her sensual cravings, still unaware of her plight.

Krastinios laid her down on the warm stone and covered her body with kisses first. Then, as she writhed under him in arousal, he kept her down under his weight. Reaching for her hands, Krastinios produced soft black leather ties from under the edge of the altar and bound her wrists to a metal ring at the head of the altar stone.

The Chosen groaned in anticipation, inviting Krastinios to move down her body. How he enjoyed her eagerness to please! He spread her legs apart and bound them to the far corners of the sacrificial stone. Wanton hips contorted in sexual beckoning while hard breasts swelled and fell to the rhythm of the woman's heavy sighs.

Krastinios rose straightening his clothes with nonchalant ease. "Since we are among friends, let's enjoy our special party... I think our lovely surprise is ready to be consummated. Make yourselves comfortable and suit your fancy. I will give a reward for the most original fantasy acted out here tonight."

The eerie music grew louder and the tempo accelerated. Some participants removed hoods and face veils, unleashing thick tresses of perfumed hair. It suddenly felt very warm, the low ceiling and dim torchlight adding to the oppressive sensation. The eyes of men and women alike burned with shameless lust. Articles of clothing came off, revealing haphazardly muscular thighs, a hard male member, small firm breasts. Heavy bosoms heaved to the rhythm of undulating bellies and rounded buttocks. Soft hairy triangles, alive with heat and exploring fingers, released a sexual aroma..

A powerful male, unclad except for a black hood, approached first the low altar. He stepped up and knelt astride the vulnerable chest of the Chosen. As the drug started to wear off, the bound woman blinked in wonder, shock registering in her green eyes. When she opened her mouth, the man seized her head roughly and shoved his throbbing member deep into her throat. She coughed and choked and cried. Meanwhile, the other participants came closer, to observe and prepare for their own desecration of the offering.

A full-figured woman neared the sacrificial table and lowered herself onto the highest step of the altar. Wetting her fingers, she worked the small sensitive knob of the victim's most private parts. The Chosen’s back arched under the gentle but insistent pressure. The plump woman then teased her mercilessly with tongue and teeth, sending her quarry into a flurry of wild quivering. The man on top erupted in tremulous release, then vacated the altar, making room for more to participate.

When the Chosen finally came back to reality, she was beyond caring. The scent of mating, the heat, the repeated stimulation, all contributed to her surrender. The participants quenched her parched throat with wine, soothed her with kisses. All took turns at the desecration.

The panting creature gasped but still showed wantonness. Her skin glistened. Drops and rivulets of perspiration dripped from her brow and upper lip. Her voice weakened, raw from groaning. Yet, again and again she gave in to the irresistible craving, never satisfied, never complete, never fully satiated. Even when overcome by several partners intent on satisfying her needs, the desperate soul begged for more.

When the giant with the whip came into her field of view, however, the Chosen paled. Garbed in a black leather mask and wide leather straps, the tormentor's stance made his intent clear. He laughed harshly at the dismay on his victim's face. She pulled on her restraints and started to plead, but he only raised the thick leather braid. Clenching her jaw, the woman tensed for the blow. It came hard, leaving a red snaky mark on the pale skin. The Chosen winced, then she howled like a wounded animal.

The activity around the altar stopped as everyone concentrated on this new entertainment. Some participants, aroused by the scene, found a willing partner to appease their fancy. The bullwhip slowly rose then lashed, harder every time, each stroke extracting a broken scream and leaving a new angry welt on the soft skin. When he could not hold his arousal anymore, the tormentor threw aside the whip, straddled the altar, lifted the Chosen’s hips, then crudely relieved himself in her bleeding rectum while the spectators cheered.

Only Krastinios had not participated... Yet. Fully clothed, relishing the heat, he presided over the ritual from his elevated throne. The black knight had waited patiently, bathing in the energy released for his benefit. Now, he rose, casually stepping down from the black marble seat. As he approached the sacrificial platform, his underlings respectfully made room for their powerful master.

Gently, Krastinios untied the whimpering victim then gathered her in his arms, offering understanding and comfort. With a sigh of relief, the Chosen collapsed and sobbed against his chest.

At a snap of his fingers, four stout men approached the altar. Each taking hold of a wrist or ankle, gently at first, they held the woman firmly down. She protested feebly, hurt and distrust fleeting on her face. Then Krastinios pulled the bejeweled dagger from the fold of his black leather tunic and held it aloft, in ritual offering, for his Father’s blessing.

"You are doing fine," Krastinios assured the trembling girl. "In this safe place, no one can hear you. You may scream all you like... The more the better."

Smiling all the time as if to reassure the girl, Krastinios waited until full understanding and terror registered on the Chosen’s face. Too scared to scream, she stared as he lowered the knife, ever so slowly, to her spread genitals and penetrated her with the blade.