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He's a 10 but he bullies Michael, which makes him a 20
" dear me. I hadn't realized that your tastes leaned in that direction, Michael. my mistake. I shall endeavor to correct any future miscommunications between us. @pagetorn, my dear, please keep him on a tighter leash. "
@satanheir surprise.
The place was a wreck. Pieces of broken furniture and glass scattered the floor, stained in their blood. Morgan felt a headache coming on and exhaustion overtook him as he laid still on the floor.
Blood stuck to his forehead and his messy curls, his legs were made of lead and he kept phasing in and out of consciousness. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a fight this intense and Michael proved to be a formidable opponent.
Not that he had underestimated him.
Craning his neck over, he could see Michael laying on the floor from a few feet away, not in any better shape than he was. Soft blond hair splayed across the floor, cuts adorned his flesh and blood stickied his skin.
Unconsciousness fought its way through his tired body, his eyes no longer able to remain open. Everything turned into fuzzy, indiscernible shapes before going black.
continued from here (x)
a bubbly albeit inaudible chuckle escapes the female’s chest. her gesture has been rewarded with mockery. she did not expect any less. tongue presses against the upper row of teeth, sucking slightly before she replies: ❛ threat or treat . . . is there really any difference? ❜
twin judgement drinks in the sight of youth and long hair, fingertips steepled against the buttons on his breast. the count knew his kind by the scent of their affiliation. an amalgamation of perfumes that were ultimately overpowered by the smell of his dead ichor. the river of styx, the blood of the devil, racing through those veins.
when the door swung ajar, he did not stand to greet him, for the count was already seated in @satanheir‘s own room. no lock nor window were broken. he had been invited inside by the bond they sorely shared. the count only sat silently, hidden by the dark. only those dark, judgmental eyes were left haloed by bright light, red and glaring all the same. red lips suffered a sickening smile: ❝ you must be michael. ❞
" You'd tell me if something was wrong, right ? " Questioning Minds Prompt | @satanheir
Exasperation escapes as the blonde enters Michael's temporary room in 'Outpost 3', turning so that she may lock it before she takes a few steps toward Michael, hands lifting to smooth out the lapel's of his velvet suit jacket, ❝. . .Of course I would, love. You needn't worry about anything outside of what you have came here to do.❞ One hand lifts, gently resting against his cheek as she offers him a small smile, ❝ I am feeling a bit ravenous, that's all. . .You sure one of the gray's can't just. . .go missing ? ❞
“ How does it feel to be in @satanheir ‘s presence? ”
Alice looks up from the counter, a perplexed look on her face. There’s a woman standing before her, a book tightly grasped in her hand and an eagerness in the way she leans forward on the tips of her toes expectantly. Her normally inscrutable countenance gives way to the rise of a brow and a tilt of her head. ❝ I’m sorry? I don’t quite know to who you are referring... ❞
“ His unholiness, Michael, of course! You are part of his closest circle. We’ve seen you with him. I had to know what it’s like to be seen by him as worthy. ”
She’s taken aback for a moment. Alice only knows one Michael and the idea that someone was watching them sets a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Never one to enjoy being under the gaze of anyone, she finds herself shirking back, arms crossing over her chest. What does this random stranger know about Michael that she doesn’t? And why would she refer to him as His Unholiness? Nothing makes sense and Alice decides fishing for clarification is her best bet if she wants to understand.
❝ You’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t appreciate being watched and I’m certain Michael would agree with me. We are not in the business of being scrutinized. ❞ The woman seems to step back, head bowing slightly.
“ We would never want to disrupt our Lord. We are here to humbly serve him. As you do. ”
Alice swallows the lump forming in her throat and simply nods. This doesn’t sound right. Mind races, trying to connect what meager dots she manages to gather. There’s too many holes to get a clear picture, until the woman speaks again.
“ We haven’t seen you at Black Mass, but he speaks tonight! I’m sure he’d be thrilled to see you there! ” She slides a folded piece of paper which Alice hastily grabs to see an address scribbled inside. Her heart pounds in her chest, a roaring sound echoing in her ears and she almost misses what the woman says next, though Alice can do nothing but nod at her. “ I’ll wait outside to escort you in. Hail Satan! ”
The little bell of the door as she exits rings and Alice is left alone with her thoughts, knees practically shaking as fingers dig into the counter to hold her up. Is Michael a Satanist? No, if that were the case, they wouldn’t be referring to him as their Lord. Did they believe he was Satan? No... that doesn’t seem right either. Mind rakes against all that she knows, all that she’s read until Alice reminds herself of the Bible and the passages she’s spent once upon a time analyzing. Let no one deceive you in any way. For that day will not come, unless the rebellion comes first, and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of destruction, who opposes and exalts himself against every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, proclaiming himself to be God. Thessalonians 2:3-4
The Anti-Christ
Alice feels sick to her stomach, white as a sheet. Is this why he said he isn’t available tonight? She looks at the folded paper, squeezing it in her palm and crinkling the material into a ball. This isn’t going to end well, one way or the other. She needs to know the truth, if this woman is just a quack that came off the road or maybe, just maybe, she’s telling the truth. Perhaps she’s being led to her death and this is all a trap. That doesn’t make any sense to her, though. They wouldn’t openly reveal themselves like this unless... Alice doesn’t want to think about it but either way, it seems her evening has become more eventful.
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The rain from the afternoon dissipates enough to a soft mist and a rolling fog that sets in over the city. Alice’s heels echo against the asphalt down the alleyway. Fingers curl around the handle of her umbrella, multi-colored eyes scanning the walkway as if at any moment, Michael will appear from the shadows and reveal this was all an elaborate ruse. No such luck.
Instead, the woman is there with another male and what appears to be a bouncer of sorts, all in black. Alice’s grip tightens on the handle as she approaches, noting the upside down cross painted on the side of the building. There’s some back and forth between them, a mix of excitement from the woman and uneasiness from the male. Either way, it ends with her being led inside, folding the umbrella and making her way toward their supposed church.
They’re late, apparently, as Michael has already taken the stand and his voice is recognizable even before she has the chance to step into the room. The duo go to take their seats in the back row while Alice positions herself in the very back between the last two pews, directly in the middle of the aisle as hands come together in front of her and the tip of the umbrella settles in between her feet with a clack against the floor.
This is what he’s been hiding from her, a piece of himself she’d been so desperate to know. Alice sees him clearly before her, the act he’s committing blasphemous in it’s intent. She doesn’t know how long she stands there, enough to get the full affects of what this is and what it might mean. The entire time, her eyes never leave him until the very last moment when she can no longer bear it. Tearing her gaze away, she lifts her umbrella, gloved hands gripping until her knuckles burned in order to ground herself. She turns sharply and heads for the exit, heels clicking against the floor boards and the sound nearly rivaling his voice.
She has no intention of looking back.
She’d been hunting this witch for the past month, tracking her movements, her habits, learning everything she can about her. Rose invades her dreams, prompts nightmares, gets her nice and ready until her pores ooze fear. Tongue washes over her lips in silent hunger, knowing this one will taste better than the last meal she had who, sorely, disappointed her. The night is young, the moon having only just risen as Rose stalks her prey. This hunt isn’t just for her, she needs to remind herself. Empty canisters rest in her bag. Stocks need to be replenished and that’s the main purpose for her hunting alone.
Eyes reflective in the night like a predator, she stalks the girl for ten minutes, waiting as she enters the wooded path leading home. She senses the paranoia, most likely brought on by her incessant night terrors Rose was all too happy to construct. She can already smell that fear penetrating the air and it lures her from the shadows and into the light of the moon. ❝ Well... hi there. ❞ The witch jumps, startled and Rose can’t help but smile. ❝ It’s a bit late to be walking out here all alone. ❞ The girl tries to counter that she’s quite safe without giving away what she is, not that that matters to her at all. It’s when she turns away that she finds Rose standing directly beside her and her head canting to the side.
Screams echo through the woods, reverberating off her bones and thrumming to the beating of her ever calm heart. She feels alive as the steam enters her body like a cool blanket draping over her form. For each breath she takes, she eases the steam into the canisters until she’s managed to fill two of them to the brim before finishing the girl off as she cries for her mother. How tragic. Rose looks down at her bloody hands, taking a cloth and wiping some off as she cuts pieces of the girl’s hair to wrap around the top along with pieces of her clothes and her necklace. Souvenirs to decorate the canisters and remind her which steam it is. ❝ Oh, honey. You tasted like fresh dew off of leaves after it rains with a hint of sweet, sweet tangerine. Your contribution to the Knot is greatly appreciated. ❞ Now, she just needs to hide the body.
That’s when she feels him, emerging from the shadows. She doesn’t know how long @satanheir’s been standing there, watching and that thought alone intrigues her. How was he able to hide himself from her senses? Hands stained and eyes still haunting, Rose turns to face the figure. ❝ Well, isn’t this a turn of events. ❞
“You don’t scare me.”
A devilish grin appears as she steps forward to get a better look at him. The closer she gets, the more she breathes in, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before lips part. He smells... fascinating. ❝ Really? How unfortunate. ❞ She feigns disappointment before taking another deep breath and breaching the distance between them once more to close the gap. ❝ What are you? ❞
" I touch myself whenever I think of you. Every. Single. Time. I rub my temples because you give me a fucking headache. "
“ ah, but see, you do think of me~ whereas I hardly, if ever, give you a thought. ”
