The Devil’s Pact Chapter 52: The Tyrant’s Daughter
Introduction:
Chase, the daughter of Mark and Mary, narrates her life growing up as the Tyrants’ daughter.
by mypenname3000
edited by Master Ken
Copyright 2013, 2014
Chapter Fifty-Two: The Tyrants’ Daughter
Visit my blog at www.mypenname3000.com.
After the death of Dagon and the end of the Great Eclipse, the followers of the demoness Lilith were rounded up. Lana and Chantelle, High Priestesses of Lilith, were vociferous in their praise of their dead goddess, and went to the gallows for their crimes, along with many of the ‘Coven’, the first group of women to worship Lilith. The most notable pardons went to Fiona and Thamina, who raised Lily, the daughter of Lana and Chantelle. The pair spent their lives rebuilding Seattle and aiding the victims of Lilith’s tyranny. To this day, they are remembered fondly in Seattle, and a statue in their honor was raised at Pioneer Park.
–Excerpt from ‘The Rise and Fall of the American Theocracy’ by Tina Allard, a Holy Witness
Chasity Glassner
I was born three minutes after midnight, May 2nd, 2014 by the old calendar. My parents always said I was the most beautiful baby in the world, fitting for a newborn Goddess. I’ve seen the pictures; I was a squalling ball of pink, no different from any other baby. I was named after Chasity Sarah Vinter, the Holy Martyr who died protecting my mother before I was ever even conceived.
My earliest memories are of my dad, the God Mark Glassner, staring intently at a map. I was maybe three, toddling about inside an iron room, the Matmown, in the mansion’s basement. I now know he was plotting the final push against the Demoness Astarte who ruled Western Europe. It has always stayed with me how focused he looked, his blue eyes hard with determination.
I didn’t see much of my parents those first eleven years of my life. The Demons of Hell had been loosed when I was only six months old, and Mother and Father spent a decade prying mankind out of their clutches. By the time I was five, Dagon, Chemosh, Astarte, Baal-zebub, and Asherah were all slain by Father. When my parents were around, they loved me fiercely. Mother would scoop me up, her green eyes flashing with love, and cover me with kisses, while Father would tickle me until I laughed so hard I couldn’t breath.
“Well, at least there’s one woman in my life I can win a tickling contest with,” he would joke as I gasped for breath, his blue eyes twinkling. Then Mother would attack him, tickling away. Mother always won. And then they would start kissing, and a maid would pick me up and take me to go play with my siblings while Mother and Father did ‘adult stuff’.
Since Mother and Father were so busy, I would often spend time with the other children in the mansion: my half-brother Silas, half-sisters Delilah and Andrea, and my uncle Michael. We were all born within a month of each other; Silas was the oldest, then Andrea and Delilah, then me, and finally Uncle Michael, Mother’s youngest sibling. I tried to play with them, but there was a gulf between us. I was the daughter of both Mother and Father, a Goddess, while Micheal was merely a mortal, and Silas, Andrea, and Delilah were only demigods. Michael had the maids’ and bodyguards’ children to play with, and Silas, Andrea, and Delilah were inseparable, always getting into trouble together.
I was so very lonely.
It was Grandfather who sensed how lonely I was. He was Mother’s father, and was old. One of the oldest appearing persons in my life. The mansion was filled with mostly young, beautiful women that served my parents, their youths frozen by the Zimmah bond. There were a few men married to various maids, cooks, or bodyguards, but it was mostly women in the house.
“Here, Chase, why don’t you come read with your grandpa,” he said one day.
I was never lonely after that. Grandfather introduced me to the world of books. I read everyday, transported to magical worlds. Whenever I finished a book, Grandfather and I would discuss them; he would point out what the book meant, the themes, and what the author was trying to teach me.
“But it was just a story,” I objected.
“All the great works will teach you something,” Grandfather explained. “About life, about love, about history, or politics. Some will exhort you to be a better human, others will show you the folly of one particular idea.”
“And what if they’re wrong?” I asked.
“That’s why you have a brain,” he answered. “Consider what they say, weigh their evidence, and decide for yourself if they are right or wrong.”
As I grew older, my half-siblings, my uncle, and I began our education. Grandfather taught most of the subjects, and Sam, the Vizier, taught us Hebrew and Aramaic. As we became older, entering our preteen years, other sons and daughters of Father joined us: Meredith, Lillian’s shy daughter; Marcelo and Calypso, Desiree and Alison’s children, born only a few weeks apart; and, when I was fourteen, little Justin, Jessica’s son, started school. Only Gang, Xiu’s son with Father, was too young to start his education by the time I turned eighteen.
I came to love weddings; everyone in the family, and that included the sluts, would show up. Mother and Father; my aunt Antsy and her wife Via; Aunt Missy and Aunt Shannon, and their husbands, Damien and George; Grandfather and Grandmother, who looked as young as Mother; and Nana Sandy and Nana Betty. They were the happiest times of my childhood.
The earliest one I could remember was Aunt Antsy’s wedding to Via. Andrea and I were the flower girls and Silas was the ring bearer; poor Delilah spent the day crying because she didn’t get to be in the wedding party. Then Jessica married Debra Darnell, a reporter whose first husband had died in the Wormwood Plague. It seemed that every year, family members were getting married: April and Hayfa, Sam and Candy, Korina and Xiu. Everyone seemed to be in a rush to get married.
Cindy, Violet’s wife, explained it to me at April’s wedding, “Tomorrow any one of us could die, and we all just wanted something permanent, something official in case the worst happened to our loves.”
Violet smiled at her, and kissed her wife.
And some did die. Hayfa was killed in a field hospital outside Delhi in the final push to kill Marduk; April cried for her wife an entire year. When Ashtoreth, the final Demon, launched a surprise, desperate attack on the mansion just a few weeks before my eleventh birthday, April and Xiu, along with many bodyguards and maids, died. I watched Father and Mother fight for the first time while hiding beneath a hedge, killing scores of the demons that poured out of portals opened across the mansion’s grounds. They were magnificent. The demons fled in terror before their powers, and Ashtoreth was forced to kneel before Father, slumped and defeated, before he beheaded her and absorbed her powers.
The Demon Wars that had consumed my early childhood ended. The world could finally rebuild beneath Father and Mother’s direction. Administrative districts were set up; family and friends were appointed to rule over the fourteen districts. Mother and Father finally were home for long periods of time. It was the happiest time of my life.
When I turned twelve, Mother gave me ‘the talk,’ teaching me about sex. “You know how boys have a penis?” she asked me.
“And girls have a vagina,” I answered, flushing at saying such a word in front of my mother.
My eyes grew wide as she explained the ‘adult stuff’ she and Father did. She was quite frank, and my cheeks burned as she explained different positions and techniques. It sounded very messy and icky, and I told Mother that.
Mother just laughed. “Well, you’ll soon be old enough to fuck, if you want to.”
I blushed, my cheeks warming. “No, thank you!”
“In a few years, I bet you change your mind,” laughed Mother, hugging me. “Your Father and I want to be the first ones to be with you, sweety. When you’re old enough and ready.”
I felt a tingle in my body. “Really?” Father was such a hunk, and when I thought about him my pussy sometimes felt funny. Maybe it was worth all the mess.
“Yeah, you’re going to make us all immortals.”
“Really?” I asked, smiling.
“Yep.”
I wasn’t as ready to rush into sex as my siblings. When they were sixteen, Silas was found with Delilah and Andrea in bed with him. “That’s my son,” Father had laughed when he heard about it.
It was another year before I was ready.
On my seventeenth birthday, my parents threw an elaborate party for me. It was a lot more ‘adult’ than my previous parties, and none of the children had been invited. Bishop Mattock and his wife, Jessie, brought a few temple prostitutes for entertainment, and a beautiful Black woman gave me a lap dance as everyone cheered. She ground her plump tush on my crotch and rubbed her ebony breasts in my face. I felt giddy, tipsy on champagne, as this beautiful woman cavorted on me.
“Happy birthday, Chase,” Father said to me after the lap dance was over, holding out his hand to me and helping me up. His cock was hard, and shiny with some woman’s juices.
My entire body felt like it was on fire, starting at my little pussy. I’d never felt so horny before, and I wanted to slip away and stroke my little kitten until it purred. Mother appeared, naked and flushed, and took my other hand.
“Are you ready, Chase?” she asked me.
“Yes, Mom,” I told her. I was ready to pop my cherry and become a woman.
Everyone cheered; they knew what was about to happen.
“Give her a good tumble, big bro,” Aunt Antsy catcalled.
“Make her howl, Mary,” Aunt Missy cooed, and pinched my ass as I walked by.
“I hope you won’t forget about your Grandfather,” he winked, as Grandmother fondly laughed, “Dirty, old man.”
I trembled as we entered their bedroom. Candles lit the room, and incense burned lavender and sweet. Father kissed me, his blue eyes shining with lust, as Mother’s hands found the zipper of my new dress, a low-cut, dark-blue party dress with a ruffled skirt. The cool silk slid down my skin, exposing my naked body to my Father’s gaze. I shivered. He was so strong, so powerful, and I wanted to be taken by him.
“We made a beautiful child, Mare,” Father leered; his hand reached out and gently cupped my breast. They were small, perky, and covered in freckles, just like Mother’s.
“Yes, we did,” Mother purred, standing next to me and sliding a hand up my waist to cup my other breast.
“You two could be sisters,” Father whispered. “You look so much alike.”
I flushed; Mother was the most beautiful woman, and I was happy to be compared to her. Mother kissed at my neck as Father’s fingers pinched at my nipple. My eyes found his cock. It was so hard, jutting out at me. And it looked so big. How was that going to fit in me?
“It’ll be okay,” Mother whispered. “Relax.”
She must have felt me tense. Her lips found mine, and I was kissed for the very first time by a lover. I had practiced kissing with Andrea and Delilah, but it was nothing like the passion Mother had for me. I cocked my head, trying to move my lips like she was. Mother’s tongue flickered through my mouth. I moaned, and kissed her back. Her fingers stroked my skin, building my ardor to higher levels.
I was breathless when she broke the kiss, and Father was there, turning my face. I trembled, staring into his deep, blue eyes. He kissed me. It was different than Mother’s, rougher, more powerful, and I melted into his strength. I could feel his hard cock rubbing on my stomach, leaving a wet streak of something on my belly. Not pee? Did he cum already? No, it’s precum, remembering Mother’s quite frank sex talk from a few years ago.
We fell upon the bed in a tangle of kissing bodies. Hands roamed me, groping my breasts, gently pinching my nipples, stroking my thighs. Mother toyed with my thick mat of fiery-red pubic hair, then slid down to find my wet pussy. I shuddered and came as the first person touched my sex. It was intense, glorious, so much better than using my own fingers in my bower at night.
“She’s so wet,” Mother purred, then licked her fingers, tasting my juices. “Umm, tart and sweet.”
She held her fingers up for Father, and he savored my passion. “I have to get a better taste,” he grinned.
He spread my legs and Mother stretched out beside me as Father’s whiskers scratched at my thighs. “You are in for a treat, Chase,” she cooed, licking my ear. “Your dad is a wonderful pussy eater. He’s had a lot of practice on me.”
“Can I taste you?” I asked, a little hesitant. Father’s tongue toyed with my pussy lips, stirring my lust.
“I would love that, baby girl.”
She straddled my face, her beautifully waxed pussy descending to my lips. Father buried his face into my hairy snatch, and I realized that I wanted to have a bald cunt just like Mother. Father’s tongue felt amazing, rough and wet, as he explored my folds. I tried to copy what he was doing to me on Mother’s spicy, sweet flower.
“Oh, Chase!” Mother moaned. “Umm, you’re a quick study! Nuzzle my clit. Yes, just like that, baby-girl. Oh, fuck! Oh, my baby-girl!”
I almost panicked when a flood of juices poured out of Mother’s cunt into my lips. Then I heard her moans and gasps, and I realized I had made her cum. I felt so happy as Mother ground her pussy into my eager mouth. Father was really eating me, his tongue fucking into my pussy hole, pressing against my hymen as his fingers skillfully manipulated my little pleasure button.
Mother slid off my face, and licked her juices off my cheek. “Are you about to cum, baby-girl? Is daddy’s tongue driving you wild?”
“Yes, Mom!” I groaned. “Oh, Daddy, you’re making me feel so good. I love you so much! You and Mom!”
“Aww,” Mother sighed, a tear brimming in her eye. “I love you, too, baby-girl.”
Father showed his love by bringing me to an earth-shattering orgasm. I bucked and moaned, Father hanging on for dear life as he ate me out. It seemed like every nerve in my body exploded with pleasure while Mother held my hand and smiled encouragingly at me. And then it passed, and I collapsed onto the bed, breathing heavily.
“Thank you, Daddy,” I gasped as he crawled up the bed. He kissed me on the lips. I tasted my pussy, it tasted as sweet as Mother’s, but had a tart flavor instead of a spicy one.
I could feel Father’s cock prodding the entrance of my pussy. He broke the kiss, staring his blue eyes into mine, and asked, “Are you ready, Chase?”
“Yes, make me a woman, Daddy!”
Mother squeezed my hand as Father drove his cock into me; for a moment, my hymen resisted, then his cock broke through and sank into me, filling me up. “Eylowm!” Father hissed in my ear.
Energy burst inside of me, flowing out of my body and into Father’s. Our bodies were connected, and this energy formed a bond between our very souls. My life-force touched Father’s, and we merged together briefly. Pleasure exploded through me. I thought my last orgasm was amazing—this one blew it away. As our souls merged, I became ecstasy, driving every thought from my mind except the exquisite pleasure blossoming inside me. Father’s cum shot into me, warm and wet, and filled me up. Mother’s hand squeezed mine and I heard her moans of pleasure. Her soul was so connected with Father’s, our joining touched her’s as well.
“Holy shit!” I gasped when our souls parted.
“You did it, baby-girl,” Mother praised. “None of us will ever die. Your father is immortal.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, and I really didn’t care, as Father started driving his cock in and out of my pussy. Every thrust filled me up, stretching my little hole. There was some pain, but it was a beautiful ache, and dwarfed by the pleasure every stroke of his cock gave me. I wrapped my arms around him, my fingers raking his back as I pumped my hips. I needed to cum again. I needed to feel my father’s seed pouring into me.
“Oh, yes!” I groaned. “Fuck me, Daddy! Harder! Oh, I’m going to cum again!”
My little cunt spasmed on my Father’s cock as he pounded me. I could only moan wordlessly and pump my hips. I learned to grind my clit into his groin, and that pleasure quickly built another orgasm inside me. His rod kept pistoning into me, faster, harder, more frantic. I felt so full, and his shaft’s every thrust sparked greater and greater passion inside me.
“My baby-girl,” he groaned. “Your pussy feels so amazing, Chase! Fuck!”
His cum shot into me a second time, sending me over the edge. I went rigid; my orgasm writhed through me. “Oh, yes, Daddy!” I groaned. “Oh, yes, thank you, thank you!”
“You’re welcome, baby-girl,” he sighed, and then he rolled off me. I felt empty. Mother cuddled on one side of Father, and I cuddled on the other, smiling happily. “This is the best birthday ever.”
Mother’s hand stroked my cheek. “It’s not over yet, baby-girl,” she smiled.
She ate me out, devouring all of Father’s cum from my naughty cunt, then she tongued my asshole. It felt weird when she slid first one, then two fingers into my ass, lubing me up with my pussy juices. Father was fucking her from behind, his muscular body glinting with sweat, his face contorted with animalistic pleasure as he pounded her. Then I had the pleasure of eating out Father’s cum from Mother’s pussy, enjoying his salty cream and her savory juices while Father took my anal cherry. We fucked the night away, in every combination and position, until we all collapsed sweaty in their bed, Mother and I cuddling on either side of Father.
After that, I couldn’t get enough of sex—and there was a mansion full of beautiful women for me to experience. I fucked my half-siblings, I fucked the sluts, I fucked my Aunts and Uncles, my Grandfather, and Grandmothers. I worked my way through every maid we had. My poor pussy felt so abused after the end of the first week. Luckily, Sam showed me this cream she had created, rubbing first the soothing lotion, and then her cock, deep inside my pussy.
“It’s your choice if you want to be bound to us,” Mother always said. “You can be free to live your life, grow old, and die, or be young and live forever with those that love you.”
As my eighteenth birthday approached, I made my choice. “I want to be bound to Mom,” I told my parents a week before my birthday. “No offense, Dad, but it lets Grandpa get involved.”
Father laughed, and rubbed my head, mussing my hair—I hated when he did that. “You do seem to be an affectionate granddaughter.”
“Ever since you sent him and Grandma to Washington D.C. to govern North America, I don’t get to see him that much,” I pointed out. “He is coming for my birthday, right?”
“Of course he is,” Mother reassured, and reached out and gripped my hand. I was going to be the first child bound to them; the trio of Silas, Delilah, and Andrea were waiting for their three-way wedding in a month to be bound.
I was full of energy all week; I’m sure I drove everyone in the mansion nuts, but I was just so excited to see Grandpa. Finally, the day arrived, and my parents threw a lavish party for me. Every Governor and Bishop showed up, all my parents’ old friends and their most devoted worshipers. Once again, the entertainment was brought by Bishop Mattock and his stable of Temple Prostitutes.
“I was his first prostitute,” Jessie, Bishop Kevin’s wife, confided in me as we slipped into an alcove in the ballroom, one of many constructed so people could find a nice, intimate spot. She was a bubbly blonde that looked only twenty. “And it’s all thanks to your Father that we got together.”
Jessie gave me a screaming orgasm. She was one of many men and women that were eager to bed a Goddess. I was my mother’s daughter, and I shared my affections with as many guests as I could before the binding ceremony. A bed had been assembled in the center of the hall, and we all watched Mother getting ravished by Grandfather while Dawn and Rose Cunningham led the assembled clergy in a hymn of praise.
I approached the bed when they were finished, Mother’s legs spread wide and her cunt glistening with cum and juices. I crawled across the crimson silk sheets, inhaled the bouquet, and licked deeply into her pussy. Grandfather was salty and Mother was sweet.
“Zimmah,” Mother intoned.
Energy seemed to flow from Grandfather into Mother and me, binding me to Mother with chains stronger than death. I shuddered, breathing in deeply. “We’ll be together forever, Mommy,” I sighed.
“Yes, we will, baby-girl,” she smiled, as everyone cheered.
As the party was winding down, I cornered my Grandfather, “You haven’t given me your gift yet,” I pouted.
“I wanted to give it to you in private,” he said.
“Well, I have a surprise for you, too,” I giggled wantonly. “Why don’t you come to my bedroom in fifteen minutes.”
“Sure, Chase.”
I slipped out of the ballroom as an orgy formed with those guests still here; Mother and Father were at the center of it. Mother had Alison rimming her ass as Bishop Addison ate her pussy. Father was buried beneath a pile of female flesh made of Aunt Antsy, Jessie, one of Governor Chris’s busty wives, and Jessica.
I entered my bedroom and found the outfit that Lillian helped me procure. “They’re quite hard to find these days,” she had said. “Have fun!” When Grandfather entered the room, a smile broadened his face as he saw me standing coquettishly.
“My sweet Chase, how beautiful you are,” he smiled.
“I heard you like naughty schoolgirls,” I purred, feeling his eyes rake my body.
I wore a white, button-down blouse tied below my breasts to leave my flat stomach exposed; a tartan skirt, green-and-blue, fell in pleated folds down to my upper thighs, and knee-high, white socks completed the look. I had my auburn hair in a ponytail, hanging over my left shoulder to add a splash of color on the white blouse.
A smile creased his face, and he ran a hand through his red hair streaked with gray. He walked to me, cupped my chin, and stared into my blue eyes. “I love naughty schoolgirls.” His hand slid down to squeeze my breast through the blouse, his finger brushing my nipple. “You’ve been a such a bad girl, haven’t you?”
“I have,” I purred.
“You’ll need to be disciplined.”
I blinked, not sure where this was going, but Grandfather’s lust was making me feel so womanly, that I didn’t resist as he sat down the bed, and pulled me over his lap. He was going to spank me, I realized, as he drew up my skirt.
“Naughty slut, no panties,” he hissed, rubbing his hands roughly across my exposed ass.
“I forgot them,” I said, trying to sound scared and innocent. Grandfather’s cock bulged beneath me.
His hand fell on my ass with a meaty smack, stinging my flesh. I yelped in pain. “You are such a bad little girl!” he groaned. Smack! “So bad!” Smack!
My ass burned, then his hand gently rubbed the flesh, soothing the hurt and building a fire inside me. He spanked me again, harder, and juices leaked out of my cunt. I squirmed, eager for the next strike. I felt so naughty.
“Ohh, spank me, sir!” I moaned. “Punish me!”
Smack! My bottom quivered; the pain went straight to my clit, feeding my fires. He kept spanking me, and I writhed on his lap, rubbing my clit into his thigh. Then he slapped right on my cunt, a wet, smacking sound that shot pain and pleasure through me.
I exploded. “Yes, yes!” I screamed. “I’m so bad!”
He rubbed my cunt, smacked it a second time, and growled, “What a whorish girl you are! I guess I’m going to need to use my rod to punish you!”
I gave a throaty laugh. “Punish me with your thick tool!”
He threw me down on my bed, shoved a pillow underneath my stomach, and knelt behind me. I heard his pants unzip; his cock smacked my plump, smarting asscheek. “Little sluts like you need a hard rod to keep you in line!” he groaned as he shoved his cock into me.
“Fuck me! Pound my little snatch!” I groaned. “Punish me!”
My bed creaked as he slammed his cock into me. The angle let him drive deep, his cock rubbing down the top of my hole, brushing my G-spot. I quivered, and started cumming after just a few strokes, my little cunt rippling on his cock.
“You fucking whore!” he groaned. “You came already?”
“Your tool feels so good!” I panted.
“It’s supposed to be a punishment! I think a different hole needs to be reamed!”
“Umm, I couldn’t agree more!”
He spread my cheeks, pulling his cock out of my drenched pussy. I had lubed him well, and he speared into my ass with little resistance. I’ve had many cocks up my ass, and I thrust back against his cock, enjoying how he filled me up. His groin smacked into my pillowy cheeks, aching pain shooting through me, and I shoved my ass up into his strokes.
“Fuck my ass!” I chanted. “Fuck me! Fuck my naughty, schoolgirl ass, Grandpa!”
I wormed my right hand between me and the pillow, found my hard clit, and stroked my pleasure button. Grandfather kept pounding my ass, stirring up my pleasure as I struck sparks on my clit.
“I love your ass, Chase!” he moaned. “My beautiful granddaughter! You look so much like your mother. There’s even a bit of your grandmother in your face!”
I frigged my clit, pushing hard on the sensitive nub, so close to cumming. “Fuck me harder!” I shouted. “I need to cum!
He slapped my ass, stinging pain shooting to my pussy, then hunched over me, and pistoned his cock rapidly in and out of my ass. Shivers of pleasure burst through me. I moaned wordlessly as my orgasm shot through me like electricity. My ass milked his cock, transmitting my pleasure to him. Cum erupted violently into me, flooding my ass as Grandfather pumped a few more times, then collapsed atop me.
He spooned me for a while, tracing my arm, as we caught our breath. I felt so warm, so safe, in his arms. “I love you, Grandpa,” I sighed.
“I love you, too.” The bed creaked and he sat up. I rolled over and watched him walk over and pick up a rectangular present bound in colorful paper. A book! I smiled, and eagerly took it from him.
I ripped open the package. The book was old, the pages yellowing. I’ve always wanted to have a new book, but none were published these days. Well, not the story ones anyway. The Living Church encouraged its worshipers to only read from the Account of the Gods, the collection of holy scriptures written by various bishops and sluts, or other officially sanctioned books used to educate children.
I glanced at the cover. ‘On Liberty’ by John Stuart Mill.
“Let this be our little secret,” Grandfather said. “I don’t think your parents would approve of this one.”
I clutched the book to my chest, eager to have this secret with my Grandfather. The book opened my eyes, everything it said seemed to contradict the teachings of the Church and the way my parents had cultivated humanity. It taught that men should be free to act as they will, so long as their actions do not unduly harm another. The Theocracy taught that men must obey the will of the Living Gods and their earthly representatives without question or hesitation.
A month later, right after Silas married Andrea and Delilah, I embarked on a tour of various parts of the World, to let the citizens see their Goddess and know that they were loved. ‘On Liberty’ opened my eyes to the oppression of the World. Many cities had been destroyed, many lives lost, when the Demons escaped Hell, and much had to be rebuilt. There was a sameness to everything now. There seemed to be only a dozen different plans for houses; neighborhoods in rebuilt Paris looked the same as ones in Jerusalem. Government buildings were built to the exact same plan, laid out in squares with each building resting at the same spot in the square. The same statues dotted parks and the same fountains were the centerpieces of squares. The only things beautiful or original were the monuments and buildings that had survived the Demon Wars. The Gods had approved the new building plans, and no-one had either the daring or the desire to build something different.
Even the citizens were all the same. Sure they had different skin colors, different facial features, but they were identical. Farmers wore the same roughspun garb; miners dressed in leather jackets and orange helmets; nurses in their low-cut, white dresses. They all smiled and talked to each other politely. And they all stared at me in awe. Every last person was under my parents’ powers, ordered to love their neighbors, to obey the laws, and to never harm another human. There was no culture nor diversity.
There was no humanity.
The citizens were happy and healthy, they had food and shelter. They were slaves, even if their manacles were invisible. Human nature is not a machine to be built after a model, John Stuart Mill had written almost two hundred years ago, and set to do exactly the work prescribed for it, but a tree, which requires to grow and develop itself on all sides, according to the tendency of the inward forces which make it a living thing.
I was horrified and, when I returned home, I foolishly expected my parents to see the error of their ways when I carefully explained it to them. We sat at dinner, served by scantily clad maids. Supposedly, they were all volunteers, but was that true? How could they not volunteer, when they were told to obey their Gods and love them and serve them in any way possible by the Church and my parents’ weekly broadcasts?
Mother stared in disbelief when I finished my lecture on how their actions, while well-meaning, were tyrannical and robbing the people of the world of their most inalienable right—the liberty to make their own decisions.
“She’s your daughter,” Father laughed and Mother glared at him.
“You have to understand, Chase, we did it for their own good,” Mother patiently explained, like I was a child, and I set my teeth.
“And why can’t they make their own choices?” I demanded. “Why do they have to take the aptitude test and be assigned their jobs and their housing. Even their spouses are chosen for them. What’s the harm in a little freedom?”
“Give man an inch, and he’ll take a foot,” Father answered. “Humans do poorly with freedom.”
“And that’s why you won’t let them choose their own spouses? What about love? About finding that special someone and choosing to be with them?”
“They’re free to love,” Mother answered. “They’re assigned spouses based on personality and suitable genetic traits. They’re free to take any lover they want.”
“And what if they hate their spouse?” I demanded.
“They won’t,” Father answered. “When assigned, they’re told that they will always love each other. We care about our followers, and only want the best for them.”
I threw my hands up. “That’s what I mean. You’re taking away even the most intimate decision they can make!”
“What’s the harm, they’re happy,” Mother answered. “Our system makes all the decisions for them, leaving them free to enjoy their lives as they make the world a better place.”
“But they don’t live, they just exist! You’ve robbed them of free will, of what makes them human! Why not give them just a little freedom? What is so wrong about that?”
Father stared at me. “Do you know what the world was like before the Theocracy?”
“I’ve watched your movies.”
“Those were fiction!” he snapped. “Like the books that have poisoned your mind. Before we imposed our Utopia, men had all the freedom they wanted, and what did they do with it?”
I shrugged, wilting beneath my Father’s anger.
“Men were brutal beasts. Every day, thousands were murdered, raped, and brutalized. Mothers drowned their children because they inconvenienced their love lives, husbands murdered their wives for insurance payouts, and children killed their parents for drug money. Companies sold products that killed and maimed, covering up their crimes to keep their profit margins. Dictators starved their people, while religious extremists butchered those that disagreed on how to worship the same god. There is no depth to the evil and depravity that men and women can sink to.”
“Thanks to us, people only die from accidents, old age, and illness,” Mother added. “And your Father and I try our best to stop illnesses.”
“That the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others. His own good, either physical or moral, is not a sufficient warrant,” I quoted from ‘On Liberty’. “Just because someone might do something, or because you think you know better, is not a good enough reason to impose your will on them!” I slammed my fist into the table. “What gives you the right to make slaves of mankind?”
“We are Gods, Chase,” Father answered. “That gives us all the right.”
I didn’t have an answer to that. ‘On Liberty’ didn’t cover the ethics of an actual God, only temporal governments. Suddenly, I felt unsure. Father sounded so certain, so commanding, that I felt foolish for even challenging him.
“There has to be something better,” I lamely answered.
“There isn’t,” Mother said, reaching out and taking my hand. “Trust us, baby-girl. Humans are children, and we’re their loving parents. We know what’s best for them.”
“Okay,” I whispered. She hugged me, and I sighed, savoring her motherly affections.
For several years I dropped my objections, letting them fester in the back of my mind. I could find no answer to my parents’ assertion. My parents were Gods; I was a Goddess. We were better than all those other humans, so maybe it was only right that we reshape mankind into something better. That was the point of religion, to extort mankind to be better than their base urges. My parents were just more successful at it than the false religions of the past.
It was a chance comment I overheard that changed everything.
I needed something from Sam. I don’t remember what it was, something inconsequential, so I walked into her quarters to retrieve it. I didn’t knock. After all, I was a Goddess, and I could go where I pleased.
“If they’re Gods, why did we have to figure out their miracles,” Candy complained to Sam. The TV was turned up loud, and they hadn’t heard me enter.
They were sitting on their couch, watching some documentary about Mother and Father; television was the only form of culture allowed in the Theocracy, and it was mostly bland stuff compared to the entertainments that had come before. Mother and Father had quite the collection of movies and TV shows, things banned by their Theocracy, and we’d often watch them together.
Sam answered patiently, like this was an answer she was used to giving, “Great men and women have always stood on the shoulders of their intellectual betters. Why would Mark and Mary be any different than the thousands of petty tyrants that have come before?”
I was shocked. Never had I heard anyone impugn my parents before. I was intrigued. Did Sam and Candy not believe in our Godhood? A few days later, I tripped Candy into my bed, and after some vigorous fucking, we cuddled, and I asked her bluntly what she meant by her comment that day in front of the TV.
Candy tensed. “You heard that?”
I nodded. “It sounded like you two don’t think we’re Gods.”
She gave me a considering look, fingering a lock of her honey-blonde hair. I knew from pictures she used to dye it garishly, half-pink and half-blue. “Have you ever read the Magicks of the Witch of Endor?”
I frowned, that sounded familiar, but I was sure I hadn’t read it.
“I’ll email you Sam’s translation,” she told me.
It destroyed my world. My parents weren’t Gods, they just made deals with the very Demons that had ravaged the world during my childhood. And some of the deals in there were vile. What sort of monsters were my parents? All their justifications for enslaving mankind rang hollow in my ears. They weren’t better than the humans—they were humans. Subject to the same flawed hearts they claimed could not be trusted.
The same flawed heart that beat in my chest.
I couldn’t look at my parents without feeling sick, imagining Father sacrificing a woman to Molech, or Mother strangling a girl for power to Ashtoreth. I felt suffocated in the mansion, surrounded by evidence of my parents’ abhorrent excess. Even Candy, who seemed so critical of my parents, wasn’t disturbed by their powers, just jealous of them.
I had to leave.
At the age of twenty-three, I walked down the driveway of the mansion and out onto the roads. I had never walked any great distance, but I was young and I adapted. I walked for hours, leaving the large compound that made up the Theocracy’s Capital of South Hill. I didn’t know where I was going, what I was doing. I just had to escape.
Two bodyguards tracked me down on the second day. “Holy Daughter,” 312 said respectfully to me. “Your parents are worried about you.”
“Let them worry,” I said, with a toss of my hair, and kept walking.
“They want you to come home,” 71 added. “They’re concerned about you.”
“I don’t ever want to see those monsters again!” I shouted. “I want nothing to do with Warlocks!” I put all my hate, all my disgust, into that word. Warlocks. I knew the stories: before the Demons there were the Warlocks. Petty men and women who sold their souls for power. People just like my parents.
I kept on walking; the two bodyguards stared stupidly at my back. I could feel their eyes as I walked down the road, west towards Tacoma then south. I walked until I became tired. There was always a helpful ‘citizen’ that would offer to let me stay in their house. When I was hungry, I ate at the communal cafeterias that provided free meals to their neighborhoods. I just walked and walked, down the West Coast, into Mexico, then I followed the Caribbean into the South. Every so often, a representative of my parents would find me, and try to convince me to come home.
I grew lean, hard. My feet became tough with callouses, my face darkened by the sun. When I reached the East Coast, I took a cargo ship to Europe. Normal citizens weren’t allowed to travel, but I was a false Goddess, nothing was denied me. I was aimless, restless. Five years had passed without me even realizing it. Why was I walking? Everything was the same. The people were all the same slaves.
I needed to free these people. I needed to atone for my parents’ great sin.
I tried to find allies, to stir up the population. Sometimes, I’d find a man or woman that had some passion, some spark that hadn’t been beaten out of them by my parents, and I would latch on to them, clinging to them as tightly as a drowning person to a piece of flotsam. I’d take them as my lover, and we’d pass the weeks talking, plotting, trying to find others to help us.
It always ended the same way—they would be unable to change, to break free of my parents’ control, and I would grew melancholy and walk. I desperately wanted to be with my family again, but I couldn’t ignore the monstrousness of their Theocracy. If I could just find a way to restore Liberty to mankind, I knew I could go home.
We’d be a family again.
I walked the world, traversing every last continent save Antarctica. I was immortal; time didn’t matter. I looked eighteen, even though I was thirty, then I was thirty-five. It was hard to care anymore. When winter came, I went south; when summer came I would go north, or further south. I once stood at the tip of South America, staring at Cape Horn, and remembering the stories I had read of great sailing ships battling the elements as they rounded this point, and the terrible storms that would assail them as the Europeans explored the world.
When my melancholy was at its strongest, I contemplated suicide. Once, I stood at the rim of the Grand Canyon, gazing down into red depths and the blue Colorado snaking through the canyon. One step. A few years later, I sat at the edge of Victoria Falls, watching the curtain of water fountain into mist and thinking I could just swim out and let the current take me and carry me from this life. But then I’d remember I was bound to Mother. If I died, I would just wait in the Shadows with all those chained to my parents that had died.
My thirty-ninth birthday passed as I walked the Jordan River and reached the Dead Sea. I floated in the warm, salty waters, trying to wash clean my parents’ filth. I had just broken up with Barakat, a beautiful Arab youth. He was sixteen, his skin the color of rich coffee, and his eyes full of life. I had let myself again foolishly think I had found the one person that would care about what my parents had made of the world, and then he had come home, excited that the aptitude test had selected him to be a farmer.
“I thought you wanted to be an Engineer?”
“I did,” he shrugged, “but the Gods need me to be a farmer.” He smiled broadly, that beautiful, happy smile I fell in love with.
“So be an Engineer, don’t let them choose,” I told him.
He frowned. “But they need me to be a farmer. The Gods know, Chase.”
My love died, like it always did, and I had walked and walked, following the Jordan River south until I reached its terminus—the Dead Sea. As I lay floating in the Dead Sea, I thought about drowning myself in the warm, salty embrace. After hours, I lost my nerve, and swam back to the shore and kept walking. South, into the Arabian Peninsula. I followed the Red Sea Coast for a week—I was in no hurry, my life had no meaning—when I came across a sign that pointed to a mountain called Jebel al-Lawz. A single word was spray painted beneath the mountain’s name—Hope.
Hope. I had been without hope for over twenty years.
I followed the road. It lead to a low, conical mountain. It was really more of a steep hill than a mountain. I had grown up in the sight of Mount Rainier rearing up like a monolith, looming over you every day clad in the blue-white majesty of its glaciers. Jebel al-Lawz was a squat, ugly, red mound, rising out of the desert, the summit blackened like it had been engulfed in flames.
As I neared the mountain, maybe just a few miles away, I passed through…something. It was a warm membrane of energy that gave way before me, enveloping me in golden light for the briefest instant, and then it passed. I blinked; the valley around the peak wasn’t empty anymore. Tents—colorful and ranging in shape, size, styles, and materials—were set up. They were pitched haphazardly, with no thought or planning.
People walked about. They were different. No-one dressed similarly, people laughed, children played. As I walked closer, I realized these were people who lived. What was this place? Who were these people? They saw me, and a hush seemed to fall about them. They began to gather, watching me with cautious faces.
“H-hello,” I hesitantly said. I felt a little afraid of them. I had never been afraid of my parents’ slaves; they would never have been able to harm me. But these people were free. I could see it in their eyes, in their postures, in the way some viewed me with hope, some with skepticism, or fear, or distrust.
The crowd parted, and a rugged young man and a young woman stepped out. The man was fit, sturdy, with brown hair and blue eyes, his arm around the woman; she was round-faced, a beautiful, welcoming smile gracing her lips. Her face was framed by braided black hair, coiled about her crown; reassurance filled her green eyes.
“You’re not their slaves?” I asked, chewing on my lips.
“No,” the man smiled. “We are the last free men and women. I am Doug Allard, and this is Tina, my wife.”
The woman, Tina, smiled, and threw her arms around my neck. I relaxed. “I’ve been searching for this for so long,” I whispered, my eyes brimming with tears.
“And we have waited even longer for you to arrive, Prophetess,” Tina whispered back.
“Prophetess?” I asked, pushing away from Tina. The crowd had grown larger, more than a hundred, and they all stared at me with…hope. I shivered despite the heat.
Doug nodded. “You are Chasity Glassner?”
“Yeah.” I looked around. These people were free. There were others that resisted my parents’ evil. Hope bubbled inside me. Had I really found what I’ve been searching for? I pushed down my hope, trying to temper it with caution; I had been disappointed so many times. “What is this place?”
“The refuge,” Tina answered. “For forty years Doug and I have waited in the wilderness for you, gathering those who were not satisfied with the world, with your parents. Excluding the children, we number one hundred and forty-four; seventy-two men, seventy-two women.”
I swallowed, “Why are you waiting for me?”
“To guide us, to renew the Gift of the Spirit to mankind,” Doug answered. “To free the World from bondage.”
I’d found it. Relief ballooned inside me, along with hope. So many years of walking, of doubt and bitterness, had finally paid off. “So why do you need me for that?”
“You are the daughter of two Warlocks,” Tina answered. “You have rejected their lifestyle, and turned your back on evil. Only you can perform the prayer of Rapha.”
I frowned, not recalling that prayer from the Magicks of the Witch of Endor. “What does it do?”
“Gives back hope to mankind,” Tina answered.
“My wife and I are the last Priests living. Your parents hunted down the last few of us, the final threats to their power,” Doug sadly said. “But we have done our duty, and hid while your parents dominated the world, all for this day.”
The Magicks of the Witch of Endor talked about Priests and Priestesses, men and women granted the powers of Heaven to fight Warlocks and Demons. “So you need my help to exorcise my parents?” I asked, smiling. That would free mankind.
We could be a family again. “Thank you!” I smiled, tears misting my eyes. “This is perfect! It’ll break their mind control and make them human again!”
Tina gave me a sad look. “I’m so sorry, child.”
I frowned. “Why? Exorcising won’t harm my parents. Right?”
“Your parents are beyond exorcism. They’ve absorbed the powers of Lucifer, Molech, Lilith, and many other Powers. No Priestess has the strength to overcome that. Only a Priest’s sword killing your parents would work, and…”
“And Father’s immortal,” I whispered. Hope burst inside me, replaced by cold dread. I pushed down the panic. They mentioned the Rapha prayer. “That’s what the new prayer is for, right? Stripping them of their powers?” Please, please, please, let that be true.
Tina’s green, sad eyes peered at me.
“They have to die?” That couldn’t be my voice; I hadn’t sounded that young in years.
“I’m sorry,” Tina whispered.
I’m sorry. The words were a punch to my stomach. I stumbled back; the world seemed to spin about me as tears burned down my cheeks. This can’t be happening! Not after all my searching. “I have to kill him?” My voice cracked, wavered. Oh, no. Father made himself immortal to everything except me. “Please, no! There has to be another way!”
Tina hugged me as I started weeping. “It’s your choice, Prophetess. The World can remain their slaves, or you can set them free.”
No, no, no. I wanted to free mankind, not murder my parents. This couldn’t be happening! I pushed away and ran. Tears stained my eyes, almost blinding me as I raced down a trail. I hated what my parents had done to mankind, but I loved them.
I couldn’t kill them, right? And it wouldn’t just be them, but all the people bound to them. The sluts, my half-siblings, the bodyguards and maids. My family for the World’s freedom. How fair was that?
This would be so much easier if I could hate them!
I ran up the side of the mountain, scampering up the gentle slope, climbing higher and higher. I scrabbled over red boulders; my years of walking had given me great endurance. I paused only to drink from my water bottle, then kept climbing, ignoring the sun pounding on my back. The rocks turned black; I found myself at the summit.
I stared out at the expanse of the Arabian Desert. Brown and yellow leading off in all directions, with just a smear of blue in the distance, the Red Sea. Once, black-robed Bedouin had wandered this wasteland, eking out an existence in the harsh landscape. But they had been moved to cities along the coast, ostensibly for their own good.
We are Gods, Chase. That gives us all the right.
Whatever crushes individuality is despotism. The words from ‘On Liberty’ echoed in my mind. Could I kill my parents? Was the blood of the few hundred people—my family—worth freeing billions from bondage? Did I have to destroy my soul to save mankind?
The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants. Thomas Jefferson had written those words when the American Colonies revolted against the British when they had no say in their own governance, no representatives in Parliament.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. Other words written by Jefferson.
Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.
My parents had robbed the world of Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness, leaving them only with their Lives. They may have meant well, but the results were monstrous. They had pruned all the character out mankind with their tyranny, leaving behind only stunted bushes shaped to my parents’ desires. Mere automatons going through the motions of living.
There was a sci-fi movie my Father loved, and I remembered at the end as one of the characters was dying, having sacrificing himself for the ship, he had said, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”
One last tear rolled down my cheek as the sun set, and the stars twinkled to life across the crystal clear sky above me.
The needs of the many.
I watched the stars wheel across the night sky, twinkling down on us. I envied them. They had no concerns, no torn emotions. They just burned brightly, happily fusing hydrogen into helium into lithium into iron, until finally they died, whether in fiery explosions or guttering out like a candle.
As dawn neared, blushing the horizon in pink, I heard footsteps behind me—Doug and Tina. He held a scroll and she held a black knife. I stood and faced them. I didn’t know what to do, what was the right choice. Did the needs of the many outweigh the lives of my family? Were their needs more important than the wounds to my soul?
“Prophetess,” Tina greeted.
“I’m not your Prophetess,” I muttered. “I…I don’t know what to do.”
“I understand, child,” she whispered. “I would take the burden from you if I could.”
Her eyes burned with conviction. I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t know what to do, so I just blurted out, “What is that scroll?”
“The original copy of the Magicks of the Witch of Endor,” Doug said, handing me the scroll. “I have kept it safe for forty years, waiting for the day you’d arrive. The prayer of Rapha is contained at the end of the scroll. Perhaps it will help with your decision.”
I unfurled the scroll. It contained square Hebrew letters and was written in Aramaic. It was familiar. The memory of Sam’s lessons in Semitic Languages from my childhood came back, and I recognized passages from her translation. I read the final prayer, frowning. This wasn’t in the copy my parents possessed.
My parents had definitely never seen this prayer. If they had, I would never have been allowed to roam free. “And the Creator knew, in his infinite Wisdom,” it read, “that a time would come when his Priest and Priestess would fall against the forces of the Adversary. Darkness would cover the world, and again the Gifts of the Spirit would be needed, spread by the words of the chosen Prophet, one born of the union of two Warlocks, bound by the Zimmah ritual, and used as the focus of the Eylowm ritual. Only the Prophet can restore the Gift to mankind upon the summit of Mount Sinai. The Prophet must…”
I looked up at Doug and Tina in horror as comprehension flooded my exhausted mind. “The Eylowm ritual is a trap?” My hand trembled. “My parents were manipulated into their own downfall?”
“Why else is it so powerful?” asked Tina. “Immortality? No weapon, no force, no illness can harm your father, let alone kill him. It’s almost too good to be true, isn’t it?”
“That’s monstrous!”
“Your parents made the choice of their own free will,” Doug softly answered. “They made their pacts with the Adversary, gained power in exchange for their souls. They declared themselves false gods, and unleashed the demonic hordes upon mankind. Choices have consequences, Chasity, and the Creator is always ready to turn those consequences to his advantage.”
“If He’s so powerful, why didn’t He stop my parents!” I shouted. “Why do I have to do this? Why?”
“You do not have to do this,” Tina smiled. “It’s your choice. Free will is the most important thing in all of creation; He would never take that away from you. That’s why He didn’t interfere with your parents. They had to be free to choose, or there’s no choice at all. Without choice, then we’re just mindless puppets, slaves, and that’s not what He wants.”
Slaves. My parents’ had enslaved mankind; the most monstrous thing imaginable. They had made their choice, and denied all the world of theirs. It wasn’t right. The needs of the many have to come before the needs of the few. That the only purpose for which power can be rightfully exercised over any member of a civilized community, against his will, is to prevent harm to others. John Stuart Mills was right; my parents had harmed, were harming, all of mankind, and therefore it was only right that power should be exercised against them. A strange calm filled me. I had made my decision.
“I will be your Prophetess,” I answered; my chin held high.
Doug nodded.
“This is a Mispachs. One of three forged by Cain from the metal of a falling star,” Tina said, handing it to me. “Nick the blade, and your blood will bind it to you. Anyone wounded with this blade will die. Only your lifeblood will save them.”
I nodded; Lilith had almost killed Mother with one. I took the ugly, black-iron blade, stared at it, then I pricked my thumb. A drop of dark blood beaded on my tan flesh. I smeared it on the blade. The dagger turned red for a moment, drinking in my blood, then went back to ugly black. I was connected to the damned thing; it felt like an open wound throbbing on my forehead. Tina handed me a sheath, and I put the dagger into my pack.
I reread the scroll again, committing the Prayer of Rapha to memory, and turned to face the rising sun. “This is Mount Sinai?” That was the only place in the world the spell could be cast. “I thought that was up on the Sinai Peninsula, not in the middle of Arabia.”
Doug nodded. “Much has been lost in the thousands of years since the last Prophet stood here and gave the Third Gift to mankind.”
I raised my arms to the rising sun. “The Highest One, hear the prayers of your Children! Deliver us from evil, and send your Spirit to Gift us with your Blessing, to Gird us with Belief, and Arm us with Faith!”
Power flowed into me, golden, beautiful, pure. It flowed from Doug, from Tina, it flowed from my parents half the world away. More power flowed from the spirits of the dead, the men and women who had died unable to pass their Gift on: Isabella, Agnes, John, Gregory, Eustace, Isolde, Tristram, and more. So many more. One hundred and forty-four souls gave up their Gifts, until they were all contained within me.
I was the Prophetess, the Vessel, and I shared the Gift, giving a part to each of the one hundred and forty-four gathered—the two atop the mountain, and the one-hundred and forty-two at the base, the new Priests and Priestesses, the new Monks and Nuns—to save the world from the evils of my parents.
To be concluded…
