Saturday, 7 June 2014

Lilith


P   R   E   V   I   O   U   S   L   Y      I    N 
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‘Aronson’s changed, but so have you.’ croaks Vicky as I realise the fire in my hair is dying. It's been dying all day...I was just too proud to do anything about it. A balding deity, too young and too damn proud to see his transformation. Did Florence see this? Did Saul? Were they too afraid to spit it out? Were they just being good soldiers, keeping me strong despite the truth?'

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Throughout the fantastical lands of the Oma, there shines only blue light, a pale cerulean shading to be exact, and there has been no day nor any nightfall here, not since the gods were banished from walking the earth, not since Rao was cast down into the Oma’s magma, his planet core cage.

So then, upon the zenith of Mount Ekul, under the sallow azure commandment of Un’s absentee High-Father, Lilith struggles with her task...

Beneath the borga-skins that insulate her body from sub-zero harshness, the tattooed wings on Lilith’s well-developed back glow a luminous light bulb hue.

There overly resplendent incandescence creeps through the woolly layers, such a ghostly light spreading across Lilith's black coffee skin. To see these skin grafts shine out their supernatural force is a wondrous sight, especially for those oblivious to their significance.

Lilith’s hands are rubbing at her forehead and the result of such meta-ignition drives the swooping animals of The Oma from neighbouring summit crevices, their skyward vistas. The mighty dragons, the quick and darting martlets, the graceful spows, and all those roaring griffins competing with the shriek of wispy eagle-spectres, all these unruly circling wonders coalescing above Lilith’s withered stance.

They respond to her psychic signal, swooping down, using their beaks and their claws to fly mortar, poles and other construction tools before the snow-capped feet of well-muscled workers. All of these slaves, captive creatures freezing under the duress of flaying barbed lashes.

Conversations on this icy mountain-peak must survive above piercing cries of gathering sky-high cattle. The sea wash sound of multitudinous cracking whips makes talking a problem.

    One voice however easily rises above the sound of enforced servitude.

    One booming voice decides which row of backs must be punished.

    Aronson’s dark task-master,

    ‘Call them!’ screams the mighty Ungumpo.

    Ungumpo's mouth is serrated with many teeth but to see him is to notice first and foremost the insects that fly out of his face. So many bugs and flies have made a home inside the shaggy giants undead mouth.

Ungumpo is a Dilf, and like all his kind Ungumpo stands on has hind legs, a whopping ten feet in height. His shaggy fur is blackened and out of his insect ridden mouth he screams,

    ‘Call them all!’

…But Lilith’s concentration has become weak...

…Sometimes, without any warning, the young warrior loses countenance…

    And airborne wildlife release themselves from psionic bonds…

    They retch yellow bile before returning to their senses…

    Some fly away from Mount Ekul's foggy climb, beating their wingspans in the direction of home. Other renegade sky-monster’s exchange blows with the many Dilf’s that labour down below.

    A dragon wrestles its way out of Lilith’s invisible instruction, vomiting its fire-breath, transforming a battalion of Dilf troops into molten misshapes, a gross incendiary mess, wastes of meat toppling off the side of the rocky elevation.

Observing the catastrophe, Ungumpo snaps his whip over Lilith’s head, as he bellows,

    ‘Control your beast’s she-human! Construct the coliseum. Do it fast or your father will die!’

    ‘Dickhead.’ mutters Lilith.

    ‘You dare speak ill of me again?’ shrieks the rakish hairy warrior, scrabbling insects crawling about his decaying face.

    And so, Lilith replies, ‘I dare an undead has-been to go against his master’s wishes. Whip me again; put me out of action for another week and let’s see what Aronson thinks of that – fart-knocker.’ 

    Ungumpo’s fist crushes his whip handle and so he gestures to the Dilf sentry on his right, a signal the sentry has responded to more than once this last week.

    Ungumpo leans his ten foot skeletal shagginess down towards Lilith’s height, ‘Maybe I should go pay your father another visit and finish what I started? How will you fair if he dies, hmmm?’ whispers Ungumpo into Lilith’s ear, ‘yes…or did you think Nathaniel shared only battle weaknesses? hmmm?’

    Lilith inclines her face away from her enemy as her hands clasp in their futile arrangement against the bitter wind, and she says,

    ‘Just when I thought life couldn’t get any worse, I have to suffer your shit for breath.’

    Ungumpo leans in closer so that his diseased snout momentarily graces Lilith’s sleet-flecked face, ‘Silly little Discordian, you cannot hide your fear from Ungumpo.’

    ‘You don’t scare me, fucker.’ replies Lilith, ‘and call yourself Ungumpo all you like, but the animal killer is dead.’

    Ungumpo smiles humourlessly as he accepts the long-whip his foot-soldier has returned with. He spits a globule of fly swarming goo onto Lilith’s back.

    He laughs but with a caution. Ungumpo fears nothing, however, the omnipotent rolling of an avalanche...

    ‘We’ve come to know all your filthy secrets. We know why Aronson grants you leave to visit your - ’

    ‘Shut. Up.’ hisses Lilith.

    So, Ungumpo grins a ghoulish grin stomping his giant self to another part of the quick rising compound. Lilith closes her eyesHer shivering hands return to her head.

    And she works them, the Discordian pushes the mechanics of her telepathy, once again heaving her odd employment to levels that she has only recently become aware exist.

The white heat radiance pouring out of the wing patterns that chaos has etched onto her shoulder-blades, it is too much for the elderly avian breeds and in the hollowed living chambers of many a nearby apex, senior brains burst open.

Scaly, furry, and feathered craniums explode fluids over their once peaceful habitats whilst their young take notice, but without the weight of sentimentality. They only live to respond to Lilith’s super-mental dictation and thus, the mindless younglings become consumed with an unhinged survivalist’s streak. They scavenge the carrion meat of fallen kin.

    The journey to Mount Ekul is a tremendous one.

    All must eat copiously for the journey.

    With each clairvoyant prick-of-death, Lilith hesitates. But she cannot afford to draw out the rebel in her.

Lives depend upon her discipline now. Her tattoos must carry on in their act, paranormal guiding lights for fearsome winged goliath's that pervade hot secret caverns, nestling places far beneath the crust.
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    Lilith ignores the choral entreaty of animated blackened entrails, the feisty horrors that masquerade as stringed lilies floating around her, rotting rings bobbing at waist height. In this dank hell beneath the Oma’s crust, the warped insides of the long forgotten dead paddle upon the rippling murk, each wave riding bud chiming out their deceit,

    Wear us for we shall protect you.
    Own us and you shall survive here.
    Love us to know painlessness forever.
    Ignore us and we shall never let you go.

…Lilith keeps marching along through this underground dankness, a flooded place for the eternally nightmarish and forgotten. This is the Necrosphere and Lilith’s life depends solely upon her safe passageway through it. Aronson's minions follow behind her, their lanterns aloft, light spreading around.

Had these un-dead Dilff warriors the common sense they would wait for Lilith to return from her mission – but what do the dead know of this dreaded space, the world that some call the Smoke Filled Bowl? And this is why Aronson prefers his subordinate’s sub-human, so unquestioning – so utterly moronic.

Necromantic followers will do anything, fight anyone and indeed in Aronson’s case, they will go anywhere simply because they have been instructed to do so.

    Wear us, we shall protect you...

    ‘Do me a massive favour and Fuck off.’ mutters Lilith as she treads through this putrefying and shadow-dripped hollowness.

    Above her head there is no sky, just the gloomy spire-rocks that dribble the noxious goo that one must wade against. Around her there is thick steam emanating from iron works that chug and splutter underneath, the High-father’s ancient unseen metallic contraption, it clanks in its forever function – the subterranean bondage of the light bearer…Rao.

Lilith journeys on until she reaches the supernatural space, a forest of dying and twisted trees. She spies the hut in its middle clearing and just like the last time, Lilith Buchanan heads straight for it. The key to her survival waits inside…she can hear it, for it wails in the agony that Aronson’s lackeys have been commanded to inflict upon it.

    Hard to believe these are the screams of a man.

    Inside she sees the exact same scene from her last visit: Nathaniel Buchannan A.K.A Eraser running his glowing fingers up and down a bleeding limb, shaving the skin muscle and sinew of her father’s arm.

    ‘Hello Lilith, come for more have you? Don't think Steve's up to it but sod it - mind if I er, watch? Heh, I forgot, of course you don't...’

N   E   X   T      T   I   M   E      I    N
S   P   I   D   E   R   F   I   N   G   E   R   S

I call on all black devils until one answers…

Click HERE to find out what happens next.

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