Incest/Taboo The Devil's Pact

But another part of me wanted to have a wicked time with Grandfather.

I entered my bedroom and found the outfit that Lillian had helped me procure. "They're quite hard to find these days," she had said to me two days ago. "Have fun!"

I dressed, my excitement building and building as I drew on each article of clothing, transforming myself into something that looked even younger than I had appeared. I trembled, smoothing the skirt, waiting for my grandfather to enter.

A few minutes later, my body trembling, a knock rapped on my door. I told him to enter and tensed, hoping would love my outfit, love me. My heart beat faster and faster in my chest as his eyes fell on me.

They widened. A smile broadened his face.

"My sweet Chase, how beautiful you are," he groaned, his eyes raking my body.

Delight exploded in me. I let out a girlish giggle, feeling so wanton and wicked. I plucked at the skirt and purred, "I heard you like naughty schoolgirls."

"Yes," he groaned. "God, Chase, you are gorgeous."

I beamed at him, shifting my hips. I wore a white, button-down blouse tied below my breasts, which left my flat stomach exposed. A green-and-blue tartan skirt fell in pleated folds down to my upper thighs. The knee-high, white socks completed the wicked look. I had my auburn hair in a ponytail hanging over my left shoulder to add a splash of color on the white blouse.

He ran a hand through his red hair streaked with gray as he drank in the sight of me. My nipples ached and my pussy clenched. He loved it. I could see the hungry passion in his eyes. His cock hardened before him.

He cupped my chin and stared into my blue eyes. "I love naughty schoolgirls." His hand slid down and found my breast. He squeezed me through the blouse, his finger brushing my nipple; a naughty tingle raced down to my cunt. "You've been such a bad girl, haven't you?"

"I have," I purred.

"Bad girls need to be disciplined."

I blinked in surprise. Disciplined? Did he want to spank me? Mother liked to spank the sluts and maids when they were "naughty." A tingle raced through my pussy. And Grandfather was just so sexy, this older, confident man who made me feel so womanly as he drew me to the bed.

I didn't resist when he sat down on the bed and pulled me over his lap. I shivered, my butt-cheeks clenching as I squirmed atop him, feeling his hardon beneath my stomach. I whimpered as he drew up my skirt.

"Naughty slut, no panties," he groaned, rubbing his hands roughly across my exposed rump.

"I forgot them," I said, trying to sound scared and innocent.

Grandfather's cock bulged beneath me. He liked it. He wanted me to act so vulnerable and innocent. I whimpered and squirmed more, rubbing my belly against his erection. My pussy grew hotter and hotter.

"I'm sorry for being such a bad girl, Grandpa," I whimpered. "Please, please, don't spank me."

"But bad girls have to be spanked," he said, giving my rump a squeeze. "They have to learn their lessons."

His hand rose for my ass.

CRACK!

Stinging agony melted through my ass. I bucked as the air rang with the meaty smack, yelping in pain. My pussy clenched. I couldn't believe how naughty it made me feel. How it made my cunt tingle and itch even more. He was just so strong. So in charge right now. He could do anything to me.

"You are such a bad little girl!" he groaned.

SMACK!

"So bad!"

CRACK!

"Oh, I'm so bad," I whimpered, loving this.

SMACK!

I groaned and shuddered on his lap. I blinked, then realized his hand still rested on my burning rump. I let out a soft sigh as he massaged my flesh, soothing the hurt and building a fire inside me. I closed my eyes, melting inside and--

CRACK!

He spanked me even harder. Juices leaked out of my cunt and trickled down my thighs. I squirmed, eager for the next strike. I felt so naughty. So wanton. This felt so right to be over my grandfather's lap.

"Ooh, spank me, Grandfather!" I moaned. "Punish me!"

SMACK!

My bottom quivered. The pain went straight to my clit, feeding my fires.

CRACK!

He kept spanking me

SMACK!

I writhed on his lap

CRACK!

I rubbed my clit into his thigh. The heat melted into my cunt. It made my pussy drip. I whimpered and groaned, my orgasm building and building in me just from being punished. I was such a naughty schoolgirl. So wanton and whorish.

His next smack didn't land on my ass.

SMACK!

The wet sound echoed as his hand cracked right on my cunt.

"Grandfather!" I howled, my body bucking. Pain and pleasure shot to the core of my pussy.

And detonated my pleasure. My orgasm exploded through me. I spasmed on his lap, juices gushing out of my cunt and bathing his hand rubbing at my burning labia. Waves of rapture washed through my body as agony transformed into ecstasy.

"Yes, yes!" I screamed. "I'm so bad!"

"So bad," he growled, rubbing my cunt.

CRACK!

The second spanking on my pussy sent another orgasm bursting through me. I gasped, stars twinkling across my vision. My body bucked hard, my belly rubbing into his hard cock. My whimpers and moans filled the air as his palm rubbed my burning twat, my clit throbbing from the punishment.

"What a whorish girl you are!" he growled. "I'm going to need to use my rod to punish you!"

"Punish me with your thick rod, sir!" I howled, my body wracked with orgasms. They rippled through me.

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 ass-cheek. More pain rippled through me. My nipples ached against my thin, white blouse. I wiggled and moaned in wanton need.

"Little sluts like you need a hard rod to keep you in line!" he groaned

"Yes!" I cried out as his cock smacked my pussy, the wet sound echoing.

He rammed his cock into me. My grandfather's cock filled my juicy pussy still spasming from my orgasms. Waves of pleasure rippled through my flesh. I squirmed, impaled on his dick. He was almost as big as Father. He leaned over me, his groin pressing into my burning rump.

"Fuck me! Pound my little snatch!" I gasped, squeezing my snatch around his cock. "Punish me, sir!"

"Yes!" he snarled and drew back his dick through my pussy.

My eyes squeezed shut as he slammed his cock into me. The friction of his shaft sliding through my pussy met the stinging smack of his groin hitting my spanked ass. I whimpered, the bed creaking as he pounded me. The two delights merged through me, pain and pleasure mixing, swirling, building another orgasm in me.

The angle of his thrusts let him drive his cock deep into me. The tip rubbing down the top of my pussy and brushed my G-spot over and over. I quivered, the pleasure building so fast in me. I still brimmed with delight from my last two orgasms. I didn't need much to cum again.

"Yes, yes, yes!" I howled as another orgasm rippled through my pussy, my cunt spasming about his hard cock

"You fucking whore!" he groaned. "You came already?"

"Your tool feels so good!" I panted. "I'm just that wanton."

He groaned, thrusting so hard into me. He rammed his dick into my snatch and growled, "It's supposed to be a punishment!"

"Sorry, sir!" I moaned, my mind buffeted by the waves of ecstasy washing out of my cunt.

"I think a different hole needs to be reamed by my cock now!" he growled as he plundered my pussy.

"Mmm, I couldn't agree more, sir!"

He ripped his dick out of my convulsing pussy. I whimpered, feeling so empty. I needed to be filled. Then his hands pried apart my burning butt-cheeks, fingers pressing into my punished flesh. I groaned, my sphincter clenching.

His cock pressed against my puckered hole, wet with pussy juices.

He rammed forward. My cunt had lubed him well; he speared into my asshole with little resistance. My anal ring gobbled up his cock. I'd taken many cocks up my ass, my bowels broken in so well by Father. Grandfather's cock reached into my depths. His balls smacked my taint as his crotch spanked my ass.

I savored the velvety burning in my bowels and the stinging pain across my butt-cheeks.

Gasping in delight, I bucked my hips back into his thrusting cock. I savored how he filled up my bowels. His groin smacked into my pillowy ass-cheeks over and over. The stinging pain shot through me. I anticipated each thudding impact, squeezing my asshole about his cock as he plunged into my depths.

"Fuck my ass!" I chanted. "Fuck me! Fuck my naughty, schoolgirl ass, Grandpa!"

"Yes, such a tight, hot ass," he growled. "Ooh, you love it, you little whore."

"Your whore, Grandpa!"

He fucked me so hard. I whimpered and shoved my right hand between me and the pillow. My questing fingers found my hard clit. I stroked my pleasure button. My digits massaged it. I whimpered, the new delight mixing with the pain and pleasure Grandfather churned in my ass.

My eyes fluttered as Grandfather pounded my asshole. He stirred up my pleasure as I struck sparks on my clit. I whimpered into the bed, wiggling my hips, stirring his dick around in my bowels. The slap of flesh merged with our gasps and groans.

"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, Grandfather!" I shouted. "I need to cum!

He slapped my ass, stinging pain shooting to my pussy. Then he hunched over me and pistoned his cock rapidly in and out of my ass. Shivers of pleasure burst through me. Every thrust swelled another climax in my cunt.

I pinched my clit.

I cried out in wordless rapture as my orgasm shot through me. The pleasure electrified my body. I spasmed beneath him, the current zapping into my brain. My thoughts lit up with ecstasy. It felt so incredible as my juices gushed out of my cunt.

My ass milked his cock, transmitting my pleasure to him. My bowels writhed and spasmed on his amazing, thrusting cock. He hammered me so hard. His thrusts kept my orgasm alive, sparking new storms of rapture through my body.

"Grandpa!" I howled. "Cum in me! Please, please, spill your spunk into my cunt!"

"Yes!" he snarled and buried his cock to the hilt in my bowels.

His cum erupted into me. He flooded my ass. I whimpered, drinking in the delight, my orgasm carrying me to new heights. My entire body spasmed as he grunted. My asshole milked his dick dry of all his cum.

"Chase," he groaned and collapsed atop me.

I shuddered as his arms wrapped around me. He rolled us onto our side. He held me so tight, spooning for a while. I stroked his arm as we caught our breaths. I felt so warm, so safe, in his embrace as his cock softened. He nuzzled and kissed at my cheek as we came down from our orgasmic highs. I drifted for a few minutes through buzzing passion.

"I love you, Grandpa," I sighed.

"I love you, too." The bed creaked as he sat up. I rolled onto my back, his cum leaking out of my asshole, and watched him pick up a rectangular present bound in colorful paper. I hadn't noticed him bring it in with him and...

It was a book!

A giddy thrill ran through me as I sat up.

"Happy birthday, Chase," he said and handed it over to me.

I took it with eager excitement and 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 kind, 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.

But a small flame still burned. A single light, little more than a gutter candle, flickered against the Tyrants' darkness. All it needed was fuel.

--excerpt from The History of the Tyrants' Theocracy, by Tina Allard

Chasity "Chase" Alberta Glassner

The book opened my eyes.

Everything John Stuart Mills wrote about contradicted the teachings of the Church and the way my parents had cultivated humanity. The book taught that men should be free to act as they will, so long as their actions did not unduly harm another. But Theocracy taught that men must obey the will of the Living Gods and their earthly representatives without question or hesitation.

Why would Grandfather give me this book? I tried to ignore it. It couldn't be saying what my parents did was wrong. But it lingered in my mind. It nibbled in the back of my thoughts while I was trying to sleep or crept upon me as I lay panting after making love.

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 stuck with me. I couldn't see the world the same way any longer. It opened my eyes to the oppression of the Theocracy.

When the demons escaped Hell, many cities had been destroyed and many lives lost. Much of the world 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 relation to the others. 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.

My parents 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. But 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, the maids and other servants 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.

"Don't you see what you've done?" I asked my parents when I finished. "While your actions were certainly laudable and well-meaning, they were still tyrannical. You've robbed the people of the world their most inalienable right: the liberty to make their own decisions.

"That's what you've done to them to end crime. You smothered all the uniqueness out of them. You've killed that spark inside of them that makes them human. They should be allowed to choose what their profession is or who they marry. They should have a say in what houses they live in, or even what style to build them in."

Mother stared in disbelief at me.

"She's your daughter," Father said and laughed.

Mother glared at him.

"You have to understand, Chase, we did it for their own good," Mother explained with the patient tone used on a child.

I grit my teeth.

"Choices just make things... difficult. It's better for them this way."

"Really? 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 a man an inch, and he'll take a foot," Father answered, his mirth fading away. "Humans do poorly with freedom."

"And that's why you won't let them choose their own spouses?" I shook my head. "What about love? About finding that special someone and choosing to be with them? Like you and Mom?"

"They're free to love," Mother answered, her expression softened. "They're assigned spouses based on personality and suitable genetic traits. But they're free to take any lover they want, or to be monogamous. We do not deny them their pleasures."

"And what if they hate their spouse?" I demanded.

"They won't," Father said. "When they're assigned their spouse, they're told that they will always love each other. We care about our followers, and only want the best for them. We order them to be happy, so they are."

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 fixed me with a hard look. "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 sighed. "Chase, do you know what the world was like before the Theocracy?"

"I've watched your movies."

My father's eyes became intense, the blues hardening into sapphires. "Those are fiction. Like the books you've read, the ones 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 gaze.

"Men were brutal beasts. Every day, thousands were murdered, raped, and abused. Mothers drowned their children because they inconvenienced their love lives. Husbands murdered their wives for insurance payouts. Children killed their parents for drug money. Companies sold products that killed and maimed, then covered up their crimes to maintain their profit margins. Dictators starved their people to suppress them while religious extremists butchered those they disagreed with 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. "Children aren't abused. No one murders. No one hates. No one harm another."

"'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 said, his voice calm, imperious, and remote. He looked like a statue brought to life. "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. My fiery certainty vanished. A nervous skitter shot through me. Father sounded so certain, so commanding, that I felt foolish for even challenging him.

"There has to be something better," I lamely said.

"There isn't," Mother said as she took my hand. She gave me a loving smile, her green eyes so warm. "Trust us, baby girl. Humans are children, and we're their loving parents. We know what's best for them."

"Okay," I sighed.

She hugged me and I savored her motherly affections. They weren't monsters. They didn't oppose to make people suffer, but... Maybe Gods did have the right to do it.

For several years, I dropped my objections, letting them fester in the back of my mind. Since I could find no answer to my parents' assertion, I didn't see the point in fighting them. 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 greater than they were. Wasn't that 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 headed to her quarters in the mansion 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 entertainment that had come before. Mother and Father had quite the collection of movies and TV shows, things banned by their Theocracy.

We'd often watch them together.

Sam answered her wife with patience like this was a reply she made by rote, "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. It sparked my curiosity. Did Sam and Candy not believe in my parents' Godhood? In mine? I backed out of their room, my thoughts whirling. Sam was close to my parents, a former slut turned vizier. She was an expert on the mystical arts.

And didn't believe my parents were Gods.

A few days later, I tripped Candy into my bed. After some vigorous fucking, we cuddled. I stroked her head and then asked her bluntly, "Do you think my parents are Gods?"

"What?" she gasped, tensing in my embrace.

"I walked in on you and Sam the other day. You were complaining about something on TV."

She swallowed. "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 knew 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 were just something called Warlocks. Regular humans who made deals with the very demons who'd ravaged the world during my childhood. It was vile reading about some of the acts you had to perform to make a Pact with them.

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. They were subject to the same flawed hearts they claimed could not be trusted.

The same flawed heart that beat in my chest. I wasn't a Goddess. I wasn't special. I was just... human.

I couldn't look at my parents without feeling sick. I imagined 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. They all went by numbers, some perverse act my parents had inflicted upon them. "Your parents are worried about you."

"Let them worry," I said with a toss of my auburn hair. I 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 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 while the two bodyguards said nothing. I could feel their stunned eyes as I marched down the road west toward Tacoma. I left them behind. When I reached I-5, I trudged south. I just had to get away.

Day after day, I walked until I became tired. There was always a helpful citizen who, thanks to my parents' mind control, 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 hiked down the West Coast into Mexico. When I reached Panama, I followed the canal east until I reached the Caribbean. I followed that back north and entered what used to be the Southern United States.

Every so often, a representative of my parents would find me, and try to convince me to come home.

I told them no.

I grew lean, hard. My feet became leathered 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.

How?

I tried to find allies, to stir up the population.

It wasn't easy. Sometimes, I'd find a man or woman who had some passion, some spark that hadn't been stamped out of them by my parents, and I would latch on to them. I would cling to them as tightly as a drowning person to a piece of flotsam in a storm-tossed sea. Man or woman, I'd take them as my lover. 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. Unable to break free of my parents' control. Melancholy would beset me and I'd walk. I desperately wanted to be with my family again, but I couldn't ignore the monstrous nature of their Theocracy. If I could just find a way to restore Liberty to mankind, I knew I could go home.

I knew we'd be a family again.

I traveled the world, crossing every last continent save Antarctica. I was immortal; time didn't matter. I looked nineteen, even though I was thirty, then I was thirty-five. It was hard to care any longer. 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 remembered the stories I had read of great sailing ships battling the elements as they rounded this point. I would imagine 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 on the floor below. One step...

A few years later, I sat at the edge of Victoria Falls, watching the curtain of water pour over it and turn into mist. I thought I could just swim out and let the current take me away 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 who'd perished, dwelling in a limbo.

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 eighteen, his skin the color of rich coffee, and his eyes full of life. I had let myself foolishly think that I again had found the one person who 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 asked him.

"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 for you," I told him.

He frowned. "But they need me to be a farmer. The Gods know, Chase."

My love died, like it always did. So I walked and walked, following the Jordan River south until I reached its terminus--the Dead Sea. As I lay floating in the saline waters, I thought about drowning myself in the warm, salty embrace. After hours, I lost my nerve, and swam back to the shore.

I kept walking.

I trudged south onto 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 led to a low, conical mountain. It was really more of a steep hill to me. I had grown up in the sight of Mount Rainier rearing up like a monolith looming over you every day. I pictured her slopes 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 I passed through.

I gasped. Suddenly, the valley around the peak wasn't empty any longer. Tents--colorful and ranging in shape, size, style, and materials--spread out around the mound. They were pitched haphazardly, with no thought or planning.

People milled about. They were all... 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 fell upon them. They began to gather, watching me with cautious faces.

"H-hello." I swallowed. I felt... afraid of them.

I had never been afraid of my parents' slaves; they would never have been able to harm me or anyone. 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. A rugged young man and a pretty young woman stepped out. The man was fit, sturdy, with brown hair and blue eyes, his arm around the woman's shoulders. She had a round face, a welcoming smile gracing her lips. Circling her forehead was a crown made of her braided, black hair. Reassurance filled her green eyes.

"You're not their slaves?" I asked, the shock of that realization finally settling in on me.

"No," the man smiled. "We are the last free men and women in the world. I am Doug Allard, and this is Tina, my wife."

The woman, Tina, smiled. Then she threw her arms around my neck, giving me such a welcoming hug and a sisterly kiss on my cheek. I relaxed into her. Emotion suddenly spasmed through my body as my arms embraced her back.

"I've been searching for this for so long," I whispered, tears brimming in my eyes.

"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 adults. 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 who resisted my parents' evil. Hope bubbled inside me. Had I really found what I'd 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 and seventy-two women."

I swallowed, "Why are you waiting for me?"

"To guide us," Doug said, a smile crossing his lips. "To renew the Gift of the Spirit to mankind. To free the world from bondage."

I'd found it. Relief ballooned inside me, hope swelling to engulf my entire body. 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 said, eyes haunted. "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. They were called evil by my parents, the Nuns who tried to defeat them early in their power.

"So you need my help to exorcise my parents?" I asked, smiling. That would free mankind. We could be a family again. Tears misted 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 speaking; I hadn't sounded that young in years.

"I'm sorry," Tina whispered.

I'm sorry. The words punched my stomach. I stumbled back; the world spun about me as tears burned down my cheeks. This couldn't be the solution. 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 wept. "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 mur*er my parents. This couldn't be happening!

I pushed away from her and ran. My entire body shook. Ragged sobs burst from my throat. 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 I killed. It would be all the people bound to them. The sluts, my half-siblings, the bodyguards and maids. I had to trade my family for the world's freedom. How fair was that?

This would be so much easier if I could hate my parents.

I ran up the side of the mountain, scampering up the gentle slope, climbing higher and higher. I didn't care where I was going. I just had to move. To escape this awful weight crushing down on my shoulders. I scrabbled over red boulders. Years of walking gave me the endurance to keep running as my legs grew leaden. 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 bled toward the horizon 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 by my parents, 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 of mankind with their tyranny, leaving behind only stunted bushes shaped to my parents' will. Humans were 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'd said: "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

One last tear rolled down my cheek as the sun set. 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 me. 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. Which was the right choice. Did the needs of the many outweigh the lives of my family? Was the world's need 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. 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 it to me. It felt ancient, made of lambskin that had survived for over two thousand years. "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."​