Goetic Justice 2

The panic subsided as he focused on Nahash once again, gazing down at him with her amber eyes as her fingers squeezed his neck, the colorful flowers about her head and the circling insects becoming blurry and indistinct as his eyes started to lose focus. Something about her warm and gentle demeanor made it more tolerable, the pleasure somehow heightened as he began to get dizzy. It was a sensation distinct from the muddling of his thoughts that was always associated with her magick, a kind of euphoria that was making him giddy. It felt...good, intoxicating almost.

"Relax," she whispered, "trust in me."

Darkness crept at the corners of his vision, his consciousness fading as he began to black out. Instead of fear, he felt only pleasure, the sensation of Vapula's muscular insides undulating around him more prominent and powerful than ever. It could only be described as ecstasy, raw and fierce as if a burning fire had been kindled inside him. He started to hallucinate, the colors in the sky running like watercolors on a canvas until the heavens resembled a warped Van Gogh painting.

His orgasm came hard and fast, his spine arching off the grass, the searing pleasure like a supernova as the explosion spread through his body. His every cell was awash in delicious euphoria, he felt like he was floating, his failing body wracked with tremors. He would have cried out had his lungs not been empty. It was such a rush, the sensations amplified a hundredfold, his member bouncing inside Vapula as it pumped his emission into her tight passage. Over and over the throbbed and spasmed, his skin wet with sweat as thick ropes of his ejaculate surged from his beleaguered body, the black-furred demon drawing it out of him with a primal hunger.

It was too much, overloading his addled brain, his vision going dark as the lack of oxygen caused him to pass out.

***

Ryan took in a gasping breath, his eyes snapping open as his chest heaved. He tried to sit upright, but quickly abandoned the attempt as a sharp stab of pain tore through him. He lay back on the grass, taking in deep lungfuls of the cool night air, wincing as his muscles burned and ached. He felt as though he had been beaten with baseball bats, and he had a monster headache like he was recovering from a night of binge drinking. He couldn't tell what hurt, the pain was encompassing, every slight movement sending a jolt of agony rippling through his exhausted body. It would probably have been easier to make a mental checklist of what didn't feel like it had been used as a punching bag.

He looked up to see Vapula standing over him, her dark fur almost invisible against the black velvet of the sky, her figure obscuring the stars as her eyes burned like fiery embers. She was no longer straddling him, did that mean that his ordeal was over?

"I grow weary of you, mortal," she spat. "I have had my fill of energy, consider our contract fulfilled."

What? She had seemed so enthusiastic before, reveling in the opportunity to make him her writhing plaything. What had changed her mind? Could it be possible that Nahash's ploy had not only staved off Ryan's pain, but that it had also discouraged Vapula, robbing her of the enjoyment that she would usually glean from dominating a helpless victim? A sadist through and through, did the demon gain no satisfaction from sex that didn't involve fear and pain?

He turned his head, looking for Nahash, and saw her sitting on the grass close by. She could have been mistaken for an ancient statue, creepers and plants growing about her body and rooting her to the ground, almost like a net of foliage had been cast over her. Those same wildflowers were blooming everywhere, their colorful petals blowing in the gentle breeze, gigantic moths flapping their wings lazily as they perched upon her gnarled horns. She was so still, he couldn't even see her chest moving, as though she had been frozen in place.

Gradually she came back to life, her ovine ears flicking and her long lashes fluttering as she blinked, opening her amber eyes. She shifted, large and strong enough that the vines did little to restrain her, shrugging off the plants as the insects scattered. She brushed a few clinging leaves and petals from her woolly forearms, standing on her goat-like hooves as Vapula stared her down.

The feline demon turned her piercing gaze back to Ryan, contempt etched on her features.

"If we should meet again, novice, pray that it will be on more favorable terms."

Ryan wasted no time, seizing the opportunity and hastily reciting a banishing rite that would permit the entity to leave now that her contract was fulfilled, subconsciously grasping at the ward that still hung around his neck as he did so. He no doubt mispronounced a few words, missed out a few phrases here and there, but Vapula didn't want to be there any more than he did.

When it was concluded she gave him a short bow that seemed almost sarcastic, and then she folded her gigantic wings about herself. They surrounded her in a cocoon of black feathers, obscuring her from view as she began to slowly rise off the ground. The feathers then started to blow away, caught in a wind that nobody else could feel. Logic dictated that there should be something beneath them, skin or bone, but as the dark plumes shed there was revealed to be nothing. She had vanished, perhaps borne away along with her feathers.

Ryan breathed a loud sigh of relief, Nahash kneeling beside him and looking him over with concern in her eyes. He craned his neck in order to evaluate the damage, seeing that his chest was covered in red welts that had been left by Vapula's wicked claws and that his hips were decorated with dark bruises where she had let herself fall on him during their coupling.

The dulling of his senses that had come with Nahash's empathic magick was gone, and he could now feel every aching muscle and stinging cut.

"I will have my sisters prepare a salve," Nahash said, "as per the contract there has been no lasting damage."

"Lasting damage my ass," Ryan complained, wincing as he tried and failed to sit up again. "I feel like I've been tenderized. We really have to put more thought into the next contract, she could have waterboarded me, and it wouldn't technically have constituted lasting damage. Help me up, would you?"

Nahash supported him as he struggled to his feet, leaning his weight on her as her sisters emerged from the darkness. They crowded around him, hunched low to the ground, reaching out with their hands almost in supplication.

"Ryan!"

"Ryan, are you hurt?"

"Is Ryan okay?"

"Poor Ryan."

"Our Ryan is wounded!"

Nahash shooed them away with a wave of her hand, guiding Ryan over towards the center of the clearing. The bonfire was back, he hadn't noticed, the roaring flames warming him as he approached. The Seirim lowered him onto a pile of soft cushions, her sisters keeping their distance, craning their necks to get a look at him as he sat down.

"Drink this," Nahash said, crouching in front of him and presenting a wooden bowl as if conjured from thin air or through some sleight of hand trick. He took it without question, downing it in one gulp. It tasted of wild herbs, bitter, but not unpleasantly so.

"What is it?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"A herbal remedy to dull the pain," she replied. Nahash turned her attention back to her sisters, calling out to them as they lurked in the shadows beyond the reach of the firelight. "Fetch me a salve, sisters, of Meadowsweet and Calendula."

The goat-like demons scattered, off to find the ingredients that she had specified, no doubt some kind of plants or herbs that grew in the forest. Once they were out of earshot Nahash leaned closer, lowering her voice as she spoke to him.

"Are you alright, Ryan?"

He got the impression that she wasn't talking about his cuts and bruises. He took a moment to compose himself, to let the rapid beating of his heart settle as he stared into the orange flames.

"Yeah. I mean no, I'm not alright, but I will be. I just need some time to...clear my head."

"I feel responsible," Nahash muttered. "I am your guide in this, I should have better prepared you for this eventuality. I did not expect Vapula to be so offended."

"Don't say that," he replied, "it's not your fault. It's only thanks to you that I was able to get this far. If you hadn't been there to take some of the load off...I don't know what kind of experience I might have had. And hey, it worked, right?"

"I suppose so..."

"I have to admit though, saying that I'm feeling a bit apprehensive about the next summoning would be an understatement."

"We can't do it right away in any case. You need time to recover," she insisted.

"As much as I'd like to take a few days to rest," he said as he shifted his weight on the cushions, grimacing as a twinge of pain shot through him. "We don't have a lot of time to waste. I'll sleep tonight, try to get my strength back, but tomorrow we have to proceed with the next ritual. I don't know how long we'll be safe here, it might only be a matter of time before our enemies find a way to dispel the magick that protects the sanctuary."

"Surely Azazel would never allow such a thing?"

"I don't think that we can rely on Azazel for anything," Ryan muttered, "he does as he pleases. He won't come to my aid again, at least that's the impression that I got from him when he saved me from Haures in the parking lot. He considers his debt repaid. Whatever happens, I don't want to hedge my bets on divine intervention."

He heard heavy footfalls, and the Seirim emerged from the shadows, clasping bundles of plants in their hands. There were long, leafy stalks tipped with white blossoms and wildflowers that looked like orange and yellow daisies. They handed the plants to Nahash, who began to prepare them in a wooden pot. Ryan couldn't see exactly what she was doing besides mashing some of the flowers with a pestle, her sisters crowding around to watch. A couple of them crouched by his side, examining the cuts on his chest and belly.

To be honest, it wasn't all that bad. The abrasions were no worse than cat scratches, and the bruises would probably fade in a couple of days. Still, he welcomed anything that might ease the healing process along. He wondered idly why Nahash didn't use her magick to heal him, perhaps such a thing was outside the bounds of her powers. He had also noted that she hadn't conjured these ingredients from thin air as she often did with food and drink. Had she expended too much of her energy store, or would real plants see better results?

He was still frazzled from his encounter with the demon. The alarming shifts between pleasure and pain, enjoyment and panic had left him dazed, almost like he was in a state of shock following some kind of accident. As much as he had been certain that the contract would preserve his life, and as much as he trusted Nahash, there was still a kind of primal terror that could not be suppressed through the use of logic.

It was over now, at least there was that...

The Seirim began to dip their hands into the pot, cupping a kind of green paste in their palms and bringing it over to him. They reached out and smeared it on his cuts, Ryan grimacing as it began to burn.

"It will hurt somewhat," Nahash explained as she looked up from her work, "but it will help you to heal."

"If you say so," Ryan said, her sisters fighting for room as they spread the concoction. When it was done, they retreated, the burning sensation slowly abating. He lay back on the silken cushions, relaxing and trying to clear his mind. Right now the wisest course of action was to rest and let the salve do its work.

CHAPTER 5: EREBUS

The Grand Master's boots squeaked on the polished floor as he made his way down the lavishly furnished hall towards the summoning chamber. The room was located in the Western wing of the lodge, and it was outfitted for use by Masonic wizards and summoners, ready to be used at all times of the day or night. One never knew when they might need the urgent help of a demon.

He pushed open the large, oak door as it creaked on its aged hinges and stepped through into an expansive room that was shrouded in darkness. Only the flickering of a thousand candles staved off the gloom, hanging from the tall ceiling in gilded chandeliers and stacked upon every available surface in ornate candelabras, their dancing flames casting shadows on the walls. The overpowering scent of incense hit him like a wall, the strong odor of frankincense and myrrh filling his lungs. There were tables scattered about the room, hewn from darkest ebony in ancient and elaborate styles, their legs tipped with carved claws and hooves. Upon them were grimoires, arcane tomes and pieces of faded parchment, all of the reference material that might be required for summoning.

In the center of the room was a nine-foot circle decorated with runes and sigils, the Hebrew and Aramaic incantations lovingly reproduced in flowing script, the graceful lines carved into the stone floor and then filled in with molten gold. It was beautiful to behold, shining as it caught the candlelight, a circle worthy of even the highest ranked Kings and Princes of Hell.

Around the circle a dozen Masonic wizards were already preparing their ritual, their hooded robes decorated in the purple and gold of their order. As the Grand Master walked towards one of the many protective triangles that were placed on the floor, one of the faceless men broke from the circle, approaching him and draping a pendant about his neck that had been inscribed with a protective ward.

This was all routine, of course, they had done this many times before.

"Is the ritual ready?" he asked.

"Yes, Grand Master. We can begin whenever you wish."

The Master waved his gloved hand, indicating that they should get the ceremony underway. Now came the boring part, waiting for the wizards to conclude their incantations. He stood patiently as they went through the chants that they had memorized by rote, twelve voices speaking as one, echoing throughout the room like a Gregorian choir.

As their chanting and the waving of their wands continued, some of the candles began to sputter, as if a gust of wind had come in through an open window. There were no windows of course, not only was the room sealed but it was below ground. The temperature plummeted, his breath condensating as it left his mouth, but the Grand Master did not let it bother him.

He recalled the first time that he had seen a summoning. He couldn't have been more than a Grand Pontiff of the Nineteenth degree at the time, a fresh-faced boy in comparison to his current appearance. He had been full of excitement and wonder, eager to learn the closely guarded secrets of the ancient order to which he belonged. Not only that, but he had been desperate to rid himself of a lingering doubt that had haunted him for so many years, wanting confirmation that it was all real and not just some kind of elaborate cult. If he could see magick with his own eyes, if he could see a real demon, then he would be able to devote himself to the cause completely.

After moving up through the ranks, his time had finally come. Excitement had turned to fear when the sweat on his brow had begun to freeze, when he had seen all of the shadows in the room coalesce into a single point within the circle. What had stepped out of that veil of shadows had not been human, had not been of this world. He hadn't seen it, at least not in the traditional sense. The entity had projected itself into his mind like an intrusive thought, an idea as much as a physical presence. What he remembered best were its eyes, burning like a pair of hot coals, unwavering as they penetrated him to the soul.

It was on that day that he had truly understood. There were worlds beyond his own, metaphysical forces of incomprehensible power and influence that must be controlled and kept in check. The history of the human species was far longer and more complex than any historian or anthropologist could ever know, because that information had been robbed from them, hidden away in the dark recesses of arcane libraries and in the minds of a select few. Now the Grand Master was one of those elites, a tiny fraction of the human race who knew the true nature of reality, a sworn guardian of secrets that must be kept at all costs.

He was returned to the present by the ringing of a church bell, faint and eerie as if heard from far away. It was like the sound of a great cathedral summoning the faithful to prayer, mournful and hollow, growing steadily louder as the chanting of the wizards rose in tempo. Before long the tuneless ringing was loud enough that it almost seemed to be coming from inside the room, as if he was standing in the steeple of a church. The sound was tuneless and grating, but he knew that it would be over soon.

A distortion manifested in the center of the summoning circle, almost like a heat haze, barely perceptible at first but intensifying as he watched. It was like a mirage, confined entirely to the circle, roughly in the size and shape of a tall man. The ringing of the phantom bells did not abate, remaining steady as if they were announcing the arrival of this entity. The haze shifted and morphed, the atmosphere in the room almost seeming to vibrate in time with the cacophony, as though the very molecules in the air were resonating with it.

Swirling patterns appeared across the surface of the circle as if the glass-smooth stone had turned to liquid, concentric ripples and dancing splashes spreading like disturbances on a calm lake. It was a visualization of this baleful melody, spreading out from the center as the haze became opaque.

The tolling of the bells halted abruptly and the chanting along with it, the sound of a pair of shoes splashing in water ringing out in the dead silence. Standing in the circle was a human figure, seven feet tall and unnaturally thin, its body shrouded in a long robe made from what resembled burlap with a large hood. The shadow within concealed the entity's face save for its mouth and chin. It looked stretched and unnatural, the skin pallid, the lips thin and discolored. Everything about it was wrong, out of place, giving the Grand Master a palpable sensation of disgust and fear. This thing should not be, it was wrong, an aberration.

He quickly suppressed the instinct, clearing his throat as the thing turned towards him, its pale lips curling into a smile.

"Welcome, Gaap," he announced with a respectful bow. "It is a pleasure to have you with us again."

This entity was the thirty-third demon of the Ars Goetia, Gaap, a mighty Prince of Hell who had numerous powers that were of great use to the Freemasons. This was not the first time that they had met, he had personally called up the creature several times in the past.

Gaap clasped its long, bony fingers together, like some kind of evil monk as it stood within the bounds of the circle. The Master couldn't help but stare, that long hood imbuing him with a kind of morbid curiosity, the dark shadows teasing at what horrors might lie just out of view.

"Grand Master," Gaap rasped, its voice course and breathy. It spoke like it had a mouth full of dust, as if a desiccated corpse had been reanimated and was using its vocal apparatus for the first time in centuries. "As ever, you honor me with your rituals. So precise and proper..."

It did not address the wizards who were standing around the summoning circle, knowing from experience who it was going to be treating with.

"Your contract has been prepared," the Master replied, snapping his fingers and gesturing to a wizard who had been waiting behind a nearby table. The robed man stepped forward, a roll of yellowed parchment clasped in his hands, kneeling before the demon and bowing his head as he held it aloft.