The Devil's Pact Pt. 38

Sam's eyes lit up. "A Warlock?"

"No, he has a black aura," Mark answered. "Only, there's no red fringe indicating he's under the Zimmah spell."

"Interesting," Sam smiled.

"That's one word for it," my husband muttered as he led us to the elevator.

I clung to him, just glad he was alive.

* * *

Mark Glassner

The elevator creaked down to the basement. The walls were undressed cinder blocks, the floor a hard slab of more concrete. Soldiers guarded a utility room and muffled heavy metal music bled through the door. Was that Cannibal Corpse? The soldiers saluted before they opened the door.

The assassin was handcuffed to a chair, a black bag over his head. A CIA interrogator leaned against the wall and straightened when I entered. He quickly turned the music off, plunging the room into ringing silence.

"What have you learned?" I asked.

The CIA interrogator shrugged. "Not much, my Lord. He's Agent Jerrold Baxter, FBI. Thirteen years in the FBI, seven as an HRT sniper."

I frowned at the acronym.

"Hostage Rescue Team, my Lord. A counter-terrorist unit. Highly trained. No black marks on his record, three citations for bravery and one Medal of Valor, a very prestigious award in the FBI."

Mary pulled the mask off the man and then stuck a finger underneath her skirt. It came away wet with her juices, and she traced a symbol on the man's head--the Mark of Qayin. It was necessary to anchor any prayers she needed to cast on the prisoner. She murmured a Nun's prayer, then frowned, straightening.

"He's not a Thrall," Mary said. "The prayer didn't work."

I looked at my wife in confusion. "What? But his aura?"

"If he were a Thrall, he'd be staring blankly ahead," Mary she answered.

"It is possible he's a Warlock," Sam suggested. "If he made the right wish, perhaps it could have camouflaged his aura. Or perhaps there is a spell that can do the same."

Mary reached down and unzipped the prisoner's pants, pulling out his cock. "What the fuck!" the assassin gasped. "What are you doing?"

Mary grimaced and stroked him. Then she bent down and sucked his cock into her mouth. A bewildered expression filled the assassin's face as Mary's head bobbed up and down. He had been ready for pain, for agony, but not for pleasure.

"She is a whore!" he growled at me.

I gritted my teeth, hating to see my wife degrade herself. Memories flashed through my mind of Brandon holding her face, ramming his cock into her mouth, while she pretended to love it. I fought down the bile and anger. If I could, I would bring Brandon back from the dead just to put another bullet in his head.

Sweat broke out on the man's face. He struggled to resist the pleasure, suspicious. He must suspect a spell. He fought against his orgasm for a while, face growing strawberry-red. But Mary never stopped sucking, one hand gently massaging his balls. She alternated between deep-throating him, and licking just the tip of his cock.

But determined will could only hold out so long against biology.

"Shit!" he grunted.

Mary quickly pulled her mouth off his cock, white cum shooting up into the air, and hissed, "Shalak."

The Mark of Qayin blazed white on the man's head. He spasmed as his aura became silver. A regular human's aura. Whatever spell or wish hid his aura was broken. She had exorcised him, removing his powers. He wasn't a Warlock any longer.

But he was still bound to the demon with whom he had made his Pact. Probably the Devil.

Mary coughed and spat out his cum. The CIA interrogator handed her a water bottle and she noisily washed her mouth out, spitting into the corner of the room as I studied the man. My mind whirled. A Warlock who looked like a Thrall. A quarter of the nation must be under our powers by now. A sea of people that a Warlock with the right wish or spell could hide in. I glanced at Sam. Her eyes were furrowed, mind churning away.

She was always thinking, always working out problems..

"Why did you try to kill me?" I finally asked.

His aura turned black as my power affected him. "For Liberty!" he spat. "Did you think that you could enslave our Great Nation and patriots would not rise up and fight you?"

"There are more of you?" Mary asked, walking back.

"Many," he spat. "We will not rest until you two are dead!"

"What are their names?" I demanded.

He frowned, and struggled to talk. "I...can't...say!"

I blinked at that. He was... resisting.

"Ask him what his wishes were," Sam suggested.

I did.

"I wished to be immune from another person's control. To make my aura appear black like a Thrall's. And that anyone who signed our pledge could not have their names or locations revealed to the Tyrants, Mark and Mary Glassner, or any who serve them." He laughed, an almost maniacal, unhinged sound. "You see, as long as one of us still has our Pact, no one can be forced to reveal our names or where we plot!"

"You all made a Pact?"

His grin was wild. "All the Patriots! I may have failed today, but there will be others. We shall not stop! We are everywhere! We are legion!"

* * *

General Gonzalo Olmos - Austin, TX

Governor Quincy Holt, the traitor to his Gods and Country, stood on the porch of the Governor's Mansion of the Great State of Texas besides the massive, white Doric columns that supported the roof. Local and national media were in attendance, filming the traitor as he prepared to make his speech declaring that Texas had seceded from the Union. The lawn was full of men and women cheering and clapping, waving Texan flags.

No U.S. flag flew around the mansion, only the State Flag. The Republic of Texas's flag.

"It is with a heavy heart that I made my decision," the traitor said into the microphones. "But I could not let the Great State of Texas fall into the hands of a false messiah. There is only one god, and his name is not Mark Glassner!"

A great cheer went up from the crowd. Signs were waved, reading: "Jesus is my savior, not Mark," "'Thou shalt have no gods before me.' Exodus 20:3," "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the exercise thereof!" and many more.

They were all traitors.

"General Olmos," Captain Brentmeyers saluted.

I was the Adjutant General for the Texan National Guard. When Governor Holt mobilized the Guard to seceded from the Union, I had been sick to my stomach. His actions today would not pass unanswered. I would help my gods preserve this great nation and not let some disgusting politician pull it apart like a murder of crows over a carcass. There would be no second Civil War if I could help it.

All of my soldiers agreed with me.

"Everything is ready, sir," the captain told me, his young face pale.

"It will be okay, son," I told him, clasping his shoulder and giving him a reassuring squeeze. "For our Country and for our Gods."

He swallowed, straightening his back. "Yes, sir!"

The traitor continued his speech as I marched along the edge of the crowd towards the porch. My soldiers were positioned around the lawn's perimeter, supposedly a show of support for the traitorous governor. The bastard nodded to me. A jovial smile crossing his fat, ruddy face and a pleased, oily look filled his eyes as he saw me. The disgusting slug lusted for power.

I climbed the stairs to join him.

"General Olmos and I will prot--"

His oily eyes bulged in surprise as I drew my service handgun, a Colt.45 with a nickel-plated grip that I had polished until it gleamed like silver. I placed it to the traitor's forehead, seeing the dawning realization in his eyes as he discovered the price for treason.

"For Mark and Mary!" I roared and executed him.

To be continued...