12036988 970236443033901 4005590017397872048 n

Eunice Sng

Singapore

FANTASY AFICIONADO. A cross-breed between goth and emo. Has an obsession with vintage and Victorian stuff. Loves Green Day and My Chemical Romance. Also a dedicated reader and logophile.

Message from Writer

Hi there! Come and read my work!

Friday the Thirteenth

January 11, 2016

Chapter 1
C
ollective groans of pain, screaming and raucous laughter from the emaciated, wild-eyed Condemned trailing behind her formed a mellifluous cacophony that set the soundscape for the view of three rising blood-red moons. Absinthe could already feel the heightened levels of Debauched magic growing steadily inside her. She unfurled her long black wings and bared her ivory fangs, basking in the crimson glow. Today was Friday the Thirteenth, the period when the conduit between Earth and Hell would be choked with Condemned souls, delicatessen for demons, vampires and fallen angels alike.
   Master Satan would be at the Palace of Perdition for the celebrations. That night, all denizens of Hell, no matter how strong or weak, would congregate to experience the sucking of Debauched magic from Condemned and celebrate the renewed force of evil.
   Absinthe could hardly wait for the maelstrom of fornication and inebriation that would follow.
  The hem of her dress brushed the cobblestones, stained dark brown from previous batches of bleeding Condemned and now sporting yet another shiny coat of slick blood. She inhaled deeply and proceeded with a lissom gait, buoyed by its copperish smell. Absinthe had been charged with leading this batch of souls to the palace before midnight. What an easy task! She thought. These helpless bags of decaying flesh were already shackled earlier after leaving the conduit. She settled any form of disturbance easily with a desultory flick of her whip.
  She saw the familiar stygian façade and winding spires of Palace of Perdition ahead. A few bats, probably Master Satan’s favourite vampires, were circling it, overseeing the operations for the transfer of Condemned. Finally we reach the palace. We’ll be in a soul-devouring frenzy tonight. I can’t wait to drink the essence of these sinners! Absinthe grinned to herself and imagined the black mass of Debauched magic rising sinuously above the flaccid bodies of the Condemned.
  She delivered the batch and was led to one of the palace’s boudoirs by a demon servant to rest before Friday the Thirteenth party started. Laying supine on the bed, she released her magic and allowed herself to be enveloped by the black smoke, reaching into the minds of Condemned souls and planting more nightmares in there. She knew this was unnecessary and would probably give more trouble for the other fallen angels downstairs to contain the screaming ones, but could not help herself. Would it hurt to have a little fun before hard-core hedonism took over the night?
  One hour later, someone knocked on her door and informed her of the party’s inception. Absinthe burst out of her room and joined the expectant crowd downstairs, black heart hammering wildly. I cannot miss a second of this!
  Master Satan stood  stark naked on a flaming elevated platform in the middle of the hall, magnificent with his shiny red skin, glowing yellow eyes and polished horns. He had unfurled his wings to its maximum span, practically radiating authority.
 In an orotund voice that reverberated in every corner and crevice of Hell, he declared, “My subjects, today is Friday the Thirteenth. You all know that we are the embodiment of evil! Evil is inherent in everyone, even in pathetic mortals. Tonight we celebrate the terror we have caused mankind since the beginning of time. We remind them how powerful Hell is, that they should fear us in their afterlife and cower at our feet! We are eternal! We are gods! We will continue to corrupt and destruct, oppose and corrode. We will obliterate goodness from the universe! We live with debauchery!”
  The crowd raised their fists in the air and roared in agreement. Satisfied, Master Satan moved his sinewy arms in a sweeping gesture.
  Black Debauched magic burst out of the ailing condemned in twisted columns, like hungry snakes. They coalesced into a seething black mass near the ceiling. Then, Master Satan lowered the gigantic cloud down to the crowd. Demons, fallen angels and vampires closed their eyes inhaled deeply, drowning themselves in as much power as they possibly could.
  Then something went terribly wrong.
 
 
Chapter 2
  A wave of nausea overcame Absinthe and she stumbled backwards, feeling slightly disoriented. That’s weird, Debauched magic should make me stronger, not weak like an ailing geriatric!  Annoyed, she opened her eyes and her body jerked in alarm.
  Her fingers were white. Not the usual pallid pallor, but shining with blinding light that only indicated one thing; the presence of heaven.
  Heaven! In a fiend like herself! Terror, confusion, disgust and hatred formed a giant tsunami of emotion that Absinthe could hardly control. She felt that her physical body was a collapsing dam, endlessly being ambushed by those roaring waves of emotion.
  She concentrated her dark magic and tried to fight back the purification. Slowly but surely, the light faded out. She sat and panted heavily, feeling as if a cloud of fog had covered her brain, obscuring her capacity for rational thought. Nothing is making sense!
   Around her was bedlam. Those weaker fiends unable to resist the purification screamed and clutched themselves. Eventually they succumbed to the holy light, vanishing into thin air. Stronger fallen angels were focusing their magic to purge the light out of their bodies, determined not to be claimed again by the place they had chosen to leave years ago.
  Master Satan’s wrath was not something to be trifled with. Everyone, no matter in what realm, knew this. And yet, here he was, provoked into a raging frenzy, raising his fists in the air and shattering everything made of glass into a million glittering pieces. He launched into the air, causing Absinthe to collapse under the mighty force of wind from a single beat of his wing.
  His eyes were glowing a piercing crimson red. He opened his mouth and roared, revealing a gaping maw lined with razor-sharp teeth. The ground rumbled under Absinthe’s feet, as if answering his call.
  “HOW DARE YOU HEAVEN BASTARDS DISGUISE YOUR BLASTED WHITE MAGIC AS DEBAUCHED MAGIC AND INFILTRATE MY REALM ON FRIDAY THE THIRTEENTH! DO YOU WISH TO SEE ME UNLEASH MY WRATH ON YOU? YOU ARE GOING TO BE VERY, VERY SORRY!”
  Realisation of what happened dawned upon Absinthe. Rage bubbled in her like boiling soup. She badly wanted to do something, to take revenge on Heaven for felling her friends, sisters and brothers.
  Then, Master Satan looked around and assessed the situation, searching for surviving fallen angels, his eyes finally landing on Absinthe.
  “You!” He called her, “Go to the mortal realm now and wreck some havoc. Show Heaven that we are fighting back! I cannot leave because I need to hold back the white magic before it purges every trace of corruption from Hell.”
  Absinthe, feeling a strong sense of obligation, opened a portal and stepped into the world of the living.

Chapter 3
  Absinthe stumbled into a vast cotton plantation. The cotton plants that came into contact with her feet crisped and blackened, dying. She looked around her and took in the view of a bucolic countryside. Clouds scudded across the sky above and the cotton plants swayed in the gentle summer breeze. The annoying, unwelcome sound of chirping finches invaded her ears. She was still a bit overwhelmed from the sudden change of environment.
  She used a bit of her magic to find her location and it whispered in her brain, Chapel Hill, Tennessee. South America.
  Absinthe cogitated on what sort of destruction she should inflict upon this mortal realm, trying to conjure up her wildest, savage fantasies. Then she realised she had already used up a large amount of magic earlier trying to rid herself of Heaven’s sanctification. My power is limited; I need to think of something not too draining yet effective.
  She squinted and spotted a small wooden cottage in the distance, protruding out from the sea of white balls like a tiny brown blob. Maybe I should go there. Along the way I can think of what to do. She flapped her obsidian wings, incorporeal hair billowing around her.
  The cottage was dilapidated, made of weather-worn wood and barely standing. A sparrow perched on the roof hastily flew away as Absinthe approached, probably intimidated by the presence of evil.
  She walked past its walls and assessed its grubby interior. As expected, the cottage was sparsely furnished, with only the barely recognisable structure of a few chairs and a table hastily constructed out of low-quality logs filling the empty space.
  Her eyes were immediately drawn to a sleeping mother and her child lying on the table, accoutred in cheap fabrics. Judging from the drying blood on the piece of furniture near the mother’s abdominal area, she probably had just given birth to the infant clutched in her arms.
  An idea popped into her mind. A curse spell will not drain too much of my magic, and will be effective in wrecking a great amount of havoc in the future, although the effects are not immediate.
  With a renewed sense of purpose, Absinthe glided towards the tiny infant, placing her hands on his smooth skin. Closing her eyes, she reached into her supply of Debauched magic and released it into her subject. They flowed out of her in a whirling black rush, seething with malevolence, and easily penetrated the weak ring of protection that Heaven had laid around him.
  The work was done. The boy was filled with Debauched magic. Absinthe stepped back and using her skills of clairvoyance, foresaw that he would grow up to be a controversial and notorious potentate, causing massacre. He would help send a great number of Condemned souls down to Hell, bringing enough Debauched magic to last the realm of evil for a few years.
  Satisfied, Absinthe opened a return portal and stepped in, a smug smile on her face. Revenge was done.
The Cursed One blinked, opening his eyes.
He was Nathan Bedford Forrest, born on July 13, 1821, Friday the thirteenth. Later in his life, he would eventually become the lieutenant general of the Confederate Army and first Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan.
Evil never dies.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Print

See History
  • January 11, 2016 - 1:45am (Now Viewing)

Login or Signup to provide a comment.