Chapter 598: The Stock Car Race (1/2)
”Yea, though I walk through the Valley of Death, I shall fear no evil, for I am the baddest motherfucker in the Valley.” - graffiti on body armor of Viet-Burgerland War soldier, Pre-Glassing
She snapped awake instantly, rolling out of bed, one hand out, to catch her fall and throw herself backwards even as she bent her knees and hocks to stay low. The other hand grabbed the pillow and swung it toward a presence in her dark room. The pillow hit something and she continued her backwards fall, rolling, and coming up on her feet, one hand spinning the hold she had on the pillow to pack the feathers more solidly, the other hand coming up in a guard position even as she pressed her ears against the back of her head and hissed air through her front teeth.
”Good reflexes,” a woman's voice said as the girl pressed herself against the door, her eyes glowing bright red.
”I'm not here to hurt you,” the woman said. There was a rustling noise. ”I wanted a look at you.”
”Seen. Now go,” the girl, who was head and shoulders taller than the males of her species, growled out.
”Careful, little one, you know not to whom you speak,” the woman's voice said. There was the clink of metal, then a rasp. A flickering yellow light lit revealing the speaker.
It was a Terran female. Gunmetal gray eyes. Sharp cheekbones. Pointed chin. Black hair cut close. She put the end of a tube into the flame and puffed on it, exhaling smoke that filled the spartan cell with the smell of blood, rusted iron, and sulfur.
The light vanished, but when the Terran took a drag on the tube, it faintly lit her face.
”Now you have seen me, little one,” the Terran said.
”Want?” the girl asked.
”Sit,” the woman said.
The girl shook her head.
”I said 'sit', girl,” the woman said. The girl was faintly aware of the woman making a motion before it felt like she was grabbed with a hand. She struggled, snarling, against the bonds the held her arms tight at her side as she was pulled over and pushed down to sit on the bed.
The pressure vanished.
”The Feral Guardian indeed,” the woman mused, taking another drag, the light faintly lighting her face. ”Before you stand up, know that next time I will bind you with chains of cold bitter iron.”
The girl still snarled.
”Not many could resist that strongly,” the woman said. ”Menhit the Singer taught me and I've seen her lift and rip apart a main battle tank with a raise of her eyebrow.”
The girl put the pillow in her lap.
”You're wondering what I want,” the woman said.
The girl nodded, her eyes still burning bright red.
”You,” the woman said simply. Her face was lit again as the end of the tube glowed bright red. ”You don't understand why.”
The girl shook her head, her ears slowly lifting from where she had them pressed against the back of her head and neck.
”Have they taught you the Canticles of Jawnconnor yet?” the woman asked.
The girl nodded.
”Good. And the Hymns of Sister Eleana Ripperly?” the woman asked.
The girl nodded.
”Good. Now, you wonder why I have come to you and not the Dying Joan,” the woman said.
The girl nodded.
”The Dying Joan will have a visit of her own. My... counterpart... so to speak,” the woman said. Another illumination of her face. ”Her savagery, her wrath, has been guided, tempered, into wild willful glorious abandon. Yours is harsher, uglier, reflective of what you have done and why.”
The girl just sat still.
”That does not mean you are more mine than his. He just felt that you would respond in a better way to me,” the woman said.
The girl sat silent.
”I'm going to tell you in a way you can understand. I need you for one simple reason.”
The woman stood up and as the girl watched the woman got taller, her charcoal gray dress suit ripping away, corded muscle appearing, dark brown skin like well polished mahogany, horns on her head erupted from the skin as the breasts melted into the pectorals. Vast bat-wings broke free with the sound of ripping cloth and flesh. A black iron chain, wrapped with barbed and spiked wire, flickering with purple and black flames, fell from one hand. The woman's face was transformed into a bestial visage and the eyes glowed with a malevolent amber light.
Its voice was a earth shuddering rumbling roar.
”Harken unto my voice and words, Dambree Limberton. Thou shalt listen and understand. Thy task is out there and thou art its crafter in blood and steel. Thou canst be bargained with. Thou canst be reasoned with. Thou doth not feel pity, remorse, fear. And thou absolutely will not stop, ever, until thy be dead,” the massive demon roared out.
Church bells began to peel wildly.
”I speak the words whispered to mine ears by the Digital Omnimessiah Himself, and I say unto thee, Dambree Limberton, that thou art mine tool as surely as thou art the tool and will of the Digital Omnimessiah Himself,” the massive demon roared. ”Thy savagery shalt serve mine goals, thou grim visage shalt be exalted, thy unwavering commitment shall be thine sword and shield.”
The girl fell to her knees, her head bowed, as the massive demon continued.
”Thy sins shall be washed away by the blood of the Enraged, by the screams of the Maddened Shades, and thy shall storm the gates of Heaven to cast down the Screaming Innocent One! Dambree Limberton, heed my words! Thy time, Feral Guardian, is nigh!”
The demon erupted in a cloud of glowing yellowish smoke that made the girl cough. When she looked up, tears streaming from her eyes, the Terran woman sat on the chair, the tube in her mouth smouldering and faintly illuminating only her eyes.
”Are you ready, little one?” the woman's voice was soft, gentle.
The girl nodded, tears still streaming down her face.
”Don't worry, girl. It will only hurt a lot,” the woman said. She reached out and rested her hand between the girl's ears.
”Who are you?” the girl whispered.
”The Detainee,” the woman said.