Violent Ends by Steve Stark

Author:Steve Stark [Stark, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stark Terror
Published: 2024-01-23T00:00:00+00:00

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The music had finally stopped and in its stead a deep rumble like an amplified cat’s purr, resonated about the great room, causing ripples in the puddles of blood dotting the floor.

The contented sound came from the demon Belial, who lingered over the unconscious mortal at his feet, watching with an almost doting gaze. Long had it been since he'd last completed the act of feeding, so long that he’d nearly dismissed his fading recollections of the pleasure as mere fantasy. Yet now, after centuries of deprivation, it’d felt more exhilarating than ever and even when he moved away, he found himself pausing between steps to savour the insistent tingles still creeping over his slimy hide.

The advocate would sleep now and know the benefit of the feeding when he awoke. Then he would listen to Belial, hear his plans. Although the demon called him “Master”, in truth this mortal would be the one bound in service, like many so-called leaders before him. In exchange for the feed Brian would act on Belial’s behalf, performing as his puppet to influence the world of man and under guise of this new religion they would usher in the next terrible era of human history, an era of glorious atrocity.

But wait…

There was something amiss.

What was it Belial sensed?

This new advocate was…unsatisfied?

It could not be so.

Yet it was. That aura of greed, of ambition, had not even slightly diminished from the feed. If anything, it’d already increased; a state which should not occur until at least the next moon.

‘Rast,’ hissed Belial. Not since Crassus had he encountered such want, such appetite and he scoured the remains strewn about for anything of use. Freshness was key. He had to ingest the meat at the very moment of its death to harvest what he sought, the precious lifeforce, but to his dismay he soon realised that there was nothing left, only dead scraps already drained or spoiled.

Catastrophe. What would such failure do for Belial’s name in the Inferno? His imprisonment had been humiliation enough, but this was akin to impotence, the lowest shame among his kind, guaranteed to incur an eon of scorn. If ever he hoped to regain a fraction of his former status, he knew he'd have to find more essence to sate the advocate.

And fast.

Close by, the upturned chariot still smoked and as he approached Belial intended to press it aside, to carry his search out into the night, when at the last moment something stayed his hand.

It was a knocking, a forceful knocking coming from somewhere across the room, somewhere overlooked, somewhere hidden.

‘LET US IN,’ bellowed Craig Palmer and again he hammered the door, but there was still no response from the other side.

‘Fuck's sake,’ he huffed.

It was no use; that steel fire door had already been pummelled for a good ten minutes by various people, to no effect.

His fist now throbbing, Craig turned and looked over his fellow captives. Those seventy-six souls trapped in that smoking area were growing restless, some leaning against the fence which a few had made half-hearted efforts to break already.

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