The Incubus, Succubus and Son of Perdition Box Set: The Len du Randt Bundle (89 page)

The man didn’t even look as her and almost knocked her
over as he walked past in full stride.

She scratched a slight itch on her elbow and asked
another man, who also ignored her.
Chauvinist pigs
, she thought and
decided to ask a woman instead.

‘Would you be able to help me?’ she asked the first
woman that appeared to be a tourist as well.

‘I could try,’ the woman said as she scratched her leg.

‘All I need is directions to Lord Yoshe’s temple,’ René
said as she scratched the nape of her neck.

‘Sure,’ the woman said and scratched her cheek. ‘You
just...’ she scratched her arms. ‘Just go down...’

René didn’t focus on the woman anymore. She was too
busy scratching herself. What started out as a light itch had now turned to a
burning sensation all over her body. The other woman too—it appeared—was too
busy scratching herself to continue giving directions.

The more René scratched and rubbed, the worse the
burning and itching became. René couldn’t cover her whole body fast enough. She
dug her nails into her arm while she rubbed her back against the wall of a
building. People all around her were scratching and rubbing themselves.
Children were screaming and some people scratched their tongues until blood
flowed from their mouths.

What’s going on?
René thought as she continued
scratching. It was then that she noticed the tiny sores on the back of her
hands. Soon after, the burning and itching became so unbearable that she fell
to the ground in a scratching fit as the little sores rapidly spread throughout
her entire body.

- - -*  *  *- -
-

‘N-Force Hospital staff are running
around frantically as people from all over the world are flooding the local
hospitals and community shelters. All those hospitalised are covered in some
sort of mutated wart-like disease.’

Trevor wondered if they would make the connection that
the ‘disease’ only appeared on those with Shields. He figured that, in time, it
would be blamed on Christians terrorizing the poor ‘loyal folk’ of the Empire with
some sort of secret weapon designed to work against the Shield.

‘Many have already committed suicide, while others just
lie in the street, scratching themselves into a bloody pulp.’

GMN aired footage of people lying on the streets,
screaming and moaning as they scratched themselves. Some people’s faces were so
badly riddled with the wart-like plague, that Trevor couldn’t see where their
noses were supposed to be. His mind wandered to René and he sent up a quick
prayer to the Lord, asking Him to alleviate her pain and suffering as much as
possible. He still couldn’t get over the thrill of
knowing
that God
existed and being able to speak to Him directly as often as he liked.

‘Sovereign Emperor, Victor Yoshe, has this to say.’

The footage of the scratching people was replaced by
that of Victor standing on a platform. He appeared to be unaffected by the
sudden outbreak of the plague.

‘Loyal citizens of the Empire,’ he began his address,
‘It appears that the Christian terrorists will go to the fullest extent of
plaguing our world with their hatred and rebellion.’

Trevor rolled his eyes.

‘And we, the ones seeking unity and peace, have to
suffer for it. Will the terrorists never yield to peace and love? Will they
never consider others as equal to them? What have we done to be punished like
this? I tell you not to fear, my loyal believers, as I will soon unleash Hell
upon these terrorists who think that they own my world. Does this planet not
belong to its creator? Should its inhabitants not follow their maker? I urge
all to be strong, and to keep the faith as we try to find the source of this
outrage. You have my blessings.’

The newsreader—also covered in wart-like
sores—returned. ‘Lord Yoshe has sent his Imperial Soldiers to hunt down and
slay the Christian terrorist source. They have a strong lead on a Christian
base camp somewhere in the plains of Megiddo and will investigate. More on this
as it develops—’

Trevor snapped off the television and walked toward the
window. He stared out at the cityscape and wondered how long it would be before
he would be weeded out and driven from his home. ‘Please guide me and make me
strong, Lord,’ he prayed. ‘I also beg of you to supply me with fresh water and
food, as my supplies are running dangerously low. Thank you for your light
during this dark time. Amen.’

- - -*  *  *- -
-

Ryan sat thinking about the two
hundred million soldiers that Victor had shown him two weeks ago. They were
deployed last week, and had since killed over four million people.

‘They don’t take prisoners,’ Victor told Ryan. ‘They
just go in and get the job done.’

The monstrous soldiers could flood countries like
India, Russia, and Burma in a matter of weeks. It would only be months before
the entire European continent would belong to Victor. From there, the next step
would be to take Africa, and then the two American continents. In just over two
years, Victor could rule the entire planet, and no one would be able to stand
in his way.

The slaughters didn’t bother Ryan at first. In fact, he
quite enjoyed torturing some of the terrorists. But as time progressed, and the
killings grew more gruesome in nature, he started feeling uneasy about them. He
wondered why they had to use violence to achieve peace, but knew that asking
Victor about it would prove to be a fatal mistake. One of the Empire’s top
delegates asked the very same question once, and was tortured and fed to the
lions.

‘Units five and seven,’ Ryan said as he spoke into a
hidden microphone. ‘We are nearing the city. Everyone get to your positions.’

‘Roger that, sir,’ a voice squawked in his earpiece.

Since the attack on Victor at Al Jalil, public
appearances received top security. No one would be able to get close enough to
Victor for another attack, and those who would make the mistake of trying,
would be taken care of in a heartbeat.

Thousands of people had lined the streets, and others
leaned out of buildings to see the coming of their God in glory and power.

Glory he had, as he was dressed in clothing worth more
than what most people earned in a lifetime of hard work. Victor waved at the
cheering crowds through the sunroof of a white limousine.

Power he had too, as in front of the limo, and behind
it, thousands upon thousands of Imperial Soldiers marched in perfect unison.

The inhabitants of the city cheered and waved at their
Lord, and balloons were released as a marching band played in time with the
steps of the Imperial Soldiers.

‘Our Messiah has come in flesh,’ a huge banner read.
‘Rejoice! For our God is amongst us!’ read another. And another even said, ‘All
worship our great and wonderful God, Sovereign Emperor Victor Yoshe.’

Ryan scanned the crowd for any suspicious looking
zealots. So far, so good.

The marching came to a halt and stopped playing. The
limousine stopped too. Victor looked at the thousands of people gathered around
him and he smiled warmly at them. Most of them were still without Shields, but
he could tell that they were grateful for his military coup and, within a week,
all of them would be branded. Any who resisted would be seen as terrorists, and
be imprisoned or impaled. The public favourite still appeared to be the lion
feeding at the various Coliseums worldwide where the really pathetic looking
ones were aired on ‘The World’s Funniest Deaths.’

I own all of this,
Victor thought to himself as the
people simultaneously bowed down to him.
I own these people, these
buildings, and even the grass beneath the trees. It is all mine; and soon I
will possess even more.

- - -*  *  *- -
-

South Africa:
Two Weeks Later

‘This is N-Force,’ a voice through
a megaphone jerked Trevor from his sleep. ‘This is a routine inspection. Please
cooperate and allow yourself to be scanned. Do
not
leave your
apartments. Anyone caught doing so will be shot. Those without Shields must
also remain in their apartments until they can be assisted by an officer.’

Oh Lord,
Trevor thought as he jumped out of bed.
This cannot
be happening!

He looked out of his window just as a searchlight swept
by and saw a number of armed N-Force troops jumping from vans. Some people were
already being escorted and shoved into the vans. One of them jerked away from
the officers and ran toward what he thought was safety. Trevor flinched as
three short bursts from a machine gun stopped the man dead in his tracks.

What am I going to do?
Trevor’s mind was racing
frantically with all sorts of possible options, but he instinctively knew that
they were all futile. He would be caught and taken to a concentration camp
where they would torture him to the brink of death and then toss him to the
lions. They would then cut off what was left of his head and impale it
alongside the main road leading to the Coliseum in Soweto. Trevor couldn’t
allow that to happen. He dressed quickly. It would only be another minute or so
before the N-Force officers would be pounding down his door. Should he try and
hide in the apartment? Maybe try to make a run for it?

Don’t run, Trevor
, a soft voice spoke from inside his
head. It sounded like his own voice, but somehow he knew that it wasn’t. The
voice was calm and spoke softly, yet wielded tremendous authority.
Do not be
afraid.

Trevor was about to run to the living room when someone
pounded on his front door.

‘N-Force,’ a rough voice called from the other side.
‘Open up!’

Trevor froze. Images of the running man getting shot
still replayed itself in his mind.

‘Open up or we will break it down!’ the rough voice
commanded.

Trevor still couldn’t get himself to move, and not even
the loud
thump
against his door was enough to get his legs to respond.
There was another loud
THUMP
and then a
CRACK
as the door gave in
under the force.

Trevor stood face to face with the silhouette of an
armed man as the N-Force soldier scanned a flashlight through the apartment. He
didn’t enter. The officer made another sweep and then landed the flashlight
right onto Trevor’s face. Trevor didn’t breathe. His heart exploded in his ears
and his head felt light and dizzy. They stood there, watching each other for a
minute. Trevor closed his eyes and welcomed the inevitable. He was satisfied
that he had come this far in the race.

‘Apartment six-zero-two,’ the N-Force officer spoke
into his mouthpiece, not taking his flashlight off Trevor’s face. ‘Clear.’

What?

The N-Force officer clicked off his flashlight before
thumping down the hallway. A few seconds later, Trevor heard a pounding on his
neighbour’s door.

Trevor opened his eyes. He was alone in his flat. Alone
and alive.

‘Come with us, sir,’ he heard the same voice bark at
his neighbour.

‘No,’ the neighbour protested. ‘You cannot do this!
This is inhumane!’

There was some shuffling and Trevor flinched as a
gunshot went off. ‘Apartment six-zero-three,’ the voice said. ‘Clear.’

A few moments later Trevor finally managed to move. He
went over to the window and looked out at the vans below. The soldiers shut the
doors and the vans pulled away from the building. The dead man was left lying
in the road. He wasn’t their problem anymore.

Trevor fell to his knees, still unable to grasp the
reality of what had just happened. ‘If there was even the slightest doubt in my
mind, it has been completely removed,’ he whispered through quivering lips.
‘Thank you, Jesus.’

He realized that he couldn’t spend another night in his
apartment, and that N-Force, bounty hunters, or even Imperial Soldiers were
sure to raid again. He knew that if they did come back next time, they
would
find him, and that would be the end.

- - -*  *  *- -
-

‘Father,’ Timothy said as Malcolm
entered his tent. ‘I wanted you to see this.’

‘What is it, Tim?’

‘Look.’

Malcolm looked at a small television screen that one of
Timothy’s scouts brought back from Jerusalem during a stakeout. At first
Malcolm couldn’t figure out what he was looking at. It appeared to be a
close-up of tomato soup with chunks of mushroom drifting on the surface. A few
seconds later the camera panned across the ‘soup,’ and zoomed out. Malcolm
couldn’t believe his eyes. ‘That’s the...’ he said, his words sounding hollow
as he spoke. ‘That’s the ocean.’

‘Correct,’ Timothy said, his horrified facial
expression matched that of his father. ‘All the oceans have turned into blood.’