Enter Damien

Jonathan had always considered himself a dreamer. No matter his position in life as he climbed his way through the social hierarchy he had always had aspirations to do and become something more. There was always so much that he wanted to achieve, places he wanted to see, and even a handful of people that he wanted to meet.
Although lately this hadn’t been the case for Jonathan, he had become complacent. Perhaps he felt he had achieved everything he wished to achieve. Perhaps he felt he had been everywhere and met everyone. He no longer dreamed of bigger and better things. He was very happy with his life. As he sat reflecting upon it, he was more than satisfied with his forty-seven years on this planet. He had studied hard in school and became a reverend when he was twenty-seven. He had dedicated his life to god, and lived every moment following the bible. In his forty-seven years he honestly could not recall having sinned.
Then he refocused on the letter in his hands. Never had anyone spoken to him in this manner before, and he was scared to death. His reddened eyes watered, but he was too proud a man to allow himself to be crying. He paused for a breath, then he read aloud:
“You have wasted your life and denied your desires. You are a slave to your pitiful ideology and you make me sick. I will not allow you to continue your life on your little pedestal looking down upon and judging everyone you encounter. You think you’re so much better than I am? You will see me when it is your time to die, vengeance will be mine!”
Jonathan could only imagine what this meant, and for the first time in his life he felt as though his life was in danger. He had never imagined that anyone could be so cold and unfeeling, and he briefly contemplated his options.
“Oh well,” he said while tossing the letter in the trash “god will protect me.”
After all, he had spent his entire life in service to god, and the last twenty years as a reverend in this rundown neighborhood. The church had taken down those rundown slum buildings and built this lovely church exclusive for the lower classes. Allowing those people a safe, exclusive, and glorious place to worship. He thought of himself as someone as close to god as anyone could get, he felt that god would allow no harm to come unto him.
One week passed without event and Jonathan practically forgot the whole thing. He never actually believed that anyone would want to harm him, did he? He wrote the whole thing off as some stupid prank. The Sunday service went as usual, and he returned to his room.
His mouth fell wide open and his heart nearly stopped at the sight. A pentagram appeared in brilliant shimmering blood on the floor and a large cross stood in the middle. The power had been cut, he observed as he tried the switch, and the room was illuminated only by hundreds of candles. As he turned in fear, he was struck in the back of the head with a baseball bat. He drifted into unconsciousness.
He awoke sometime later in his room, he noted no change, but he now found himself tied up.
Groggily he looked around his room and his eyes fell upon the dark figure before him. There he stood, Louisville Slugger in hand, and three large metal spikes in the other. He stood well over six feet tall and built solid as any man Jonathan ever laid eyes upon. He had long black hair and was clad in a black “I Love Satan” tee shirt, jeans, and black combat boots. Fear finally sunk into Jonathan’s heart, and a tear began to form.
“Please let me go, I’ll do anything,” Jonathan pleaded.
“Shut up asshole,” the man yelled, “or you’ll never speak again! I will cut your fucking tongue out and feed it to that vicious dog I saw in your neighbor’s yard!”
A wry smile came across his face and he stepped closer. Pulling a knife from his pocket he reached down and cut the ropes from Jonathan’s hands. Meticulously he carved the word “cunt” into his right wrist. Jonathan squirmed at the pain, but held back yelling out in his agony, he did not want this dangerous man angered.
“You are now branded in the name of the lord, get up asshole!” he exclaimed.
Jonathan immediately complied and rose to his feet, which were still tied.
“Oh thank you sir,” said Jonathan.
“I said shut the fuck up!” he screamed, and with that he punched him in the face. Blood began to drip from his nose and his eyes began to water.
“Hop your stupid ass over there,” he said pointing to the middle of the pentagram, “and put your back against the cross. If you try anything funny, then I’m gonna get angry and get fuckin’ medieval on your ass. If at any point you strike me, I assure you there are no words to describe the kind of sadistic punishment that I will have in store for you!”
Noting the warning, he grudgingly complied and slowly hopped over to the cross. He placed his back against the cross and shut his eyes tightly not wanting to see or even think about what was to come. In his head he just kept thinking that a miracle was coming his way and that god would soon save him.
“You don’t need to know my name, that would only cause me trouble in the unlikely event that I fail to kill you. You can call me Damien, just for kicks,” the stranger said.
With that, “Damien” approached Jonathan and planted a deep, passionate kiss on his lips.
“What do you think of that, you homophobic bastard?” asked Damien.
Jonathan wanted to vomit and inform him of his impending banishment to hell, but remained silent and still. His face contorted in his disgust he simply maintained his complacent manner. His lips moved in silent prayer to his lord for forgiveness of his unwilling participation in this act of sin.
Damien was enraged and grabbed Jonathan’s left hand. He took one of the metal spikes, and drove it through Jonathan’s left wrist and into the cross. Jonathan screamed out in pain and tears filled his eyes. Blood spurted from the wound, before turning to a smooth flow to the floor below.
“It didn’t have to be like this fuckhead, I didn’t ask much, just one simple fucking question, now answer me before I slaughter your family and show them to you before I kill you!” shouted Damien.
“OK! OK! OK! I’m sorry, I am not homosexual, I did not enjoy it! I’m not like you!” replied Jonathan.
Damien was pissed off and hit Jonathan in the stomach. As Jonathan regained his breath, his remaining limbs were systematically nailed to the cross and his clothes were torn off.
“You’re not like me?” Damien began. “What exactly is that fucking supposed to mean? You’re not a faggot like me? You don’t care to fuck men as you assume I do? You have your little faith and beliefs and you pity me for not understanding?”
Jonathan immediately recognized he had probably said the wrong thing and attempted to backtrack, but Damien was well into his tirade and nothing at this point could have stopped him.
“You see Jonathan, you aren’t like me!” Damien continued. “You have put all your stock in this blind faith you have “found” and all you’ve done is place irrational limitations on yourself. You’ve limited your own ability to think and feel, your ability to experience life on any quote unquote normal plain, you’ve resigned yourself to perpetual ignorance. Unlike myself, without this quote unquote blessing of faith to get me through my days with hopes of irrational retribution in some perfect fantasyland. You should’ve at least held out for the silly fantasyland with all the virgins; at least then perhaps you could rationalize all your ignorant beliefs. You sir, will never be like me, you will never experience the divine joy of freewill and the unfettered exploration of the dark and evil part of the soul. You can never experience the exquisite joy of torture, which easily drowns out emotional pain far better than any pitiful religion ever could. I have found my catharsis in your bloodshed and in this I guess you are temporarily my savior, I should thank you.”
Jonathan was not visibly moved by Damien’s outburst, but Damien seemed quite assured that Jonathan’s heart now beat a little faster and some of his arrogance had been washed away.
“This is where it gets fun Johnny boy,” said Damien. “You see, this is not and has never been about your death! As I said, this is about the divine art of torture! I almost wish we were gathered to exchange pleasantries all evening, I damn sure could just insult the hell out of you all night, but obviously you’re gonna bleed to death soon enough. Time is the enemy tonight.”
Jonathan tensed as Damien walked over to the closet. Damien swung the door wide-open; he peered back at Damien with a sadistic grin on his face and Jonathan’s heart nearly stopped. Before him stood his wife and his two children bound, gagged, and blindfolded. They appeared beaten, abused, and clearly very frightened. The boy had two black eyes, an obscene flow of blood from his nose signaled a possible broken nose, and it even appeared some of his teeth had been smashed. The women, though covered in blood, at second glance appeared unharmed. Perhaps only Mikey had put up a fight.
“You animal!” Jonathan yelled, “let them go now!”
With one swift blow, Damien nearly knocked Jonathan’s son Mikey right through the back of the closet. Mikey hit the back of the closet with such force that he nearly fell unconscious. Damien then grabbed all three members of Jonathan’s family, removed their blindfolds and gags, and threw them into the middle of the pentagram.
“Who the fuck do you think is in control here?” asked Damien. “ I am the one in fucking control here! Fucking remember that! You run your little service, you run the show; this is my mass. Now Johnny, I’ve already spent the better part of the day fucking the holy hell out of both your children and, while it was not up to my usual high standards, I Takes what I can gets! Mikey and Suzie, you are gonna suck your old man’s cock now. Johnny boy, you get the rare privilege of watching me sodomize your pretty wife. Trust me, this is a special honor I don’t just share with any victim, so just sit back and relax.”
Jonathan’s heart sank at those words and he said nothing, all he could think was “what on earth could be more depraved and how was he supposed to just sit back and relax?”
Mikey and Suzie took turns sucking him off. Suzie was terrible; her teeth hurt like hell. He wanted to make her stop, but knew Damien would not allow it. Mikey, though, was good. “A little too good,” he thought to himself.
Afraid for his family’s safety, he forced himself to watch Damien sodomize his poor wife. He scanned her poor face for the contortion of pain and agony. He wished her eyes would meet his so he could offer her some sort of consoling look, though that would be tough with the kids passing his cock back and forth like a crack pipe. She didn’t look distressed, however; in fact he detected a slight smile.
“Oh my,” he thought, “she’s enjoying it?”
Mikey was again sucking his dick and he came to a realization. He, too, was enjoying this. It seemed irrational that his hard-on would not had dissipated when it was the mouth of his own child servicing him, yet here he sat at full-mast and for the first time in many years he felt that heat building up in his balls. Moments later he came in Mikey’s mouth and to his surprise the boy swallowed all of his seed. He was astonished at what he was learning of his family today.
“Oh god yes! Harder! Harder!” his wife screamed.
Damien was now fucking her from behind, but no longer in the ass, and she was begging for more like a common whore. The wife of a reverend, begging for more, like a common whore? When? How?
Bang! Bang! Damien had thrown her onto her back and two shots later his wife lay dead; shot in the middle of the orgasm he could never give her. He could only stare at the gaping exit wounds in her back, blood spilled out and some intestine hung from one of the holes. Damien laughed aloud.
Then Damien shot Mikey in the head, brain matter littering the room, but for some reason he decided to spare Suzie. He walked to her and tore her clothes from her nineteen-year-old body. He sat and pulled her onto his lap, with her legs spread-eagled for Jonathan to see everything.
“Trivia time,” said Damien. “Suzie baby, how many guys have you fucked?”
“You were number ninety-six Damien,” she replied in a frightened tone.
Jonathan was shocked, he had always assumed she was a virgin. How had he been so blind to her sins?
“How many affairs did mommy have?” Damien asked.
“She admitted around fifty, but I think more around a hundred,” she replied.
Jonathan’s heart sank deeper, he never knew.
“How many girls had Mikey been with?” asked Damien.
Jonathan was afraid how high this number would be, had he raised no moral children?
“ I think none,” she replied.
Finally a little pride for Jonathan, he had raised Mikey well. A smile crept across his face and he found some solace.
“He was gay,” she then added, “but once he told me he’d been with nearly four hundred men.”
“NO!” thought Jonathan. All of them had betrayed his trust and pissed on his honor. He began to weep; almost relieved Damien had rid the Earth of these scums.
“I can see that look in your eyes again, Johnny” Damien began, “you’re already looking down on them aren’t you? Feeling sorry for yourself about how all this reflects on you? Feeling like people laughed behind your back about this ridiculous façade you put up of your perfect little life, meanwhile the girls a whore, the boys a man-seed receptacle, and the wife’s giving it up to anyone and everyone. You don’t even stop to think about their feelings, they all missed out on a father/husband while you were always out working on the image. It seems there were about six hundred cries for help right in front of your face that you just never cared to acknowledge. Beyond even that, you just shot a load in your faggot son’s mouth and it didn’t seem to bother you terribly much, so exactly how can you even feel superior. You’re a piece of shit just like the rest of the world!”
“I gave my life to god!” Jonathan screamed, tears pouring down his cheeks as he sobbed.
Damien rose and took out his knife. He pressed Jonathan’s head to the cross and then carved a huge “666” in his forehead.
“Sign of the beast Johnny Boy, where is your savior now?” Damien asked.
Jonathan had been thinking the same, all he could do was cry and pray, but his suffering was not over yet. He watched Damien sit down, again with Suzie in his lap, and still with the knife in his hand.
“Here’s a fantasy for your newly discovered pervert side,” said Damien.
With that he took the knife in his right hand and ran it slowly down her chest and stomach. Finally down to her crotch where he stuck the knife in slowly. Occasionally candlelight reflected off the knife blade and shone in Jonathan’s eyes, reminding him that this was reality. Damien continued with a slow fucking motion for several minutes as blood collected on the floor between Suzie’s pale thighs. Jonathan cringed and barely brought himself to avoid vomiting. The soft skin of her young teenage lips tore easily and Jonathan could only watch.
“This is all for you Johnny Boy!” yelled Damien.
In seconds the knife was pounding in and out of his daughter at a nauseating speed and Suzie screamed in pain as her clit was viciously severed. She was seconds from bleeding to death, and Jonathan could do no more than watch helplessly. Just minutes later Damien threw her corpse aside and stood in front of Jonathan.
“You’re a sick fuck!” Jonathan yelled.
“That Johnny? That was not sick at all! This, my friend, is sick!” said Damien.
Damien walked to where his wife’s body lies crumpled on the floor. He picked up her bloody cum-soaked carcass and proceeded to drag her directly in front of the cross. He pulled her mouth open with a hard jerk, snapping her jaw, leaving it permanently gaping. He pulled out his dick and pissed down her throat, smiling at Jonathan as he did so.
“How’s that Johnny? It just doesn’t get any sicker does it?” Damien asked.
Jonathan could not muster a response; he was disgusted with the display.
“Try this, then” added Damien.
He turned away from Jonathan then, and relieved himself of one of the biggest shits Jonathan had ever laid eyes on, right into his wife’s mouth. He ripped a chunk of her hair out, wiped his ass with it, and then stuffed the hair into the back of her throat. Seemingly content with this level of defilement.
With that Damien licked the blood and cum from his knife and gave Jonathan a disgusting bloody kiss. Suddenly Jonathan was feeling extremely light-headed and realized he, too, was bleeding to death.
“Feeling lightheaded are we?” asked Damien. “Well, we can’t have you bleeding to death!”
With that, Damien grabbed his Louisville Slugger and kissed Jonathan good-bye.
“Don’t you wish your sorry little god actually existed so he could’ve saved you from all of this? I’m going to smash your fucking skull and I guarantee there will be no divine intervention, I hope you’re glad you’ve wasted your entire life, and I hope you die thinking of all your regrets.”
After which he swung his Louisville Slugger and busted Jonathan’s head against the cross. His head practically exploded and brain matter splattered on to Damien’s clothing. He grinned coyly before muttering to himself, “where is your savior now?”
Damien grabbed each carcass and tossed them into the middle of the pentagram. He soaked the room in gasoline and lit it with a candle. As he walked slowly from the church, he was comforted knowing that all the evidence would be destroyed. The police would eventually rule the fire and subsequent deaths to be “accidental.”

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