He slammed into me, forcing his hard cock further and further inside, my knuckles white as I furiously held onto the wall, the plaster breaking off into my hands.
“Damn you!” I screamed, my body tense as the pain skyrocketed. Spurned onwards by my pleas, he grinded wider, flesh tearing up inside of me until I felt as though blood was draining down my legs. He ripped me backwards, my head resting on his shoulder as he threw himself upwards, my eyes squinted tight at the shocking pain that tore through me with each push.
“I said go slower Vegeta!” I cried. “The pain it’s…….it’s killing me.”
I felt his smirk against my cheek as the skin of his face pressed against mine.
“Than die you little bitch.” He whispered.
I felt the back of his neck, grabbing a fist full of his hair and hurling him over me, sending his body into the far wall. He delicately caught himself, eyes blazing as he came at me, pinning me against the wall. He pushed his erection against my own, the soft flesh sliding against the other, hardness pressing against hardness. I swooned as he treated me roughly, his hand holding my hair as he kissed me, yanking my head back to lick my throat.
I stared at the ceiling, feeling his teeth graze my neck, too hard for a woman. God, don’t let me like this. Make me strong. Make me strong enough to resist this time.
It was as if he could read my mind, knowing the effect he had on me. Knowing the control he had over me. Oh, but it was poetry as he touched me gently for a moment, letting me delve into my illusions of pure intentions. He looked into my eyes like a lover, knowing that I needed this as I needed the oxygen in the room. Knowing my mind and soul and heart as he forsook and ignored all three, infatuated with the sin my body could give him.
He kissed me soulfully, letting my body relax in his embrace, letting me mold to his arms and forget the harsh cold reality that indeed, it would never be more than this. But give me the illusions, Vegeta. Please my gorgeous devil, give me the lies. Give me the sweet words and the soft eyes that make me your prisoner in desire. Your slave to darkness with no hope of future light.
I want it.
We fell onto the bed, wrapped tightly as one creature, my eyes trying so hard to let me believe that I cared at least somewhat about this heartless fiend. Oh yes eyes, tell me that I love him in the same way I love my wife. That behind the wild, untamed madness there lay the soul of a good man. A good heart, forever shaded by an evil exterior.
He kissed me again, letting me fall into it for once, letting me enjoy the rarity for as long as it would last. I lay over him, his hard cock pressed against my stomach, my body still alive and intent on the evil I would enact soon enough. He let me kiss him, letting my lips lower to his chest, letting me explore his beauty as he never allowed before. He breathed deeply, his hands in my hair as I lay on top, gathering my courage as I pressed my erection against him, nearly sliding upwards before he punched me straight across the room.
I slammed into the wall, my face throbbing as I slid downwards, only to be caught by his large hand around my throat. I stared into his eyes, knowing I had the power, glad that I had the power, but with no intent to use it. He was absolutely seething and yet, so was I.
“Devil.” I hissed, grabbing onto his wrist as he held me. “Let me go.”
Yet he did nothing, holding me there as if truly considering a battle. The blood had drained from his face and his eyes were ablaze with sociopathic insanity.
“Know this,” he whispered in a dark tone. “You will NEVER fuck me.”
I turned to him as I left, buttoning my gorgeous silky shirt, my hands sliding down the cool material as it plastered itself to my chest. He simply sat there, unbuttoned leather pants, legs crossed nonchalantly as he smoked the last of my cigarettes, the kind that always tastes better after sex.
“Vegeta,” I said quietly, waiting until he looked up at me. “That ring, you gave Gohan….”
I paused, searching for some sort of reaction, some semblance of acknowledgment. He merely nodded, obviously bored with me.
“Where did you get it?”
He raised an eyebrow, shrugging me off and clicking the TV remote to switch the channels. I moved in front of the move theatre sized screen, my arms stretched out to block any view.
“WHERE did you get it?” I snapped, putting on my most serious face. Surprise, surprise, it didn’t work.
“Kakarot,” he yawned. “Why do you care? I don’t even remember where I got that damn ring.”
“Of course you do,” I said rudely. “Ever since you gave him that damn thing he’s been acting like a monster child. Now I want to know where you got that hideous thing and I want to know NOW.”
He rolled his eyes, ignoring me for the time while he channel surfed around me.
“Kakarot,” he growled in irritation as I made it clear I wouldn’t leave. He tossed the remote on the glass coffee table. “Do you realize how ridiculous you sound? You think your child is a little prick because of some damn trinket? No. He’s crazy because that’s how Saiyan boys are. I was that way. You MIGHT have been that way if you hadn’t spent the entire time acting like some pansy assed virginal saint! He’s acting out. He’s frustrated, he’s alone, and he’s probably scared. And what are you doing now but the same pussy ass thing you do every single time things get rough? BLAMING ME!
“GOD!” He threw the remote at my head, barely missing as I ducked. “You’re like listening to the same old song over and over again, you know that?!”
“You AREN’T answering my question Vegeta.” I said sternly, not about to let him stop me. “I just want to know where you got that thing. Call it curiosity.”
“I think I’ll call it irritation instead,” he grumbled. “Alright, fine you USELESS COW! It was at one of the scenes. You know, one of the first times Sin struck. I found it on the ground.”
“You found that horrible THING at a fucking GRAVEYARD and you gave it to my SON?!” I screamed, almost yanking the hair from my head. He looked less than impressed.
“Look, calm it down big guy,” he sighed. “I don’t know WHY I gave it to him. Just felt….. like that was what I was supposed to do or something. Almost like…”
He looked at me seriously for a split second and for once, I saw something I hadn’t imagined I would. I saw fear.
“Almost like, someone was telling me to do it.” he whispered.
_________________________________________________________________
My footsteps echoed as they clicked on the smooth marble floor, a golden tan beneath my feet, as were all of the stone walls. It hadn’t taken me long to find the library, as it seemed (for no logical reason at all) as if I were being summoned in that direction, following the call blindly as I soared through the sky.
The library seemed like more of an ancient castle, like a museum, complete with the high, stone ceilings and the marvelous stained glass windows. An unreasonable fear crept over me as I stumbled through the maze of book shelves that towered what must have been twenty to thirty feet over my head. Beautiful antique chandeliers dangled over me, the assorted marble slippery beneath my feet.
I held the horrible little ring in my hand, drenched in sweat from my palm. I wont even bother to explain the battle it was to snatch it off my son, whispering a thousand “I love you”s as I nearly tore his finger off. I bore a nasty bite mark on my wrist that I angrily tried to cover with the cuff of my shirt.
“Can I help you?” An irritated voice startled me.
I looked around frantically, trying to put a face with the voice.
“Over here.” A grouchy looking man stood up from a paper crowded desk in the far corner, face grisly and unshaven, glasses thickly rimmed over his tiny eyes. “What can I do for you?”
I realized, (with impeccable timing as always) that I hadn’t really a clue what I was going to inquire of him. Typical Kakarot, typical. I swallowed hard, opening my palm outstretched to him, letting the shining glimmer of the Peridot stone do the talking for me.
“This ring,” I said in an authoritive voice. “I need to know if there are any more like it.”
He squinted from behind his glasses, glancing up to me as if asking permission before he delicately lifted the ring into his fingers. Turning it this and that way, he examined the outside, twisting the onyx stone until it hit the light just right, the green of the Peridot shining brightly.
“Now what are we talking here,” he said in a bored voice, handing it back to me. “How many were manufactured? Who were the developers? What time frame are we talking? 5, 10 years?”
“More like, ever.” I said sternly.
He slowly removed his glasses, giving me a less-than-agreeable stare.
“Young man, I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“I said ever.” Stepping forwards toward him. “I need to know if there were ever any more of these owned or worn by anyone in history. Whether that be 10 years to thousands of years ago.”
“Son,” he sighed, rubbing his grisly gray and white beard. “How old are you? 20, 25?”
“Something like that.” I nodded.
“Well let’s just say, you would be about my age before you ever found what you’re lookin’ for.”
He turned his back towards me, walking with a slight limp back to his messy computer desk.
“But I don’t have that long!” I insisted, following him. “Please sir, I KNOW you can find something on this if you want to.”
He shooed me away with a curt gesture of his hand.
“Sir,” I said seriously, smashing my palm against the surface of his desk, making the papers fly everywhere. “LIVES are depending on this. If you want to, you can help me.”
Though, in my hissy fit, I hadn’t noticed that I’d nearly broken his mahogany desk in half, he apparently did, looking at the crack in poorly concealed amazement. He slowly removed his glasses, wiping them off with the sleeve of his worn dress shirt and buffing it with his sweater.
“Alright kid,” He growled, looking back up at me. “Let me see that ring again.”
I gratefully handed it to him, watching as he did the same routine of twisting it and turning it, rubbing the outside with his thumb and mouthing the words “Kiss of Hell”.
“Hmmm….” He murmured, just like a doctor might do when he finds something interesting. “Give me a minute here, I just might have an idea.”
He stood up, standing only a few inches shorter than me, but looking over his glasses just the same.
“Now don’t you go getting’ your hopes up kid, it’s a shot in the dark. Ever heard the saying “needle in a haystack?”
I nodded.
“Well, think of this as, “hay in a needle stack” alright?” he grinned. “And don’t think I’m doing this all by myself either. You go on that computer and do some of the work yourself. I’m going into the back section to see what I can do for ya.”
I nodded graciously, bowing as he walked through a golden beaded back section that said “employees permitted only”. I guessed as much that they kept the older, more expensive books back there.
Sitting down at a nearby computer, I cursed again that I wasn’t a more modern man, struggling with the strange “mouse” as they called it simply to get the cursor to move. I wondered idly why they referred to it as a “mouse” at all, laughing inwardly at the crazy human sayings.
Already connected to the world wide web or the “internet” as they called it (another confusing word to me) I was quick to find a search engine, learning this trick from the few times Chi Chi had insisted that Gohan research history on his computer at home. Typing in the words “Kiss of Hell”, I was bombarded with a list of gothic, vampiric websites, featuring grotesque, but beautifully exotic pictures depicting a vast variety of sexual images.
These humans!
I went through page after page of information (most useless gossip and rants) sadly impressing myself with the earth shattering discovery of the back, forward and refresh buttons. My level of stupidity soared when I realized that I hadn’t a clue how to type capitalized words when a friendly human girl (and I’m fairly certain it was a girl) invited me so cordially to visit her XXX live web camera, which what, to this day, I have no idea, meant. I’m certain that she sent it exclusively to me, so I have no doubt that she must have been quite disappointed when I failed to meet her there.
My eyes became sore as the hours passed, no word from my friend the librarian. Page after page of either graphic depictions of sex, both genders, or strange, indescribable pictures of art. Penises jumping in my face in the most innocent of places, I quickly tired of this so-called “porno!!!” genre and busied myself with clicking them away and watching over my shoulder in case my “friend” arrived and kicked me out for being a compulsive pervert. Stretching my neck while still pressing the forwards button, I almost missed the exact thing I was searching for.
There, in a small framed picture, was the exact replica of Gohan’s ring. Onyx stoned engraved with the Peridot words “The Kiss of Hell”. I caught my breath, staring with aching eyes as though I couldn’t believe it, and my mind had somehow construed this illusion so that I would give it a break from all the disturbing images of seamen and vomit inducing blowjobs.
I quickly clicked on the frame, my heart leaping as it took me to a new page, revealing the picture of a sweet looking woman with the words “Eva Braun” posted beneath her. I stared at her face, noticing very quickly that something seemed to be wrong. It wasn’t so much what she LOOKED like, with chubby, full cheeks, brownish blonde hair so stylishly curled for the time. It was her eyes. She seemed youthful and yet, her eyes bore into me from behind the screen itself, worn with age and with painful years. Dead as if torn from the body of a corpse and pasted into her skull.
I shivered within myself, staring at her crossed hands, the gleam from a tiny black ring catching my attention. It was the very same alright. The Kiss of Hell clutching her finger as though it had been there since the day she was born.
Slowly catching sight of an article, I skimmed through the information, glancing over at her picture from time to time as if she were watching me and plotting to escape or something.
“Eva Braun, born 1912, died 1945. Mistress to Adolf Hitler.”
I physically felt myself growing angry just staring at such a hateful name. The name that was truly known and spoken throughout the earth, not for a good deed, but for an act so murderous and audacious, children to this day stay up at night for fear of such a catastrophe repeating itself.
Reading on I was to find that Eva Braun was the daughter of a school teacher, often known to others as egotistical and vain. A shallow girl, at a young age she had fallen blindly in love with the sociopathic tyrant Adolf and had followed him submissively unto her death.
“Better that ten thousand others die than he be lost to Germany.” She had repeatedly told friends and family.
I glared at the screen, as it were responsible for such sick idolism of a loathsome monster. Scrolling down I read more facts about her, confusion frustrating me as I found no reason for her to bare the same ring as that given to my son. I stopped scrolling down as words caught my eye, my heart suddenly softening as I realized the irony of it all.
Blindly, a young girl had fallen in love with a devil. A love so strong, she had given her life to him and taken it just as quickly laying by his side. Blind love, the only kind I knew now.
“From our first meeting I swore to follow you anywhere,” she had written in a letter to him. “- even unto death.”
I swallowed reading the last part, shaking my head at the sadness of it all.
“I live only for your love.”
“HEY!” I nearly toppled over the back of the computer chair, sprawled out on my knees as the librarian stood over me.
“Heh, with a face like that,” he chuckled dryly, “I would have thought you were lookin’ at kiddie porn or something! Come here, I’ve found something.”
Leading me through a mass array of glittering golden beads strung up to the ceiling, I was overwhelmed by the musty smell of mold, moth balls and what might have been rodent urine. Mountains of unshelved books lay around me in mounds, looking as ancient as anything I’d ever seen. Shielded from the night and the sun of day time, they were kept in a window-less room, dust collecting in fine sheens.
“Over this way.” He commanded in a slightly excited voice, gesturing me to follow him into yet another room, completely sheathed in darkness before he pulled a large string connected to a ceiling light. Laying on a podium of some kind was the largest, oldest book I’d ever seen, thick with pages and obviously priceless with its heavy binding of nameless metals and even small embedded jewels.
“Right here,” he whispered unnecessarily, as if we were standing on sacred ground. “Be careful not to touch the pages too hard. Being countless years old, they seem to turn to ash even with the most delicate touch.”
And I believed him, staring at the crinkled corners and cracks of age. But it didn’t take long for me to see what he was really speaking of, an old drawing of a ruthless man, a king no less, pointing mercilessly at a man cowering in shackles at his feet. Though the drawing was old, possibly reaching the thousand year mark, the detailing of the king’s face was articulately done, traces of his furrowed eyebrows and hateful scowl added to magnify the audacity of the situation.
“King Herod,” the librarian said in a hushed tone, levitating his finger over the wicked man’s face. “do you know anything of him?”
I squinted my eyes, desperately trying to recall speeches of him on those few times I had actually attended a church.
“Three wise men,” I said simply.
“Ahh,” he nodded, smiling. “The magi, sent from Herod himself to bring gifts to Jesus. Led by an evil star, they were to find him and report back to Herod exactly where he was, so that the King could ALSO do his worshipping. But of course,” he snorted. “we all know Herod had no intention of worshipping the young son of man as no later, he ordered the deaths of thousands of children simply to destroy the future prophet.”
“So what does this have to do with the ring?” I asked gently, looking up to him.
“Ahhhh but apparently the young man hasn’t search enough,” he chuckled lightly, hovering his eyes over King Herod once again. “Look harder.”
My eyes searched the drawing, staring from the king to the cowering man, to the people behind him that were watching the spectacle. And then it dawned on me, my eyes darting up to where King Herod was pointing down at the man. A black line was drawn around his finger. A ring.
“But how do you know that this is the very same ring?” I inquired, searching the writing beneath for some understanding. “This is all written in Hebrew, if I’m correct. There’s no way to decipher-..”
“Don’t believe everything you hear kid,” he smirked. “not all Americans are dead to all other languages but English. Right here,” he pointed to a group of symbols. “The Kiss of Hell, blamed for King Herod’s monstrous actions. It says that he was given the ring from one of his closest advisors, a sort of ‘worm tongue’ fellow that many pointed to for Herod’s behavior.”
“What sort of behavior?” I asked humbly, impressed beyond words with this man.
“King Herod was a tyrant,” he whispered excitedly. “A beast, an animal. Merciless and cold, without conscience. Had it not been for divine intervention, an angel from God warning Joseph and Mary of Herod’s plan, he might have succeeded in murdering Jesus. And what else? Knowing that his death was not far, (growing old in age as he was) Herod realized that he wouldn’t be mourned for all of the suffering he had caused his people.
“And so, he sent letters to the principle heads of every family in Judaism demanding their presence at his funeral on pain of death. Having got them to Jerusalem, Herod ordered them to be locked up in the horse-racing ground. He then gave the orders to his sister that upon his death they were all to be executed, thus making sure that the whole nation would mourn when he died, albeit not for him. Fortunately, when Herod died, his sister released the imprisoned Jews and allowed them to return home. But you SEE what a creature he was.”
I shook my head, taking in all this information that, well, lets be honest, didn’t make any sense at all. What would Eva Braun and King Herod EVER have in common? What did this all mean?
“But that’s not all I’ve found,” the librarian whispered, turning the pages of the enormous book with a tool that resembled a tweezers. “look at this.”
Another sketch beheld a man in beautiful, strong armor, short cropped hair standing amongst hordes of shouting people, all crowded around him as if demanding his attention. And there on his finger, so easily seen as if the artist had paid particular attention to this detail, a black ring.
“Pontius Pilate.” The librarian breathed close to my ear, gently wiping the dust away from the brilliant picture. “The last man to decide Christ’s fate and eventually, the man to deliver Him over to death on a torture stake. Unwillingly placed in the position to decide Jesus’s fate, Pontius had no desire to see Him die such a way and several times refused. But somehow, perhaps because of his position being threatened or other causes, Pilate surrendered Jesus to the fate of the Jews and he was killed.”
I lowered my head, still confused, trying to absorb this information, trying to sort anything out. I stared at the picture for what could have been at least ten minutes of absolute silence, turning it over gently with the metal tweezers and staring at the wicked face of Herod once again.
“Wait.” I said sharply, startling him. I turned the page over once more, glancing into the crowd by Herod’s side, and the one gathered before Pontius Pilate.
“Right here,” I pointed with the metal tool. “Look, you see this man.”
I pointed at a beautiful, shadowed face hunched in the corner behind Herod’s large throne, delicate, claw-like hands wrapped around the armrest. The large, shapely lips formed the smallest, barely discernable smile, and yet, it was there. And the dark, cold eyes that stared so ruthlessly down at the chained man reminded me distinctly of those I had seen Vegeta wear countless times. No, it wasn’t Vegeta. But by God there was SOMETHING about that man that reminded me of him.
I turned the page, pointing again to the crowd settled around Pontius, a dark figure standing just below his feet.
“You see?” I said, turning back to Herod. “This man is in both pictures.”
The librarian squinted, moving forwards until he was nearly an inch from the paper.
“Boy, I tell ya,” he muttered. “I don’t know HOW you see that, but I believe you just might have something here.”
I slammed the book shut suddenly, tumbling clumsily backwards and catching my breath, be damned that horrible thing! I breathed in deeply, taking in all the particles of dust and mold, becoming light headed as I nearly hyperventilated. How could it be? The same man? What were the chances? Nothing made sense!
Dizzily, I stumbled out of the room, my hand clutching unto corners and shelves as I dodged and stepped over the cluttered backroom. The librarian followed at my heels, scorning me for my mistreatment of a priceless artifact. But I couldn’t hear him. And I didn’t thank him as I tripped out the door and into the rain, back into this despicable world of hatred and chaos.
The rain poured down in sheets, drenching me instantly as I ran from the librarian who followed me out into it, yelling over the wind about the significance of our discovery. But I cared nothing for that as I pulled my black jacket tighter over my neck, letting the rain pour into my eyes as I looked up into it.
But nothing could wash the facts away. And certainly nothing could drown the beautiful face that smiled back at me from the confines of the shadows by Herod’s throne.
