Prologue: If I Die TomorrowThere was a time when I was human. Once. Days spent courting disaster in the smoke-filled haze that was the Sunset Strip of L.A. Music was my life; the local strippers were my mistresses. Little did I know that soon, my whole world would change.
It started simply enough: hanging out at the Whiskey, my band was confronted by ace buisnessman Gene Simmons (who would've thought, eh?) and asked to open for another act he had "discovered": Van Halen. We were young, reckless, and insanely high off who-knows-what: Of course we agreed to it. It was an average gig: the locals knew us, the groupies could care less (which put a damper on everyone's parade) and by the time we started our last song, we had converted a small group into fans. Everyone was so estatic (or was it wasted? I can't remember anymore..) that I was the only one who saw a man with white hair raise a shotgun at the lead singer.
"Damnit, NO!" I remember hearing as I shoved him back.
I had the dimmest sensation of
III: Requiem for a DemonHave you ever been on a bender? Not one of those quiet bar or drinking at home things, an honest-to-gods full-blown drinking binge lasting all night and waking up in such pain that it feels like your whole body is trying to forcefully turn itself inside out? When I came to, it felt like benders back-to-back for a full year. Before one could blink, I had upended my stomach – which turned out to be mostly blood. Pain and agony, things that used to bring me so much joy in inflicting upon others, wracked my body. I wanted to scream badly, a piercing cry that would shatter the rooftops and probably a good number of bodies along the way. Only…I couldn't.
Slowly, a feeling returned to me other than the blinding pain, something cold and hard. My arms were pressed awkwardly against my back, and I could feel thick heavy chains running from my neck to my wrists between my shoulderblades. Chained. Like a bloody animal. Anger rose up in my throat this time, and I forced myself to rise. I felt my ha
II: So Dark the Sins of ManAh, I can still hear the man's screams in my head now. I had taken him into my conveniently magickally soundproofed apartment for a little bit of Q&A about his organization. Namely, their headquarters, their boss (you wouldn't believe how many automatically insert a religious figure in that last statement, and then wonder why I laugh so hard) and how long they think it would take me to carve their internal organs into cubic inches. And yet you stare at me so oddly. We have hobbies too, you know. It wasn't long before I had everything I needed and the young man was a quivering mass of nerves and waking nightmares that were just sitting in his head, waiting for me to enjoy. It turns out that Catholic Priests aren't the only ones suspected of sodomizing their alter boys.
I didn't bother changing. Instead, I just took a simple trenchcoat out to wear. I heard the New York rooftops could get pretty chilly fifty stories up. I left the young man wandering Lake Shore Drive, muttering and scream