He sat in a lotus position, singing songs that were nearly 500 years old, songs for his Goddess, Soniac, Croatoan Earth goddess, she of the beauty and the fertility of the earth.
He sat on the ground, his back to a tree in the back of the hotel, naked as he was claimed by Her, all those centuries ago. Sage burned in front of him, covering him. He sang the songs, the songs She loved, the songs that would call Her to him.
His voice failed. The moon showed that three hours had gone by and she had not appeared. This had happened since he had seen that Angel of Fire in Russia, the one who told him he was now a killer of gods. He’d tried to call Her, but she no longer came to him.
He pulled on his clothes and headed back to his room. It was close to three in the morning, and the club was still going strong. He didn’t want to be there, surely didn’t want to see Donovan or Esau or Grinn. He was fine until they questioned him. It was all this modern culture, these damnable Incarnates, questioning God, and the will of the gods.
Casey climbed into bed, turning the radio onto static for white noise so the music from the club wouldn’t interrupt him. He drifted into sleep easily, the smell of sage always doing that to him. He dreamed…
The smell of napalm and fire filled his nostrils. He looked around, and he was in the center of a burning forest, the flames licking near him but not approaching. He was in a stolen American-made uniform that had seen better days. He heard a crash, and saw a tree fall – and the Angel of Fire stepped forth, the flames around it feeding him. He raised his sword of flame and aimed it at Casey, so close that he felt his hair burn on his face.
Why do you try to summon your goddess? He said the word with such contempt, that Casey’s anger almost overrode his fear. He looked up at the angel, who now brought the sword lower, aiming it at Casey’s chest. You dare to defy the orders of God?
Casey said, “I don’t agree with what I’m doing.”
It is not your choice.
“It is my choice. Take the Heart, let me die.”
The Angel advanced, and when he did, the sword came forward and pierced his chest. Casey refused to cry out in pain or agony, having been trained in so many armies to be strong and defiant in the face of pain. You have too much to do, Soldier. You will do as we say. The Angel faced Casey, his eyes boring into him. Destruction of the weak is not part of it. Your goddess never told you to do that, true?
“T…true–”
You have been corrupted. Then the Angel put his hand on Casey’s head, and the fire filled his mind. Casey screamed at the pain, at the agony – and he woke up, hearing himself screaming, sitting bolt upright in bed. He cut himself off in mid-scream, realizing where he was. He felt his head – his hair was still there. He couldn’t get the smell of the napalm and the flame out of his nose.
He swung off the bed, waiting until his breathing was getting back to normal. His heart didn’t race, but everything else had kicked into overdrive. He got up, flipped on a light and went to the sink to splash water on his face. He looked at his face in the mirror. He thought of Dono for a moment, but the anger he felt at him as he continued to question wasn’t there. He thought of Grinn’s boyfriend, realized he didn’t like him, but that’s all. He thought of a baby and felt…nothing.
No, that wasn’t true. He felt passion, as he thought of Sunny. He felt amusement, as he thought of Eeep. But the hate, the fury, the anger, it was burned away. He thought for a moment of the Fuhrer and he stared at himself in shock in the mirror.
In the old language that had disappeared for the last 500 years, he whispered to himself, “By the gods, what did you do, Black Fox?”
Words: 715 (darnit)
Comments: aftermath of going emo.