Ancient Evil (The First Genocide Book 1) by Brent J. Griffiths Page B

her to one.”
    “Um, OK. That was actually helpful.” Finn
ate a couple of mouthfuls of the salty, gooey mess on his plate. “Do you think
you could, you know, come along as well?”
    “Ach, no, please. I hate balls. Well,
except my own.” Jonni smiled, grabbed his crotch and paused, waiting for Finn
to say something. Finn didn’t. Jonni frowned. “Oh come on, that was some of my
best material.” He paused again, and again Finn remained silent. “I suppose I
can try and score with some Wee Mary who has never had a real man before.” He
sat up a little straighter and sucked in his gut a little. “Alright, but you
owe me and no fucking Ceilidh. I’m no gonna dance.”
    Finn smiled and thought to himself that
Jonni was protesting a little too much. “What are you smiling about now?” says
Jonni.
    “Nothing.” He took a deep breath. “I am
probably going to regret saying this, but I hope she does like me, because I
think I may be falling in love.”
    Jonni started choking on his food and then
shouted, “Fuckin hell, did she let you fuck her in the ass?”
    Finn tried to ignore the stares and
murmured, “Yep, big regrets.”
     
    Andy was petrified and in pain — so much
fucking pain.
    The little French slut who had flashed her
cleavage at him at the beach party had led him into the darkness where something
had grabbed him before he had blacked out.
    When he had woken he had found himself in
this miserable rocky darkness. There was no ambient light for his eyes to
adjust to; all he saw was blackness. This served to heighten his other senses —
not a good thing.
    He could hear them moving in the darkness;
he was sure that there was more than one. He was even starting to believe that
he could tell them apart by the way they touched him and by the way they hurt
him.
    One would fondle him intimately with a huge
clawed hand until he felt close to climax and then squeeze his balls until he
felt they were going to burst like an orange being run over by a tractor tire.
He knew it was crazy, how could a he become aroused over and over again by a
monstrous hand and knowing the pain to follow? They seemed to be able to tweak
his emotions as they wanted. 
    Another would slide its feet as it moved so
he could tell where it was and poke him with some sort of blade that burned
after it pierced his flesh. It could circle for an hour before stabbing him, or
it could jab him repeatedly over the course of a minute. He never knew what to
expect.
    The worst was the whisperer. She would
whisper in his ear that he just needed to hang on a little longer and they
would let him go. She filled his head with visions of freedom until he could
almost taste the outside air. She could claim that she would make him wealthy,
attractive or famous and he would believe her. When he reached the point of
highest hope she would start laughing. The laughing could continue for hours
until he felt he was going to go mad. Maybe he was mad. Maybe he hit his head
and this was all a delusion.
    He started to laugh. That was it, he was
mad. None of this was real.
    Madchester, he was in Madchester for real.
He laughed, rocked back and forth and said, “Madchester, Madchester…” over and
over again. The pain and fear faded away.
    “I think he is used up, n’est pas?” He
stopped muttering and listened. He had not heard the little French whore speak
in the days or weeks or months he had been imprisoned in the darkness.
    “Shite, I think you’re right. I thought he
would last longer. Leader will never let us grab another. Shitty little
University town. Let’s try to squeeze a little more out of him, shall we?”
    “D’accord.”
    His terror spiked briefly again as he felt
clawed hands grab his arms and legs and pull. He heard a ripping and popping
sound before his gibbering mind shut down and he died.
     
     

The City, Year 7869 in the Reign of Enki
II
     
    It
was Assessment Day.
    Hael had been preparing for this day for
every moment of his