HOLY DEVICE X
Kindle Edition
Copyright © 2015 by Doug Rinaldi
All rights reserved
The right of Doug Rinaldi to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author and publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
"I never asked for you to be my savior. I never wanted to be your whore. I never wished for anything more than to find my redemption, to reclaim my soul ... and end this inner war." – Thy Scars
"D eath to all who seek the Light!"
The music blared. A constant bombardment of sound reduced the horde to nothing more than writhing maniacs. Smoke billowed through the air of the club, caught in the flowing current shaped by the rhythmic bashing of drums and pumping of fists. With the continuous barrage of music pouring from the wall of amplifiers, overflowing to the ears of all on hand, the club had become a haven for lunatics.
He stood on the stage, looking over his minions, at so many who came to pay homage to him and his cause. Yet, there were so many more to convert, a myriad of souls to collect and bend to his will. Nothing was going to stop him from fulfilling his dream, not this time. He had waited too long and suffered even longer. His time had finally come.
The furious mob banged its collective head to the beat that tore the club apart. They raised fists and horns high into the air, a symbol of their newfound loyalty to a higher and better cause. In front of the stage, tangles of limbs and bodies, askew in various degrees, moved violently together in time to the music. Without finesse or regard for their own safety, the crowd thrashed about, inflicting pain on one another, pushing and shoving, kicking and punching. As if an endless onslaught of hatred and rage filtered out from the instruments, then through the speakers, and into the ears of those so impressionable, it caused them to act like animals. The cacophony drove them barbaric.
Endless shouts echoed from the crowd between songs, shouts of anger, shouts of fiery devoutness to the band and the music they played. Adorning the stage amongst the stockpile of speakers and instruments of aural torture hung banners of inverted crosses and pentagrams. An oversized crucifix of a headless Jesus Christ flushed out the back of the stage. Anchored to the front of the platform, two four-foot metal poles impaled two pigs’ heads, their eyes just dark empty mirrors, lifeless and barren. Fresh from the slaughterhouse, the two heads dripped blood, so much blood that it pooled at the base of each pole from which they were skewered. Behind the band hung the banner with their logo, 'Black Inversion,' in an almost illegible typeface and their motto in an easier to read font, 'Death to All Who Seek the Light,' beneath that. Such propaganda ensured that they would wage a battle against their enemies in the heavens. And that was exactly what they wanted—to curse the Light and raise Hell.
The band dressed in clothes of somber black from head to toe. To complete the effect, they dyed their hair, stringy with sweat, as dark as obsidian to match their souls. Corpsepaint proudly covered each of the band members' faces, white like the dead. Each had painted black around their eyes and mouth for the sunken, graven visage - to look like the dead, to be dead and be one with the unholy ever after. Vicious metal spikes stood at attention from shoulder pads, forearm
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