CONTENT NOTE: depiction of violence towards animals towards the end.
The atom-in-ouroboros faded from the screen, leaving only darkness. Slowly, the figures of Incubus and Succubus came into view. The screen was cracked, distorted, the audio popping and creaking. In the bottom left was the word UNBOUND.
Incubus and Succubus stood side by side, staring into the camera with a proud contempt. The room was dark. Two pillars stood, one in each corner of the room, topped by lanterns casting an unsteady light over the proceedings. On the wall was an enormous black banner, silk, the atom-in-ouroboros embroidered on it in crimson.
Hanging from the ceiling were two enormous censers, filled with incense, smoke streaming into the room. The smoke swirled round the figures of Incubus and Succubus, occasionally obscuring them from view, their eyes peering out through the clouds.
Incubus bowed his head, looked up, stared into the camera, his piercing eyes seeming to stare into the viewer themselves.
"Good evening," said Incubus. "I trust you are well. My name is Incubus. And my consort, Succubus."
Succubus nodded, waving to the camera with a sarcastic flirtatiousness.
"Welcome to Pierreia," said Incubus.
"People of Carnage, all we shall say is this: you were warned. Week on week, you were warned. The Prophetess Cassandra, the Messenger Su - both of them made your choices clear. Accept the teachings of Amorality and Spirit Science, accept the authority of the Institute, and we could make you more powerful than your wildest fantasies.
"Or you could refuse - and perish.
"What you saw at Chaos 100 was only the beginning. The Institute is on the move. Ouroboros is our army, Carnage our battleground. We will not be denied."
"And we will not be deterred by the pathetic posturings of a group of would-be superheroes." Succubus cut in, her voice almost a snarl, her expression filled with hostility.
"Zach. Jimmy. Dorian. That disgusting brat Chloe. And of course Mia, the stench that just refuses to drift away, poisoning the air like rotting meat. The so-called Forsaken. A group of lawbreakers and thugs, heroes only in their own minds.
"Wherever we go, followers of the Institute, of the teachings of Amorality, are victims of hostility and prejudice from an ignorant world. The so-called Forsaken are just another group of bigots and fools, determined to hold back the march of history and the ascendancy of the Institute.
"They will fail. Understand this: the Institute strikes first. And we only need to strike once."
Incubus inclined his head in silent confirmation. "This coming week, at Havoc, we step into the ring against a pair of imbeciles known as the Masked Debaters. Violent Mist and Macho Libre. A pair of jesters hiding behind masks to disguise their shame.
"This is not a match. This is a prophecy. You shall be granted a glimpse of terrible and beautiful things to come, like storm clouds gathered on the horizon. And you must ask yourselves one question.
"Do you wish to endure this suffering - or to inflict it?"
Succubus laughed. "Believe me, you people have no idea what we have in store. These two fools are only the first. You will see.
"The scales will fall from your eyes and you will see.
"And remember this: you were warned."
Incubus put an arm round her waist, pulling her close. They went to kiss, but stopped, turned, stared into the camera. When they spoke, they spoke as one. A single word.
"Soon."
The screen faded to black, the atom-in-ouroboros flashing up for a brief moment before complete darkness.
---
Tucked away in Eastern Europe, largely ignored by the outside world, lay the tiny, landlocked micronation of Pierreia. Surrounded by forests to the north and east, a mountain range to the south, and an all-but-impassable river to the west, the land had over the centuries become a home to those who had nowhere else to go, those who rejected or were rejected by their own societies and left to build a new life. Criminals and heretics, murderers and fanatics, thieves, dissidents, blasphemers - all these and more called this land home. A land then known as Zeboim.
In 2018, the country was subject to a seizure of power at the hands of the Spirit Science Research Institute, the secretive and controversial sect founded by Clyde Pierre fifty years before. The Institute renamed the nation in his honour and merged their own organisation and wealth with that of the state, granting the tiny country a degree of power far beyond its size and hitherto significance. Following a short war - a civil war turned international conflict in which Pierreia's forces would prevail - the Institute was able to remould the nation in its own image.
In the centre of Pierreia sat the City of Dis, the country’s capital and main population centre. In the centre of the City lay the Palace of Amorality. In the Palace was the Star Chamber. And in the Star Chamber, Cassandra. Leader of the Institute, head of state of Pierreia, the unquestioned authority over all around her.
Cassandra lay reclined on a luxurious red sofa, black velvet cushions scattered around, its arms fashioned into the bodies of mythical beasts. The walls were adorned with rare paintings and fabrics, the skins of endangered animals, precious objects stolen as the plunder of Empire. She was watching television. A small smile crept across her face. On screen, Ouroboros - Incubus, Succubus, Su, Arkhan - devastated Mia Rayne. Incubus nailed her with a flapjack, sending her face first into a roundhouse kick from Succubus, nearly decapitating her. The crowd was raining down abuse on the quartet in the ring, while outside, the Chosen - six men and six women, clad in business suits - fended off all who would seek to intervene.
There was a knock at the door. Cassandra turned, paused the video, pressed a concealed button under the arm of the sofa. The door opened. Incubus and Succubus stepped through. Both were the worse for wear after their experience at Carnage, their faces bruised, walking awkwardly. Yet they stood tall and proud. Cassandra stood to meet them, offered them a welcoming nod.
“Incubus. Succubus.” She glanced at the TV, still showing the closing moments of the Carnage show. “Good work.”
Incubus smiled. “Thank you. We’re just getting started. But it does help to make a dramatic entrance. I think it’s fair to say we have their attention. And soon - at Havoc - our message will be underlined.”
Succubus rolled her eyes. “A group calling themselves the Masked Debaters. Infantile, petulant children, treating Carnage as a playground game, prancing about the place in masks and capes. They use a pathetic facade of comedy to deflect attention from their failings.
"All the while pleading for laughter or even just attention from the crowd of trained seals that ballbag C$J calls an audience.”
Cassandra laughed. “We will deal with him soon enough. For now, C$J has his uses. And so shall this little duo. Call it a trailer. They will see the main feature soon enough.”
Cassandra turned, poured them each a glass of red wine, taking a third for herself. She raised it in a toast. “To the future. To the past. And to the Moonchild, may he one day be free.”
They drank. As they did so, the grandfather clock chimed loudly, ringing out the hour of twelve. The clock was clearly an object of great age, inscribed with alchemical and astrological symbols, measuring out the seconds, minutes and hours, days, weeks, months and years, displaying each alongside its meaning in the great systems of prophecy and divination. Chinese characters mixed with Arabic, Greek and Hebrew, interspersed with languages long dead. Cassandra turned to Incubus and Succubus.
“We must go. The Cathedral.”
They nodded, and the three of them exited the Palace, making their way down the Grand Parade from one side of the city to the other. They walked in silence, paying no heed to those who passed them by. Some members of the public turned their faces away, staring at the ground, the sky, taking a sudden interest in some nearby building. Others - the more daring - might try to sneak a glance when they thought it was safe. But never in the eyes. To look the Empress or her companions in the eyes was to risk certain imprisonment, perhaps even death for insubordination.
On either side of the Grand Parade stood enormous digital billboards. Some of them showed adverts for the latest products, illegally smuggled to Pierreia in defiance of UN sanctions. Others showed news reports from all over the world; still others held the portrait of enemies of the state along with a list of their crimes.
As they walked, Succubus found her eyes wandering, staring intently at the crowds as they passed by. Some of them were the people of Zeboim, those who had dwelt here long before the Institute took power. Others were Amoralists who had flocked here from all over the world to fight in the war and build the new nation.
And some were traitors.
Even after the war, some deluded fools sought to resist the Institute's authority. Small scale acts of vandalism and criminality mostly - altruism, religiosity, work refusal - the actions of frustrated, discontented individuals. Yet individuals could become groups, groups movements, and movements could develop into problems. Best to eradicate the cancer before it could spread.
Any one of these people could be the next hero of Pierreia. Or the next terrorist. Only time would tell.
Succubus cast her mind back to those days - what seemed like a lifetime ago - when even she had been drawn in by the lies of the enemies of Amorality. She and Incubus - barely teenagers - had been recruited by a group of malcontents, fed lies about the Institute, convinced to take part in some foolhardy act of protest at the Institute's base in England - then abandoned to their fate when the Institute's security guards descended.
In truth, it was the best thing that could have ever happened. The day she was embraced by the Institute, the day her eyes were opened to the truth of their teachings. The day the lies she had been fed melted away like fat from roasting flesh.
And now, she sought out other enemies of the Institute, offering the same chance she had been given. Repent. Or perish.
The three continued on their way, pausing only once. At the centre of the City of Dis stood the Great Square, site of three statues. Clyde Pierre, Founder of the Institute. Cassandra, the Empress, leader of Pierreia and of the Institute. And the Moonchild. The Amoral Messiah.
The captive.
Cassandra, Incubus and Succubus paused, Cassandra’s eyes focused on those of the statue of the Moonchild, as if willing him to come to life. She whispered.
“Soon, my love. Soon.”
They arrived at the Cathedral. The Chosen were already there, gathered outside, the congregation seated within. They approached the Chosen, Cassandra greeting them in their pairs.
Hades and Hecate, Judas and Jezebel, Allat and Dajjal, Lilith and Samael, Choronzon and Babalon, Marduk and Tiamat.
The Chosen. Once, an obscure sect loyal to one of the many claimants to the leadership of the Institute. Now revered and feared by millions. By the masses. The herd.
The Chosen entered the Cathedral, marching in their pairs, eyes fixed straight ahead. Incubus and Succubus followed behind, while finally, Cassandra walked alone.
On the walls around them, murals depicted blasphemy and heresy. Vultures pecked at the eyes of Jesus as he hung on the cross, the Buddha was violated by an enormous demon. Mohammed stood humiliated, Krishna humbled. Pages from the holy texts of all the world’s faiths were stuck to the walls with excrement, profanity scrawled over them in semen and menstrual blood.
The Chosen filed down the central aisle. The congregation sat on either side, the pulpit and altar at its end. As the Chosen reached the altar they stopped, standing face to face on either side of the aisle. Incubus and Succubus made their way between them, stopping at the front, standing either side of the altar facing out at the crowd.
Cassandra made her way down the aisle with slow, deliberate intent, passing between the Chosen. She made her way to the altar and looked out over the congregation. Her congregation. Her people. Above her hung an enormous banner emblazoned with the atom-in-ouroboros.
“One and all. It has now been two years since we - the people of Pierreia and the Spirit Science Research Institute - shocked the world with an act of audacity that left kings and queens, ministers and presidents speechless in shock. The Institute - for so long derided and marginalised, mocked by the ignorant who failed to see our power - joined forces with the people of this land, a people abandoned, rejected and misunderstood by the world, subject to the cruel hands of fate for generation upon generation.
“When the nations of the world saw what we had done, they were afraid. They tried to strangle our new state, our new world, in its crib when it had barely taken its first breath. Their armies gathered and their armies fought, fought to undermine us, to kill the dream of Pierreia before it had even begun.
“They failed. Pierreia lives.”
The crowd cheered, deafening, overwhelming. Not a cheer of joy, but one of rage, of defiance, the passion of the crowd in the heat of the riot. Cassandra smiled, leaving them a moment. She raised her hand, and the crowd fell silent.
“Yet our struggle is not over; far from it. The story of Pierreia is only beginning. Our ambitions run greater than anything the world has yet seen. Far greater.
“Our enemies persist, seeking to destroy us at every turn. They fear our power. And they are right. Even as we speak, agents from OSA are pursuing those who would do us harm - the enemy both within and without. They may enjoy a little liberty here, for a time. But rest assured, when the time is right, they will fall. All of them.
“And one day, the Moonchild will again be free. I guarantee that above all.”
She paused.
“The word of Will is the word of Power. Power to change one’s self, one's environment, power over people, over animals, over the natural world. To change reality in accordance with the Will, to exercise true Power, unrestricted, unbound by morality, law, conscience - that is true freedom, true enlightenment.
“And there is no Power without the shedding of blood. This was the secret of the ancients, a secret the modern world hides away as a truth too uncomfortable to be tolerated. Sex, drugs, rage, peace - all of these things illuminate power, hint at it, channel it. Yet true Power comes only through the shedding of blood.
“So it is, so it has always been.”
Two hooded figures dressed in black entered the Cathedral, making their way down the central aisle in silence. Between them, they carried a crucifix attached to a large wooden base. Tied to the crucifix was a monkey, bound by the wrists and ankles, metal bowls at its feet. It was dressed in a purple robe, a crown of thorns on its head. They reached the altar and placed the monkey on it, bowing their heads in mock respect.
The figures in black removed their masks to reveal Arkhan and Su of Ouroboros. They made eye contact with Incubus and Succubus and smiled.
Cassandra reached beneath the altar and withdrew a dagger, its handle made of gold, inscribed with occult symbols. She ran her finger across its blade, drawing blood. Cassandra placed her finger in the monkey’s mouth, her blood dripping over its tongue. The monkey licked the blood from her finger, gazing at her with innocent curiosity.
The Chosen began to chant, reciting blasphemous words in long-dead languages, their voices beginning quietly but rising in volume. The crowd became tense, excited, craning their necks to get a better view of the action.
Cassandra stood back, bowed her head, and spoke silently in words of ritual power. She raised the dagger and plunged it forward, directly into the heart of the monkey.
The monkey screamed, blood gushing from the open wound on its chest. The blood covered the altar, filling the bowls, dripping down onto the floor below. Its body sagged, its life expended, the blood continuing to flow ever onwards. Cassandra stepped forward, dipping her fingers in the blood, and painted an Ouroboros on her forehead.
She turned, facing the crowd.
“Go now, and do what you Will.”
Cassandra dipped her fingers in the blood once more and stepped forward. She anointed Incubus, Succubus, Arkhan and Su with the blood of the monkey, then proceeded down the aisle, marking each of the Chosen on the forehead or right hand in turn. Once the task was complete she continued onward, Ouroboros by her side, the Chosen following behind them up and out of the Cathedral. Behind them, the congregation rose as one to watch them leave, then started to file forward, each dipping a single fingertip onto the bloodstained altar.
They stepped out into the sunlight, harsh, blinding. Incubus breathed deeply, taking in the City of Dis in all its splendor, Succubus by his side. Cassandra’s eyes were closed in silent contemplation.
As they started to make their way down the Grand Parade, there was an enormous explosion, coming from the direction of the direction of the Great Square. Even at a distance the noise was deafening. Car alarms went off, windows shattered, smoke began to rise.
Succubus glanced at Cassandra. “What the fuck?”
Cassandra just stared ahead, her eyes fixed on the rising smoke, expression emotionless. When her phone vibrated, she pulled it out without even looking at it. A video started to play.
The Great Square. The statues. All three now nothing but rubble. Three words on the bottom of the screen, defiant, mocking.
