Roach-Busters
10-09-2004, 02:25
WARNING!! Reader discretion is advised!
He opened the door and glanced into the room. "Is this the place?"
He was immediately yanked into the room, gagged, and thrown to the floor. The door was slammed shut and locked.
He climbed to his feet, bewildered, confused, and angry. "What the f*** is the big ide-" he started to say, but one of the cloaked men rammed his knee into the man's stomach, depriving him of breath and causing his abdomen to ignite with explosive, searing pain. Overcome with disorientation and nausea, he slumped to the floor, moaning in extreme pain.
"You must lower your voice," one of the mysterious cloaked men said. "You spoke too loudly. You nearly betrayed our presence. Had the enemy divulged our location, we would have been forced to destroy you."
The man stood up, brushing himself off. "Awright, awright, fine," he said, irritated. "Anyway, here's your money." He handed the cloaked man a briefcase filled with millions of RB Dollars.
The cloaked man shrugged, and ungratiously tossed the briefcase into the corner. Then, he drew a dagger and put it against the man's throat.
"Jesus Christ!" the man gasped, his eyes bulging profusely at the sight of the razor-sharp blade, which gleamed hypnotically.
"Disrobe," the cloaked man commanded.
"Wha-"
"Do it!"
"Fine, fine." Because he did not take kindly to the idea of having his throat slitted, the man stripped naked without a single complaint. "Okay, there. Now what?"
Two of the cloaked men dragged over a massive, grimy, ancient coffin suffused in thick layers of dust. There were cobwebs inside.
They then brought out two buckets. One of them was empty. The other had pig blood, intestines, livers, bladders, spleens, etc. They slowly and carefully dumped the blood and organs into the other bucket. Then, they took a huge hammer and began smashing up the organs, squishing them into a viscous, slimy, malodorous liquid. They then poured their newly-concocted muck of gore into the coffin.
"Lay inside," one of the cloaked men said softly.
"Hell no, I'm not g-"
"Lay inside the coffin, damn you!"
Knowing that further arguing would be futile, the man reluctantly laid down in the coffin, shuddering at the feel of the muck he was laying.
They closed the coffin.
From within came his muffled voice: "Hey!? What the f*** is the big idea? Let me out!"
"Silence. The baptism shall commence now. The Flame of Desecration will purge your soul of all love, virtue, happiness, and compassion. Then, you will be spiritually reborn as a follower of our order."
The head of the cloaked men carried over a torch, and placed it on top of the coffin. He sprinkled in some powder and the flame turned black and became cold.
He chanted in an ancient, obsolute, long-forgotten tongue, bowed before the flame, and began to pray. The others joined him. When they finally stood, extinguished the flame, and opened the coffin, the man was barely alive.
"You are now one of us. You, my child, are the scion of our order," the leader said. "Now, we shall distinguish you from our lesser followers." One of his servants carried over a ramrod that had just been taken out of an oven.
"Spread your legs apart."
The man did as he was told. For some reason, he know no longer felt anything. It was if he were in another place, as if this body was somebody else's, not his. His mind wandered in the distance. It as if he had been drugged. Even when the cloaked man etched a pentagram on his ***** with the ramrod, he felt nothing.
So far, the plan was working brilliantly. The cult would wander from town to town and nation to nation, sending out fake advertisements offering jobs to prospective and ambitious young men. When the men came to apply, they soon found themselves converted to the cult's bestial, macabre, pagan religion. One day, they would regain their glory. One day, they would be born anew. One day, they would revive the legacy of...the Red Dragons.
He opened the door and glanced into the room. "Is this the place?"
He was immediately yanked into the room, gagged, and thrown to the floor. The door was slammed shut and locked.
He climbed to his feet, bewildered, confused, and angry. "What the f*** is the big ide-" he started to say, but one of the cloaked men rammed his knee into the man's stomach, depriving him of breath and causing his abdomen to ignite with explosive, searing pain. Overcome with disorientation and nausea, he slumped to the floor, moaning in extreme pain.
"You must lower your voice," one of the mysterious cloaked men said. "You spoke too loudly. You nearly betrayed our presence. Had the enemy divulged our location, we would have been forced to destroy you."
The man stood up, brushing himself off. "Awright, awright, fine," he said, irritated. "Anyway, here's your money." He handed the cloaked man a briefcase filled with millions of RB Dollars.
The cloaked man shrugged, and ungratiously tossed the briefcase into the corner. Then, he drew a dagger and put it against the man's throat.
"Jesus Christ!" the man gasped, his eyes bulging profusely at the sight of the razor-sharp blade, which gleamed hypnotically.
"Disrobe," the cloaked man commanded.
"Wha-"
"Do it!"
"Fine, fine." Because he did not take kindly to the idea of having his throat slitted, the man stripped naked without a single complaint. "Okay, there. Now what?"
Two of the cloaked men dragged over a massive, grimy, ancient coffin suffused in thick layers of dust. There were cobwebs inside.
They then brought out two buckets. One of them was empty. The other had pig blood, intestines, livers, bladders, spleens, etc. They slowly and carefully dumped the blood and organs into the other bucket. Then, they took a huge hammer and began smashing up the organs, squishing them into a viscous, slimy, malodorous liquid. They then poured their newly-concocted muck of gore into the coffin.
"Lay inside," one of the cloaked men said softly.
"Hell no, I'm not g-"
"Lay inside the coffin, damn you!"
Knowing that further arguing would be futile, the man reluctantly laid down in the coffin, shuddering at the feel of the muck he was laying.
They closed the coffin.
From within came his muffled voice: "Hey!? What the f*** is the big idea? Let me out!"
"Silence. The baptism shall commence now. The Flame of Desecration will purge your soul of all love, virtue, happiness, and compassion. Then, you will be spiritually reborn as a follower of our order."
The head of the cloaked men carried over a torch, and placed it on top of the coffin. He sprinkled in some powder and the flame turned black and became cold.
He chanted in an ancient, obsolute, long-forgotten tongue, bowed before the flame, and began to pray. The others joined him. When they finally stood, extinguished the flame, and opened the coffin, the man was barely alive.
"You are now one of us. You, my child, are the scion of our order," the leader said. "Now, we shall distinguish you from our lesser followers." One of his servants carried over a ramrod that had just been taken out of an oven.
"Spread your legs apart."
The man did as he was told. For some reason, he know no longer felt anything. It was if he were in another place, as if this body was somebody else's, not his. His mind wandered in the distance. It as if he had been drugged. Even when the cloaked man etched a pentagram on his ***** with the ramrod, he felt nothing.
So far, the plan was working brilliantly. The cult would wander from town to town and nation to nation, sending out fake advertisements offering jobs to prospective and ambitious young men. When the men came to apply, they soon found themselves converted to the cult's bestial, macabre, pagan religion. One day, they would regain their glory. One day, they would be born anew. One day, they would revive the legacy of...the Red Dragons.