Sorry for the lack of editting. My home computer crashing has largely killed my ability to work on stuff at home
.
Worm
And they shall go forth, and look upon the carcasses of the men that have transgressed against me: for their worm shall not die, neither shall their fire be quenched; and they shall be an abhorring unto all flesh. - Isaiah 66:24, King James Version
Picture Notes
Pic #1: Captain Jack Kaiphos approaching the potentially-hostile surface of the Blue Hole (see Pic 5).
Pic #3: Adler Concetti, a neo-nazi white supremist. Pic was taken shortly after his arrest.
Pic #5: The Blue Hole of Belize, a circular limestone sinkhole.
Pic #6: Captain Jack Kaiphos in civilian gear, watching as his merc team clears an area of hostiles.
Aryan Honor
He had paper-thin, paper-white skin, with the splotches only the truly white can achieve. His head was always neatly shaved. His eyes were blue.
A niggling little voice asked why a proud Aryan would shave his blonde locks. He silenced the voice of a brunette with a small pill.
There was no question of his pride as an inheritor of the noble Aryan gene. He believed in the Aryan Nation. His belief was a thick and powerful thing, it surged in his blood and made him strong.
The pill took away pain. Took away fear. Took away niggling little voices. The pill surged in his blood.
the Aryans had proved themselves strong and worthy by right of conquest. They possessed divine right because none could stand against the Race. They were Nordic viking and Indian brahmen, the closest in color to the brilliance of the celestial bodies. The closest to angels.
The Deutsch lost because they allowed one with weak blood to lead them. It was a mistake that cost them when He proved too weak. The Jews had bred Him to taint the Race. He was the Aryan Antichrist.
Adler Concetti adjusted his cap lower over his face. He went over his beliefs again. He was standing among the trees near the trailer park, watching the small movements in the nights. He felt the gun tucked under his shirt for strength, and he marshalled his doctrine until it fell back into place.
He had to prove himself. Had to hold his Birthright in his hands. A Birthright of conquest. Even with the pill, it was hard. Which was why he was starting small. Breaking down the boundaries of human society a small bit at a time. Learning his wolf heritage by demonstrating in small ways that the lesser races were truly sheep.
William Johansen, the trailer home he was watching, was such a sheep. A gentle-mannered black sheep, always smiling at the wolves and ducking his head to avoid eye contact... afraid that eye contact might paralyze the prey. Adler had proven his superiority in a million different ways. He'd glared the black sheep in the eyes, daring him to look back. He'd tormented the sheep in little ways - barbs and jabs, and sometimes fighting words.
Rome's founder was suckled by wolves. It was one of the three pillars of Roman strength. Another was the fasces, the bundle of sticks that signified strength through unity. The third was the celestial gift, the symbol of the sun that showed them that they had might and right on their side.
But these things were only little tests. Little ways of checking his own resolve. Tonight was another such test.
He was going to rob the black sheep of its wool. As the last lights turned off, he moved to the corner of one of the trailers. He'd established among his friends that he was going to a rally in Los Angeles, that he would be gone for a week or more. Still, he approached the trailer park from a direction other than his home.
When the sheep interrupted him in his hunt, he shot the sheep four times, turned, fled, his blood alternately mixed with panic and exhultation. They caught him within days.
Pic #3 - Adler Concetti's arrest picture
ALJFL
"Hey, can you hear me?"
"Yeah."
"Hey man, I heard you was in for that Johansen %*&$#."
"So?"
"So? He *&^^ing deserved it. That's all."
"I didn' do it."
"Sure man. No prob."
-
"Hey, you hear me?"
"Yeah."
"Look, you can't tell no one, right?"
"Sure."
"I mean it."
"Yeah, I hear you. I said sure."
"You read the Bible, any?"
"Sure. Buncha pap for the sheep masses."
"Yeah, but it's just the jew take on it, right?"
"Yeah?"
"So it tells the real story, but ya gotta understand how to read it, cuz it's all spin doctored. The jews, they're the best at that, right?"
"Yeah... Yeah."
"So, like, we believe in the
fasces right? Unity, right? But cuz o' the bible, we call it a demon, you see?"
"Yeah. Legion, right?"
"Yeah. 'Cept it's called Alehjafal. That's its arabic name. Its mahatma brahmen name, right?"
"And it connects the Race?"
"Yeah, man, 'cept we're all separated now, cuz o' the jews. That was part of Hitler, got it? Hitler broke us up."
"Then why'd he kill all those jews?"
"Blood sacrifice. Those *&^%$es are cold, right?"
"Yeah...
Yeah."
-
"Hey, you hear me?"
"Yeah, man, what's up?"
"Just been thinking. I'm gonna go home tomorrow. Sit in my easy chair. You know?"
"Yeah. I've still got another month."
"Yeah, so, anyway... hell with it. Look, you seem a right type, you know? Real boon to the race."
"Thanks, man, you too."
"No, man, you don't understand. I ain't worthy. Not quite pure enough. I got enough in me to see the truth, but I ain't got enough to win."
"What?"
"I ain't got enough to win. I'm going home tomorrow, you know? I've lost. But you..."
"No, man, you ain't lost. We're all together, right? We're
fasces, bundled up tight. We don't lose til we're ALL dead."
"Yeah. I guess you're right. Thanks, man."
-
"Hey, you hear me?"
"Yeah, man, you okay?"
"I'm going home in an hour. I... I gotta tell you something. It's... hard."
"You ain't a jew or black?"
"No, man, hell no."
"Then it's okay."
"Yeah. It's still hard."
"Go ahead. Be strong, right?"
"Alehjafal. You remember that name?"
"Yeah, you told me about it."
"You remember what it is?"
"Yeah. The Race. The Connection. The Wolf. It's what ties us together."
"Well... I can help you connect. It'll kill me. But I'm dead anyway."
"Don't say that, man! You say you're going home. You're going home!"
"Shut up, Concetti. I gotta tell you truth. I'm dead. But I'd rather give my life to you, instead, right?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Blood sacrifice, man. I ain't much, but I'm enough to connect you."
"What?"
"You take it or not? I only got an hour, man. I gotta know if you'll take it. Take the wolf."
A long pause.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll take it."
Something black and shadowy moved between the cells. If it resembled a wolf, Adler would be hard pressed to say truthfully, but it was sleek and fast, and he felt it enter him and the world opened up.
The top of his head felt like it cracked, and light seeped in. He could feel the daylight playing across the gray matter. Joy flooded him, better than any amphetamine, and he realized what he really craved when he craved the little pill. Strength to his arms and legs. Iron to his skin. His senses burst with the details in the dusty shadows of his cell.
He knew, for a moment, what it was to be Aryan. Then he ripped the pig steel of his cell door off of its hinges, and stalked down the prison hall.
He didn't even glance at the emaciated corpse in the cell next to him. He had a mission.
Find the hole in the world. Find the Dead Place where the Dream was kept hidden. Find the Gate.
The Race would rise again. Adler knew this now.
Project Sparrow
Captain Jack Kaiphos was a decorated veteran from three wars ago. Today he was a mercenary in the hire of Executive Outcomes, an advisor to third world countries that needed modern thinking to help them win. He didn't risk his own neck much, anymore, though it still happened occasionally. He'd earned his rank in the SEALs and Executive Outcomes, and he was unlikely to progress any further in either. Still, it was an exciting life.
Today was not exciting. Today was vacation, and as he sucked a few more drops of martini through a too-long straw, lying beneath an umbrella in Bélize, he admired the view. No one knew him here. No one asked him how many men he'd killed, or wanted to know if he could help them win a war. Just white sand, blue sea, and pretty women wearing very little.
So when one of the hotel waitstaff came running up to him with a phone and a worried look, he was a bit miffed.
"Who the hell is calling me here?"
"Hi Jack. Project Sparrow, you remember it?"
"$#*%."
-
Make no mistake. You never truly leave the American military. At best, you are given a lifetime vacation in which you can try to build a life... but there is always the chance you might be called back. Refuse, and you can be brought up for treason and spend your lifelong vacation in a military prison.
So when he was told there was a general in his hotel room waiting for him, and that he'd best come running, he did. Well, he walked. But he came.
He was a short man, with a shock of blond hair and an honest, Irish face. Not that he was an honest man, he just had an honest-looking face. That he had survived as a SEAL was a testament more to his will and cunning than to anything else, and if they wanted him back for Project Sparrow, he'd need it.
Project Sparrow was part of the Roosevelt end-of-the-world scenarios, the equivalent of Armageddon Insurance, and as few people were tapped for it as possible, but they were the best. The bleeding edge best, the people whose talents and skills put them a hair beyond the envelope of what the best
was. The world wasn't the way most people wanted it to be, and Project Sparrow tried to ensure that they thought it was anyway.
Jack wasn't the best. But he faked it pretty well. He went in to his room. A stern looking man handed him a folder, and watched him carefully as he read it.
He kept his poker face on. He knew the general was watching, but Jack didn't know anyone good enough to read him. Which was good, because the file was bad.
Two weeks ago, an inmate had ripped steel bars apart and walked out. Several bullets failed to stop him, and he ripped the heads of the two officers that had shot him. He also killed every black inmate on the path out of the prison.
Then he disappeared.
That wasn't the problem - it was the sort of thing the SWAT teams handled, if they could find him. The problem was that Project Sparrow knew why it had happened. There was a demon loose in the world.
Investigations at the site had revealed a small hole in the fabric between demons and humanity. That in itself wasn't that uncommon, since it was a site of near continual murder. Blood sacrifices attracted demons, thinned the walls, and a demon had taken advantage of that.
What was uncommon was that the demon had succeeded in possessing someone.
A year prior, the R&D teams had brought into the world a tracking device that could give a vague direction on the strongest or nearest magical backlash in the world. The military, with typical grand scale thinking, and started putting them in satellites and triangulating the location of occurrences.
One had happened in the prison. And smaller ones were happening in a bee line for Bélize... where there happened to be a ready made gate to hell.
Pic #5 - The Blue Hole of Bélize
The Blue Hole
It was a gorgeous spot, a rounded strip of white sand, a few trees, and astoundingly deep waters. It was explored briefly by Jacques Cousteau, and is, despite its impressive appearance, only about 400 feet deep. Of course, more than 100 feet and divers face the perils of nitrogen accumulation in the blood.
There are numerous caves beyond the 100 foot mark, and some of them have been explored. Most of them have stalactites and stalagmites that look like they were once part of a land-cave before the area sank. What activity could have caused the sinking is largely unknown.
The area is mostly dead below the 200 foot mark. There is almost no water circulation, leading to oxygen starvation for fish.
At least, that's the official story. The real story is that the caves descend deeper than known, and travel in directions not visible in three dimensions. They eventually reach Hell.
The sinkhole was caused when a number of the caves collapsed during a battle, thousands of years ago. When Project Sparrow acquired an akashic mystic on staff, thirty years ago, they found the Brotherhood associated with keeping it closed.
For the most part, they left the Brotherhood alone. Some phone lines were provided, in case they had trouble a missile or two could handle, but other than that and a few watchdogs, the place was left quiet.
Adler and his demon rider were going to the Blue Hole. And the Brotherhood, however good they might be, were still merely human.
Jack looked up, his face impassive. "Is this serious? You've confirmed it?"
The man nodded.
"You know that I'm only human, yes?"
The man nodded.
"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?"
"We can't bring in the military directly. There's some touchy political situations and..."
"And the demons could break loose of their cages! What's politics got to do with that!?"
"Jack."
"$#*%! Okay, fine. What resources?"
It wasn't much. A squad of eight SEALs, snuck in by dead of night. Some of his old buddies, but still just eight. Enough equipment to fund a small war in Ethiopia - Jack marked that in his mind, and wondered if he'd be able to pilfer some of it when this was over.
-
Beneath the waves, surfacing only for minimal air, ALJFL swam with superhuman strength. It had taken quite some time to get this far, but now its goal was in sight.
-
They knew where he was coming. They positioned themselves in the dark, scattered about the landmass, with two men in the water. Harpoons and HE rounds were the name of the game.
-
ALJFL paused. It sensed the dim auras of those who would harm it, surrounding the island. Forming a barrier.
It surfaced, drew deep lungfuls, dropped deep in the waters. As if on land, ALJFL crawled up the slope of the island towards the one guarding its pass. It carefully took stock of itself... the skin was sloughing off in the salt water, the muscles were starved, but there was still plenty of body left.
ALJFL darted with the suddenness of a shark. The soldier still managed to shoot it with a harpoon - such reflexes were unknown to ALJFL, humans weren't normally so fast - as ALJFL grabbed the soldiers helmet.
It was too late. The soldier had screamed for backup. ALJFL tore the soldier's face off. Pulled the underwater spear from its lungs. Took the soldier's flippers. Swam through the hole.
Splashes. They were already coming. ALJFL nearly cried... it was
so close to its goal!
Another harpoon stabbed it in the back, near the spine. But not close enough. It savagely kicked as it reached the edge of the Hole and swam down.
-
Jack hit the water at a dive. He'd insisted everyone wear their wetgear, and he was glad. He spotted Adler with a minute, and found himself almost in awe.
Adler looked like a zombie, skin coming off in small chunks, nails stripped away, eyes swollen and glazed. And he was swimming inhumanly fast, even with the awkwardly worn flippers. Jack settled in and aimed.
The other SEALs were taking shots, but Adler was simply faster than they were expecting. Jack led him, led him, fired.
It was a shot to be proud of. Lodged in the middle of the back. So close to the spine he could taste it.
The Adler zombie zoomed past, then dove down into the Blue Hole. Jack cursed, and the three SEALs who'd thought to start up their dive boards pulled up. He pointed. They went down the hole.
-
Minutes passed. One of the SEALs who went down floated back up. Jack and the remaining SEALs on the surface made a circle around the Hole. Kept watch. Prayed.
-
When It came, three SEALs died outright. Like a horde of serpentine bats, a half million shadowy things flocked upwards out of the hole. Everything they touched died. Everything that saw them panicked, terror stricken deep into the reptilian brain.
Except Jack. For whatever reason, he stood his ground. Safely back, but still able to observe. One of the things had a new body - one of the SEALs who'd gone down and not come up - and that was important to know. That they could
do that.
Adler's body came up, too, but it was dead. Jack had known it would be.
With strong, steady strokes, he caught the remaining SEAL, wrestled him to a standstill, helped him control his panic. Both men nestled cyanide pills in their cheeks - if it looked like they would be possessed, they'd leave only a corpse.
Until then, they needed to reach the surface.
Cautiously, they approached the surface waters. Jack went first, covered by the SEAL.
Pic #1 - Jack in foreground, SEAL in background
End Times - One Week Later
Fortunately, the caverns had collapsed, set off by a desparate SEAL with too many grenades when his comrade was possessed. So only a half million demons were loosed, instead of all of them.
Still, it was a pain in the ass to clean up. Captain Jack Kaiphos watched as his mercenary crew - his
real brothers in arms - marched past him through the buildings of a ghost town. The people had all been killed, possessed, or driven off. That left the place as a killing zone for his men - anything that moved and didn't identify immediately as a friend, was an enemy.
Nice, clean kind of fight. The kind he liked.
The SEAL who'd survived the initial assault with him stood nearby. Jack had spoken with him a great deal while they were planning things out. There was money to be had. A good life to lead. And a world to save.
Jack grinned. He couldn't help himself. Who would have thought the end of the world would be fun?
Pic #6 - Jack among his merc buddies
