Announcements
Welcome to Bloom @ CherryBlossom Sims! Please register for full access to our forum. We look forward to meeting you! You need 10 posts to access our Resident Artists download area. All new members please read our forum rules before posting. Thank you! Issue 2 of Bloom magazine is now out. Go and take a look!
Hello!
Staff Online
If you love our forum...
Latest topics
» Are We There Yet?
Today at 2:40 pm by tilly

» Anidup's Album ** UPDATED 13 Aug 2017
Today at 1:10 pm by anidup

» Family Time
Today at 11:53 am by poppy100

» Hello there!
Today at 11:45 am by Samantha61

» Sim Fans UK Updates For 2017
Today at 11:33 am by poppy100

» helloooo
Today at 11:08 am by poppy100

» hello
Today at 11:05 am by poppy100

» Hello Again.
Today at 11:04 am by poppy100

» hello
Today at 10:22 am by Lorry

» How do you stage a picture for a picture
Today at 5:32 am by Samantha61

» Atlanta,GA
Today at 4:16 am by Easter01

» Merging
Today at 2:39 am by slewis6723

» How BIG Is Your In Game Mods Folder
Today at 2:36 am by slewis6723

» How Realistic Do You Want It?
Today at 2:16 am by Samantha61

» WCIF This Window??
Today at 12:31 am by Lorry

Whats new?

TS4: Beach Kids-room by Anidup

TS4: Nautical rugs by Anidup

TS4: Nautical Posters by Anidup

TS4: Vertical Paintings by Anidup

TS4: Square Paintings by Anidup

TS3: Cactus Cushion RC by Poppy100

TS3: Teenagers box recolours by Poppy100

TS3: Light panel and cabinet by Poppy100

TS4: Dinner with Anita by Chicklet

TS4: Dinner with Poppy by Chicklet

TS4: Dinner with Suzanne by Chicklet

TS4: Dinner with Sam by Chicklet

TS4: Dinner with Lorry by Chicklet

TS4: Dinner with Tilly by Chicklet

TS4: Clock Conversion part three by Anidup

TS4: Clock Conversion part two by Anidup

TS4: Clock Conversion by Anidup

TS4: Louvre door recolours by Anidup

TS4: Simply Styling sideboard by Oldbox

TS4: TS3 conversion of Louvered doors by Chicklet

TS4: Cyclonesue chimneys by Chicklet

TS4: Rug Recolors by Crissi

TS4: Wicker Chair Conversion by Anidup

TS4: House by Oldbox

Easter01's Father Michael's Saga

Page 8 of 9 Previous  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9  Next

View previous topic View next topic Go down

avatar
Easter01
Moderator
Posts : 996
Thanks : 151
Total Awards : 0

PostEaster01 on Sat May 13, 2017 4:48 pm


The Warlock Executive
A Father Michael Story
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c) 2017




Part 15

“Vampires?” Michael stood up quickly, pulled Tizona out of the ground, and came over to his friends. “Where? How close?” he shot off rapidly. “Do you have any sense of how many?” The priest was covered in blood, some of it his own, and his cassock was in tatters.

His two young French friends stood looking out into the night, their senses straining. Simone pointed to the east, out among the vineyard trellises, and shook her head. “Father, I don’t know. They’re out there somewhere, not far away.”

Michael nodded grimly. “We have to move fast.” He turned and strode quickly over to the cluster of men with Captain Berger in front of the wall, who had armed themselves with the automatic shotguns the security team had left there, and were familiarizing themselves with the mechanism in the flickering yellow light provided by the fire behind them. “Captain Berger!” Michael shouted, in his best, pay-attention voice. “Get all your men together here, right now! There is an imminent threat!”

Berger looked up, startled. “What is it, Father?”

“No time! Just get everybody here in front of the building, and I’ll explain! Anyone by themselves is liable to be picked off!”

The captain fixed the priest with a look, just for a moment, and then jerked his head in the direction of the parked vehicles. “Fontaine, get those men back here, right now. Hurry!” The trooper rushed off to do as he was told, and Berger immediately bellowed, “Troopers!” and made a circling motion with his hand over his head, and then pointed to the front of the building. Sergeant LaCroix and the six men with shotguns had been listening to this exchange, and were already in motion. Just a little farther out, the Directorate security team, already alert to the threat, began helping the wounded to stand up and join with the GIGN troops gathering before the winery building, assisted by the two troopers Berger had sent to aid them.

While Michael waited impatiently for the men to return from the vehicles, he filled Berger in on the situation. “Captain, we’ve got vampires out in the vineyard, and they’re coming toward us.” One of the listening troopers, upon hearing this, spat on the ground. “Vampires. You got to be effin’ kidding me!” Berger shot him a look, and the man subsided, muttering. Michael continued, urgently. These men had seen so many crazy things on this night that he was not concerned whether or not he would be believed. “They’re fast, and dangerous, and there are enough of them to wipe us all out if we don’t work together. We’ve got very little time to prepare, they could be on us any moment!”

Berger didn’t waste any time asking if he was serious. “What do you want us to do?”

“Get your men in a tight group, and back them up as close to the building as they can stand. Vampires don’t like fire, and this will cover their backs. They are so fast that they will be very hard to shoot.”

“Can we kill them?” Berger asked. “In stories, vampires are already dead, and bullets don’t affect them.”

“You’re right, ordinary bullets won’t kill a vampire. But the rounds you are using are explosive, and if you blast one apart with enough rounds, I don’t think we need to worry about it doing much of anything after that. If you take down a vampire, toss it into the fire. That will make a permanent end to it.” He took a deep breath, and continued to speak rapidly. “There’s one more thing you and your men need to know. My friends here, Marcel and Simone, have some rather unusual abilities, and so do the men of the Directorate security team.” Before Berger could interrupt, he hurried along. “They can change their bodies into animals, fast, fierce and powerful, and they are the best chance we have of fighting off the vampires. Just don’t shoot them…they are your allies!”

To his credit, Berger didn’t even blink. “You hear that, men? Don’t shoot our friends, no matter what you see.” In a lower voice, he continued, “God knows we can use all the help we can get.” The pitifully diminished remnant of his troop exchanged glances, but no one said a word. After the events of this night, they were prepared to believe anything.

Michael turned and nodded at his friends. “Change, as fast as you can. Cats to the east corner, by the vehicles, wolves to the west. Stay out of the line of fire of the troopers, and protect the flanks!” At this signal, Simone quickly shrugged out of the shirt LaCroix had provided her and, together, she and Marcel dropped to the ground on hands and knees. A few meters away, seven members of the security team, including Thibodeaux and Claire, whose wounds had proved less serious than had been immediately evident, did likewise, and, before the astonished eyes of the GIGN troopers, began to transform. In less than a minute, the wolf pack was loping across the ground to the west side of the building, and two sleek, heavily muscled black panthers were now standing beside Michael, tails lashing. The troopers looked at each other, shrugged, and moved back toward the building, where the flames were beginning to diminish but were still providing an intense heat. Panthers, werewolves, bug-eyed monsters…what the hell.

The warrior priest strode quickly over to the wall and picked up a set of discarded night-vision goggles.  The subsiding structural fire provided a flickering illumination of the area near the building, but beyond, the landscape was pitch dark, the moon having dropped below the horizon.  His panther friends might not find the night to be much of a handicap, but not having their enhanced senses, Michael would need the image intensification provided by the goggles to navigate through the darkness. He settled the mounting frame over his head, while the panthers waited impatiently, and flipped the switch, careful to keep his eyes pointed away from the building to avoid a sensory overload. The landscape in his vision was now brightly illuminated in monochromatic shades of green, the magnification provided by the goggles rendering the scene almost as good as a daylight view. The only drawback was the relatively narrow field of view provided. He raised his sword in a tight, two-handed grip, and followed the panthers into the night.

Michael was worried. This was the worst tactical situation he had ever been in, since he and Marcel had faced the vampire nest in the catacombs of Rome. The long, parallel rows of trellised vines surrounding the winery building meant that they could not patrol as would have been their choice in a different environment. If they got among the grapes, the chest-high trellises would restrict their movement to following the rows, since it would be very difficult to move across them. Normally, when hunting vampires, they worked as a team, the panthers bringing the creature to bay for him to decapitate with a quick slash of the sword, but under the circumstances this would be a very difficult task. He prayed that God would provide him with the strength and the speed that he would need to cope with an unknown but probably large number of vampires who were in their natural element, the dark of night.  

Not for the first time, Michael wished that the panthers had the ability to communicate more directly with him. In their panther forms, Marcel and Simone retained all of their human intelligence; they could understand him perfectly well, but feline vocal cords and lips were not equipped to shape human words. In a volatile tactical situation such as this, that could be a serious liability. Michael had worked with Marcel for many years, and although Simone was a more recent addition she had blended perfectly with the team. They had come to know each other so well that body language served as an unspoken form of communication in most circumstances. In the dark of night, however, the jet-black panthers would be nearly invisible, and he would have difficulty “reading” them and coordinating his actions with theirs.  

Captain Henri Berger was also a greatly worried man. His men were warriors all, and tough as nails, but the night had taken a toll upon them, and not just in terms of the casualties that had whittled down his force to a scrap. No one could have faced the sort of creatures that had assaulted them tonight without being shocked to the very core of their soul, and he was concerned that these vampires might just be the very last straw to push them over the edge. Although they had fought well and furiously in the winery, against creatures of impossible strength and ferocity, discipline had been all but abandoned in the chaos, and without discipline, how could his men withstand yet another attack? He was also becoming more and more alarmed because the man, Fontaine, he had sent to retrieve Legrand and Clement from the vehicles had not yet returned. He was very pleased to see Father Michael and his two strange friends heading off in that direction.

The vehicles were parked in front of a more recent, single-story metal utility building about fifty meters from the winery that was probably used for storage of agricultural equipment and supplies, so it only took a few moments to reach them. As they approached, the panthers came to a halt, laid their ears back and began to bristle. Michael did not need words from them to understand that there was an immediate threat in the vicinity, and it must be the vampires they had scented earlier. He laid a hand on the back of the nearest cat, feeling the strong muscles twitching slightly, and studied the scene. The fires of the burning building made greenish reflections from the tinted windows and black paint of the Kangoo vans, now only a few paces distant. He could detect no movement in the vicinity, but then Michael spotted huddled shapes on the ground in front of one of the vehicles.

The two panthers exchanged a look and then peeled off separately, left and right, circling to either side of the collection of vehicles, as Michael advanced slowly toward the shapes on the ground, sword at the ready, slowly scanning from side to side. One careful step, then another, until he had reached the van. His eyes widened, and he sucked in a breath as he took in the gruesome scene before him.

The corpses of the three missing GIGN troopers, their helmets removed, had been carefully arranged in sitting positions in front of the van, leaned back against the bumper, sadistically mutilated to resemble the “three wise monkeys” of Japanese folklore. The ears of the first man, whom Michael recognized as Clement, had been torn off so that he could “hear no evil.” Next to him was Fontaine, whose eyes had been gouged out. The last man, LeGrand, completed the macabre tableau, his mouth hanging open and his tongue ripped out. The front of their shirts were soaked with blood from the terrible wounds, their faces unnaturally pale, and on the neck of the nearest man the priest could see two small punctures that he knew were the mark of the vampire. Shocked beyond words, Father Michael stared in disbelief, but never relaxed his guard for a moment.

A voice came out of the darkness from just above him, mocking and insolent. “Bloody good joke, don't yer fink, guv’nor?”

Michael jerked his gaze upwards from the corpses to see the form of a pale-skinned young man in Gothic dress, lips painted black and draped with silver chains, grinning down at him nonchalantly from a sitting position atop the van. He had not been there a moment ago, he could swear.


THE WARLOCK EXECUTIVE
continues with Part 16
scroll down


Last edited by Easter01 on Fri May 19, 2017 5:22 pm; edited 1 time in total




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

Easter01's Short Stories can be found: Here

avatar
Samantha61
Moderator
Posts : 3939
Thanks : 703
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

PostSamantha61 on Sat May 13, 2017 5:25 pm

runcircle I was holding the mouse so tight lol..this was a goosebumps moment at the end lol..
Can't wait to read the next part watermelon watermelon
Awesome job Joanne feeldaluv


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
valentine1f

Broomhilda's Sims2
Broomhilda's Sims2 DWJ
My Tumblr
avatar
Easter01
Moderator
Posts : 996
Thanks : 151
Total Awards : 0

PostEaster01 on Tue May 16, 2017 3:45 pm


The Warlock Executive
A Father Michael Story
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c) 2017





Part 16

Billy rose to his feet in one fluid motion and stepped down onto the hood of the Kangoo van, and then leaped to the ground to stand a few paces away from the priest. Michael was enraged almost beyond reason. Those poor men had survived the carnage of the winery only to be slaughtered and vilely degraded for the amusement of this devil’s spawn. The grip on his sword was so tight that his knuckles were white on the hilt, as he spoke through gritted teeth, “You foul creature! You murdered those men!”

Billy only shrugged and grinned disarmingly. “Ah well, it were me mates mostly, just a bit of a lark, right.” Michael raised Tizona as if to strike at the vampire, and Billy took a careful step backward, swallowing. “That’s a bloody great tooffpick yer 'ave there, guv’nor. Yer a priest an all, wotcher doin' carryin' 'round a nasty pointy fin' like that?”

“Step just a bit closer and you’ll be sure to find out,” Michael replied, ice in his voice.

“Wot, and spoil the bloody fun, then? That just wouldn't be sportin'!” Billy chuckled wickedly. “Tell yer wot, yer just 'and over that toadsticker and we'll be on us way. No muss, right, no fuss. That’s wot th’ boss wants. Give us the sword and yer and yor wee pussycats cop to live.”

“Boss? What boss?” Michael lowered the sword, just a fraction. This was the first indication they had of just who might be behind the demon attacks, and the urgent need for this information broke through his rage.

Billy looked surprised. “Why, right, the warlock o'course.” His eyes narrowed. “Oh, right…yer didn't know, did yer!”

At that moment there was a loud shriek from behind the vehicles, and the fierce scream of a panther. At the same time, gunfire erupted from the direction of the winery building, and the snarling of wolves could be heard in the distance. Distracted, Michael turned his head for an instant, and when he looked back, the vampire was gone.

The first warning the GIGN squad had that they were being attacked again was just a flicker in the night. Half of the troopers were equipped with the light-magnifying night-vision goggles, salvaged from those left by the werewolf defenders of the wall since those they had been issued had been dropped in their flight from the burning building, and the other half, on Captain Berger’s orders, were depending on their natural vision, with its wider field of view. Likewise, most had been forced to abandon their weapons on the headlong plunge down the staircase to safety, and so all but two, who still had their Barrett sniper rifles, were now sporting the automatic shotguns collected from the wall. All that were left of the company were nine men, including Berger and Sergeant LaCroix, and one of those was too badly wounded to stand upright but had to sit on the ground, holding his shotgun. The burning building was at their back, almost too hot to bear, but, abiding by the priest’s advice and their captain’s orders, they kept as close as possible. Before them was the darkened vineyard.

All of the men were wearing their black combat helmets, except for Berger and LaCroix, who had laid theirs aside while manning the combat center in the basement, and all save these two were wearing their full complement of field gear, including Kevlar armor, although somewhat tattered and singed. They had plenty of ammunition. The men with shotguns each had at least one additional drum for reload, and the two men with Barretts had been given all the spares carried by the other men. All had their weapons at the ready.

“Ssssttt…did you see that?” one of the men hissed, keeping his voice low.

“What? What did you see?” whispered another.

“I thought I saw something…just for an instant, out in the field. It was just a flicker.”

“Wait…there’s another!”

At that very moment, to their left, there was a flash of movement, and…something…was among them, moving as fast as thought. There was a scream, and a gurgle, and the men turned to see one of their number - it was André Perrin, a corporal - pulled upright and bent backwards, shotgun dangling uselessly from his fingers, a ghastly pale female figure behind him, lovely yet horrible, teeth fastened in the neck of the helpless trooper, long black hair falling forward, piercing black eyes glittering with malice. Frozen with disbelief, they were slow to react, and before they could raise their weapons the luckless man was being dragged away into the darkness.

“Shoot!” Berger shouted, and some of the troopers began to fire their weapons, the chatter of automatic fire deafening, but others were at a loss for a target, for there was nothing to see in the darkness before the building. Nevertheless, they raised their shotguns and fired into the night. Suddenly there was a shriek in the darkness, as one of the rounds from a Barrett connected with a vampire, more by accident than design, and with the simultaneous detonation of the Raufoss incendiary shell, they saw a flaming figure dancing in agonies twenty meters out, falling over and swiftly consumed.

At the same time as the firing began, concealed from their hearing by the noise of their weapons, there was a savage snarling from the opposite corner of the building, off to their right. The werewolves were now in the fight.

The voices had come out of the darkness around the wolves, soft and seductive, filled with mocking laughter. “’Ere, doggie, doggie,” said one. “Nice doggies, come ter mama,” said another. “Wee puppies, come play wiv us,” came another, accompanied by a muted giggle. The presence of the vampires was no surprise to the wolf-pack, who had scented them long before they had arrived, and the creaking of their leather attire was loud to their keen hearing. Foolish vampires, to come in from upwind. This was no pack of feral dogs, without discipline or organization. This was a wolf-pack, in which each member thought with a human brain and acted with pack discipline and military training. The wolves were in a tight group, rumps backed up together in a circle, facing outward, alert and ready to deal with any threat. They had already identified the vampires against them as only four in number. They might not be as fast as vamps, but speed wasn’t everything.

The voices circled around them, their owners invisible to human senses, but whose locations were clear to the heightened senses of the seven werewolves. “Oh, sod this!” one voice said suddenly, shrilly. “I’m hungry!” The vampire Libbie dashed in from the encircling darkness, only to be met by Claire-wolf, who, swift as lightning, lunged upward and seized the female bloodsucker by the throat, toppling them both to the ground. As Libbie screamed and thrashed about, the wolf planted both paws on her chest and worked her grip deeper and deeper on the vampire’s throat, sawing away with razor-edged incisors and pulling hard until, at last, there was a sharp cracking and ripping sound and the vampire’s head came loose in her jaws. Claire shook the head vigorously, growling fiercely, until it suddenly fell into dust, and the vampire body on the ground also instantly decomposed into a pile of debris.

There was a despairing shriek from the darkness. “Libbie! My baby girl! I’ll kill you lot, yer mangy dogs!” Randi now came rushing in, straight at Claire, who snarled, her fur bristling, and prepared to meet this new challenger with fangs bared. The vampire never made it that far, because Thibodeaux and two of their brother-wolves intercepted the creature, seizing it by its legs and arms, and swiftly ripped it to pieces. The head continued to scream curses at them until Claire rushed over and tore it from the body, silencing Randi forever.

In the darkness beyond, the two remaining biker vampires looked at each other, their eyes wide, and decided it was time to make a hasty retreat…but it was already too late for them. The pack leaped forward as one, taking to the offense, and surrounded the tardy vampires before they could escape. In a matter of moments, there was nothing left but two piles of dust upon the ground. Out in the vineyard fronting the building, the last of the biker chicks, blood on her face from the trooper she had just drained, suddenly realized that she was now alone, with a pack of werewolves coming fast through the vineyard after her, and raced down the gravel lane at top speed, feeling the hot breath of angry wolves close behind. Putting on a burst of speed, she left them far behind and did not stop running until she reached Meursault and the shed in which the motorcycles had been stashed.

Billy and his vampire comrades had made a serious miscalculation. Even much older vampires, grown in strength and supernatural power with the passing of centuries, might have hesitated to tackle a pack of werewolves or two were-panthers in their prime, but these juvenile vampires, inexperienced and cocky in their youth and numbers, certain of their invincibility, had not for an instant considered that these shape-shifters might be smarter, swifter and more dangerous than themselves.

Marcel and Simone were no strangers to hunting vampires. Marcel had been doing so for years before he met Father Michael, and together the two of them had faced a huge nest of vampires in the catacombs beneath Rome, a terrifying environment of endless dark and dusty ancient tunnels. After Michael and he had, for a while, gone their separate ways, Michael being transferred by the Vatican to the United States, he had trained Simone as his partner, and the young French couple had dispatched dozens of the vile creatures in many parts of the world. This place, this vineyard, with its corridors of trellised grapes, was just as challenging an environment as the catacombs, and would need a smart approach, especially since they were seriously outnumbered. Their keen panther senses had now informed them that there were at least eight vampires in the vicinity, perhaps more. It would be a difficult task, since they were used to working in concert with Father Michael, but the darkness and the number of vampires against them would force a different approach.

After leaving Father Michael, a minute or so before, they had separated and made a broad circle around the parked vehicles, without trying to confront any of the vampires, to assess the disposition of the forces against them, and met on the far side. These vamps were being pretty dumb, Marcel thought, as he rubbed his shoulder against Simone’s flank. They were scattered out through the area instead of clustering together to concentrate their strength. He could hear Father Michael having a conversation, for pity’s sake, with one of the vampires, and wondered what that was all about. They could both smell the blood of the troopers who had just been slain by the vampires; it was not like the Father to be so restrained when it came to vamps. There did not seem to be any creature that Michael hated more than vampires, not just for their evil natures but for their petty cruelty.

It was rather odd that the vampires were not trying to attack them. Just as their panther senses had detected the presence of vampires, the vamp senses would have let them know that there were panthers about. Perhaps they were waiting for some sort of signal from their leader.

No matter. It was time to get this party going. He did not expect that Michael would be speaking to the vampire for very long, and they needed to thin out the vamp numbers pretty quickly. The only sure way to put a vampire out of action permanently, short of exposure to the sun, was to decapitate it, but there were more ways to take the head off a bloodsucker than using a sword.

Like invisible shadows in the darkness, the two big cats glided through the night, seeking their prey. Fast as any blood-drinker, they cornered a vampire against the side of one of the vans, and Simone latched her teeth into its leg so it could not escape while Marcel tore its throat out and ripped its head from its body, flinging it into the darkness with distaste where it turned to powder. That’s one, he thought. Seconds later, they caught up to another vampire, trapping it in one of the vineyard rows. It tried to leap straight up to escape them, but Simone was ready for this move and, leaping upward at the same time, caught it by a foot and brought it down onto the trellis fence. Speared through the chest by one of the posts, it fought violently to free itself, shrieking its rage, until Marcel dispatched it in the same manner as the first. That’s two, he thought smugly. But it would become more difficult, now that the vampires were aware of how deadly the panthers could be.

Michael spent no time wondering where the arrogant young vampire had gone. He looked down at the three dead troopers and made the sign of the cross over their bodies, and then took Tizona back in a firm two-handed grip and set off to kill vampires. The screaming he had just heard, which had prompted the vamp’s disappearance, was obviously his friends at work. All he had to do was just follow the sounds of carnage, and he would come up to them soon enough and lend his aid.

Just as he came around the end of the last of the parked vehicles, the large caterer’s van, the night-vision goggles showed him his two friends beset by three vampires acting in concert. One of the creatures, a female, had its arms wrapped around the neck of a panther, and with its great vampire strength was slowly bending the massive feline head backwards, trying to snap its neck. The panther was kicking, trying to free itself, but the vamp had gripped it from behind and was just too strong. On the ground nearby, the other of his panther friends was on its back, locked in combat with two vamps; having sunk its teeth deeply into the shoulder of one, it was trying to fend off its other attacker with its hind claws, tearing deeply into the flesh of the creature.

Michael ran forward, raising his sword, and with a powerful blow swept off the head of the vampire trying to break the panther’s neck. The panther, whom he now recognized as Simone from her eyes and muzzle, fell over on her back but, snarling in fury, instantly leaped onto her feet and plunged headlong into the vampires that were attacking her lover, bowling over the vamp that was trying to come to grips with Marcel. Before she could seize it, the creature sprang to its feet and raced away. Simone, seeing it vanish, spun around and sank her teeth into the neck of the other vampire, which was held fast by Marcel’s fangs. In a blur of motion, she whipped her head back and forth, the vampire screaming at the top of its voice, until finally its head popped off and the sound ceased abruptly.

All this had taken place too swiftly for Michael to participate, but seeing his friends out of immediate danger, he smiled and let the point of his sword rest on the ground. “Good work, my friends,” he said, “but there are still more of the foul things about. Stay together, track them down, and let’s be rid of them. I will do the same, here.” The two cats were panting from their exertions, mouths open, but now they put their heads up and sampled the air. In moments, they had the scent, and disappeared into the night.

Neither of the vampires he had just seen fighting Marcel and Simone had been the young Goth who had spoken to him, but he supposed that the panthers might have killed him before he arrived on the scene. The gunfire he had earlier heard had ceased, so evidently the battle at the winery was over, for good or ill. In any case, there were still several vampires in the vicinity, and he needed to be on his guard. God had provided him with this amazing sword, and his faith was strong, but he had not the vampire’s speed, strength or agility. He would have to be very careful.

Sword at the ready, he adjusted the goggles, whose mounting had loosened somewhat with his recent exertions, and then took an involuntary step backward as something unexpected came into view. Tizona began to shine again, with that fiercely brilliant light.

Approaching him was a minotaur beast, but it was far larger, taller by a head, than any of those he had seen or fought in the winery. It had the head of a bull, with great meter-long horns sprouting from its skull and curving to either side, like a Texas longhorn. Like all the others, it was entirely naked, but its loins were obscured by a thick growth of coarse hair, which also formed a thick mat on its muscular chest. It came to a halt no more than five meters away, and stood motionless, the claws on its hands twitching slightly, and stared intently at him for a moment. Then, its lips spread wide in a wicked grin, exposing the shark-like teeth that filled its mouth, and it did something very strange. It held its hand out, palm up, and nodded toward the sword Michael held raised up in defense.

The transmitter in the demon’s ear buzzed loudly with the excited voice of the warlock, who was also watching via the video camera glued to its chest, commanding it to step forward and seize the sword. The minotaur was no fool, however. It was a demon chief, leader of the minotaurs summoned to this dimension by the foul warlock, and was not only more powerful than the other minotaurs, it was far more intelligent. It had seen this puny human slay many of the other demons with the blade, and was not about to step within range of the sword until it could be certain of taking the weapon without injury to itself. The minotaur would wait a bit, while the irritating warlock screamed in its ear, and see what opportunity presented itself. The creature would far rather crush the warlock into a bloody pulp, and eat the little bits, but, within limits, must obey his commands.

The voice of the detestable warlock stopped screeching in his ear, while the human stood there, puzzled, ready with his sword to defend against any attack. It seemed to be a stalemate, but then the opportunity it had been awaiting suddenly came. From out of the night sky, one of the little messenger demons bulleted in, and collided with the back of the human, sending him staggering, tripping over some obstacle and falling forward in a sprawl. The goggles came loose and fell from his head, and the great sword went flying from his hands, and landed on the ground at the demon’s feet. The demon imp flew away, screeching with laughter.

As Michael desperately scrabbled after the fallen sword, he watched in dismay as the demon smiled again, even more broadly, and leaned down to pick Tizona up. As the demon’s hand neared the hilt, the sword began to glow even more brilliantly, and Tizona’s song soared upwards in a frenzied pitch that was almost beyond his hearing. The minotaur closed its fingers around the grip, and then stopped, frozen, a look of confusion and horror etched upon its coarse features. It began bellowing then, as the glowing white light spread from the sword up its arm, and suddenly burst into flame, screams still audible through the consuming inferno, until suddenly, all sound ceased, and the glow slowly died away from the sword, now resting in a pile of ash.

Greatly relieved by this sudden reprieve, Michael raised himself up on his knees and reached for the sword. Just as his fingers were about to close upon the point, so that he could draw it forward, a dark figure slammed into him, throwing him on his back, and then he felt the pressure of a person kneeling on his chest, and foul hot breath in his ear.

“’Ello, sweetie,” the female vampire whispered, low and sultry, holding his head still between her hands, her long black hair hanging down in his face. She had eyes like a raccoon, painted with dark eyeshadow, and black lipstick. “Didn't spot this comin', did yer now, right?” She giggled girlishly, rather spoiling the menacing aspect she was trying to project, for a moment. “I never drank a priest before. Do yer spose they taste different than ordinary blokes?”

Michael, unable to move in the grip of this evil little pixie, heard a new voice, one that he recognized as the swaggering young vampire he had spoken with earlier. “Just drain 'im pet, and be done wiv it. We need ter be out of 'ere before them pussycats show up.”

Sheila turned petulant. “Right, but yor spoilin' all me fun, Billy.” She sighed, and then leaned closer.

Michael had been inching his hand down his leg during this conversation, and his fingers touched the top of his boot and then felt inside. Swiftly, he drew out the silver-palladium alloy dagger that had been presented to him posthumously by Father Raphael, and quickly plunged it into the chest of the vampire girl. She shrieked and convulsed as the seeking point found her heart, and then went completely rigid, collapsing atop the priest and twitching until, with one last convulsion, she fell into dust. Michael struggled to turn over, the dust falling from his clothing, so that he could seize Tizona and make an end of this young male vamp.

He looked up and saw that Billy the vampire was now holding Tizona, wrapped carefully in his jacket so that no part of it touched his flesh. Tizona was quiescent now, with no song or glow; briefly he wondered why the sword did not react to vampires as it did to demons.

“Aw, now guv’nor, I wish yer 'adn't done that,” Billy said in a tone of mild regret. “I ravver liked Sheila, right, I did, an’ we been togeffer a long time.” He shrugged. “Oh well, right, time ter be off.” And with these words, he turned and vanished into the night, leaving Michael gaping after him, his heart in a pit of despair.

Off in the distance, he could hear the two-tone wail of sirens.


THE WARLOCK EXECUTIVE
continues with Part 17
scroll down


Last edited by Easter01 on Fri May 19, 2017 5:23 pm; edited 1 time in total




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

Easter01's Short Stories can be found: Here

avatar
szanne7000
Tech Guru
Posts : 3466
Thanks : 187
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

Postszanne7000 on Wed May 17, 2017 7:55 pm

Oh, man... now what?



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
avatar
Samantha61
Moderator
Posts : 3939
Thanks : 703
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

PostSamantha61 on Thu May 18, 2017 12:01 am

Don't say a word Suzanne..I haven't read this one lol..it's long and I haven't had a chance to get a minute to read it lol..but I will :Spring2


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
valentine1f

Broomhilda's Sims2
Broomhilda's Sims2 DWJ
My Tumblr
avatar
szanne7000
Tech Guru
Posts : 3466
Thanks : 187
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

Postszanne7000 on Thu May 18, 2017 2:22 am

Not a word about the contents, Sam, I promise...

...but...

...you're going to love it! :D



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
avatar
Easter01
Moderator
Posts : 996
Thanks : 151
Total Awards : 0

PostEaster01 on Fri May 19, 2017 5:21 pm


The Warlock Executive
A Father Michael Story
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c) 2017




Part 17

Klaus Dortmund was in a foul mood. It was a little after one o’clock in the morning, and he had just returned to his office, taking the private elevator up from his secret subterranean workshop where he had been supervising the operation against Directorate 14. Actually, his role had been more an observer than commander, given that his “troops” were a willful and savage collection of demons rather than disciplined soldiers. For that reason, his orders had been very simple; locate the humans, and kill them all. He had counted upon their natural blood-lust and hatred for humans to assure that the destruction of the agency chiefs and their flunkies would be complete.

At first, everything seemed to be going according to plan. His demon “general” had crashed through the front of the building and the monster horde had poured in after it, ready to slaughter every living creature inside. Watching the action through the miniature cameras fastened to the tribal leaders, he had been shocked to discover the size of the opposing force and the heavy weaponry they had employed. No matter that his demons had virtually annihilated the French police company, they had themselves almost been wiped out in the battle. Drinking hot tea from the thermos he had brought down, Dortmund had watched with increasing fury as his demon army was whittled down to a handful of survivors who had cowardly fled the scene even though a number of humans remained, disorganized and virtually helpless to resist.

Even the damnable priest had managed to survive. The only bright note in the whole episode was the capture of the magical sword by Billy, but even that was diminished because the vampire had the priest at his mercy and could have easily killed him, but did not. Nevertheless, when Billy presented him with the sword, he had complemented him on a job well done, commiserated with him over the loss of his doxy, and promised a magnificent reward as soon as he had finished this business. The pitiful handful of demons who had returned to him through the portal stone were sent back to their hiding places to await further orders, and, dismissing Billy and the only other surviving vampire, a female of the biker gang, he had returned upstairs, sword in hand, to find Velli awaiting him, having let himself in using the pass code Dortmund had given him. The warlock was no fool, however; the code only allowed the vampire into the office, not into the private elevator with its access to his hidden basement lair or his private quarters above.

Dortmund was now pacing back and forth in front of his desk, loudly expostulating to the vampire Velli, who was seated at the glass-topped dining table sipping AB-negative delicately from a Waterford crystal champagne glass. One of the rarest of blood types, a superb vintage to the vampire, Dortmund had laid in a stock especially for him in the refrigerator beneath the wet bar, and Velli had simply microwaved it to approximately human body temperature. On Dortmund’s desk, the fabled sword Tizona reposed, its cloth wrapping (used by Billy for safe transportation) unfolded to reveal the gleaming blade. The bank of television monitors on the wall were alive but the sound muted, several of them providing coverage of the breaking story of the winery fire and alleged gun battle that had taken place in France. According to the news feed streaming across the bottom, the authorities were withholding details but speculation ranged from a terrorist attack to a conflict between two rival biker gangs.

“What a bloody cock-up!” the warlock exclaimed. It was a sign of Dortmund’s agitation that he would resort to using British slang, a habit that he had determinedly excised at an early age.  “What an absolute, unmitigated disaster! Who would have thought that the Directorate would have an entire military company detailed to guard the meeting! They’re not even a military agency!”

Mack regarded him owlishly over the rim of the glass, which he held in both hands, elbows resting on the chrome armrests of the chair. “I suppose the worst of it, is that we still don’t know if it was an actual meeting of the D-14 chiefs, or just a ruse.”

“That’s right!” Dortmund stopped pacing, and turned to face the vampire, who as usual was impeccably dressed in the latest of London fashion. “My demons killed almost every single person there, but I have no idea if any of them were even important. The whole point of this operation was to take out the heads of the agency!”

“I think we can safely assume that at least some of them were Directorate personnel, can we not?” the vampire quietly observed.

“Yes, but at such a cost!” The warlock now sounded petulant. “It will take me months to summon up replacements, and you have no idea how much energy it cost me. Even a single summoning leaves me exhausted for hours, and I lost nearly a hundred demons, nearly all that I had. Now there are only about a dozen left to me, even counting that miserable creature, there.”

Dortmund was referring to the ram-headed minotaur-beast he had brought up with him, which was now standing stolidly in the corner of the room, awaiting instructions. Instinctively sensing that it was being referred to, it glowered sullenly at them from beneath heavy brow ridges, rubbery lips parting slightly to reveal rows of very sharp teeth.

“Well,” Mack said, optimistically, “at least you have the sword.”

“Small consolation, that. It had better be worth it.”

“Um. What do you plan to do with it?” the vampire inquired.

“I plan to use it, that’s what! It can only give me still greater power to command demons, once they realize that I have a weapon that can destroy them utterly.” The warlock walked over to the desk and picked up the sword, holding it awkwardly and then making a few clumsy passes in the air. “It’s lighter than I would have expected.”

He moved to the center of the room, holding the sword out flat so he could inspect it more closely. “The blade is inscribed on both sides, a prayer on one side in Latin, and a date of manufacture on the other, I see. It appears that this sword is nearly a thousand years old. It’s magnificent!”

“What do you know of its powers?”

“I know something of it from my agency spy, the shifter posing as the Director’s personal assistant, Leclerc, and also from my observations during last night’s battle.” Dortmund smiled. “It glows in the presence of demons, and when they are struck by it, they are completely incinerated!”

“A potent weapon, indeed!” Mack smiled privately down into his glass.

“I intend to test this. I want to feel its power, discover its limits.” Enthused by the prospect, Dortmund appeared, at least for the moment, to have forgotten his irritation with the outcome of the recent assault upon the winery. He raised his voice, addressing the minotaur. “You! Come here!” He pointed with the tip of the sword to a spot on the floor directly in front of him. The beast curled its lips in a silent snarl, but complied, striding over to the location indicated, and stood there, warily eyeing the sword.

The warlock raised the sword vertically before him, and moved slowly closer to the minotaur, until the blade was only centimeters away from the creature’s chest. He frowned when nothing happened. No glow, no reaction of any kind from the sword. “That’s odd. The thing was glowing continuously when that priest was waving it about.”

“Try touching it with the sword,” Mack offered, helpfully. What an idiot.

Dortmund backed up a pace, to give himself sufficient room, and slowly extended the point of the sword until it just touched the demon’s chest. Still nothing. The warlock’s frown deepened, and as the minotaur scowled at him, leaned on it until it pierced the flesh a few centimeters, but still without any discernable result save to cause the beast to open its mouth wide, emitting a low growl of warning. Dortmund withdrew the sword from its flesh, the tip now covered in greenish blood, and examined it again, now angry. “Damned thing’s worthless! Why doesn’t it work?”

“Ahh…perhaps the sword just doesn’t like you.” Mack commented mildly, his eyes disarmingly wide and innocent.

In a rage, the warlock took six quick paces over to the dining table and plunged the blade straight into the vampire’s chest, the point extending out the other side. Mack set his champagne glass down and gave Dortmund a mildly reproving look. “Now, that’s a £1500 suit you’ve ruined. And, by the way, that rather smarts. Would you mind removing that blade?”

Dortmund stood there for a moment, and then pulled the sword back out. The vampire looked down and inserted the tip of a forefinger into the rent in the fabric of his jacket, clucking sadly. The warlock examined the sword with distaste, and then, in a sudden fit of pique, flung it across the room. It hit the floor and went skittering across the marble tiles toward the minotaur-beast, who raised a foot and stamped down upon it, rather spitefully, Mack thought. The moment the demon’s foot came down upon it, the blade burst into brilliant white light, and the hapless creature, bellowing with pain, erupted into flames. In seconds, while both Mack and the warlock watched in amazement, it was completely consumed, leaving nothing behind but scorched tiles and a small pile of black ash.

The warlock slowly walked over to the spot and stared down at Tizona lying atop the ash pile, without speaking, and then leaned down and picked up the sword. He turned to face the vampire, puzzlement clear upon his features. “But…” he started, and then cleared his throat and, in a small voice, started again, sounding much like a small child who cannot understand how his toy came to be broken, “Why doesn’t it work for me?”

The vampire steepled his fingers, and leaned back in his chair. “It is supposed to be a holy sword, after all. I suspect…no offense…that only one who is pure in heart can wield it.”

Fresh anger twisted the warlock’s lips, and he let the point drop to the floor. “Then it is nothing more than a bit of ornamental bric-a-brac, after all. No value to me.” He hesitated, reconsidering. “At least, without it, that cursed priest will no longer pose a threat. Ha! I have drawn his fangs!” Dortmund smiled, amused at his own little joke. He held the blade up and examined it once more, and then walked to the side of the room where there was a row of built-in cabinets, opened one, and placed the sword inside, leaning it carelessly against the back. After closing the door, the warlock dry-washed his hands dismissively and came back over to the dining table, where Mack had again lifted his glass for another sip.

Dortmund sat down in one of the chairs, and poured himself a glass of cognac from a crystal decanter of Rémy Martin on the table next to the chessboard. He toyed with the glass for a moment, twirling the stem slowly between his fingers, before lifting it for a sip. “I expect that I will have it mounted on the wall, sometime. It is a rather nice trophy, after all, quite an antique.”

He took another small sip from the glass, sighed, and set it on the table. He was quite calm now, his emotions finally in check, once again the icy calculating machine. “All in all, quite a disappointing evening.” He raised a finger. “One, I have lost nearly my entire army of demons, and it will take me some time to rebuild their numbers.” He raised a second finger, beside the first. “It is not possible to tell, at this time, if the Directorate chiefs were present at the meeting, so, for all I know, the Directorate command structure is still intact and capable of mounting a retaliatory operation against me. That brings me to my final point,” and he now lifted another finger, “If it was a ruse, which now seems likely given the magnitude of the force present at the winery, then my spy has been compromised. D-14 may have been able to identify me as the author of these attacks.” He closed his hand into a fist. “I am vulnerable now!”

Mack swirled a finger inside his glass, and extracting it, licked the blood from the tip. “Fortune governs one half of our actions, but allows us to govern the other half. This is not a time for caution, but for bold action!”

Dortmund’s composure was but a fragile thing, and now his anger came back to the surface. With a sudden gesture, he swept the glassware from the table, to shatter on the marble floor. “Don’t quote to me from your damned book! In fact, I’ve had enough of your oh-so-clever remarks for one night. This whole operation was a complete disaster, and it was all your idea! For someone who is supposed to be such a damned brilliant strategist, your ideas have proved rather disappointing.”

He jumped back up out of his chair and began pacing again. “Well, no matter. Bold action? You want bold action? I made my own plans, contingency plans, just in case this did not work out as well as you led me to believe.” He stopped, and whirled about to point a finger at the vampire. “My little demon imps have not failed me, as you have! For weeks now, they have been secretly transporting small blocks of plastic explosive, one at a time, hiding it within the walls of the Directorate headquarters building where no one could stumble across it by accident. By now there is nearly a quarter of a metric tonne in place, wired and ready to detonate!”

For the first time in as long as he could remember (and his memory extended back for centuries), the vampire found himself at a loss for words. He could only stare as the warlock continued, coldly. “When I send the signal, there will be nothing left of the Directorate but a smoking ruin! Is that bold enough for you?”

Mack found his voice at last. “Ahh…yes, a magnificent plan! And when will you send this signal, to utterly destroy our enemies?”

Dortmund looked at him through narrowed eyes. “In my own time….when I am ready. I wish them to suffer first, before I put an end to all their suffering.” He looked down at the scattered chess pieces on the floor. “Checkmate, Director.”

He raised a hand into the air and snapped his fingers, and uttered a single Word. An instant later, there was a faint < pop > and one of the little winged demons appeared on the edge of Dortmund’s desk and swiveled to face him, its tiny claws clicking on the glass surface. “Listen to me carefully!” he ordered. “Go to the shifter. Tell him he must kill the Director immediately, by any means necessary, and make his escape. His time at the agency is over. I want Bjørn Kriger dead!” The imp nodded, and disappeared.

The warlock glanced down at Mack, who still sat in his chair amid the shattered glassware. “I did not rise to my position by being a cautious man, vampire. Now, begone! And do not return until I summon you. I have work to do. I must go to my workplace and begin summoning more demons.” The vampire stood slowly and began dusting himself off, as Dortmund strode to the door of his private elevator. In the last view Mack had of his employer, as the elevator doors closed, the man bore a look of grim satisfaction.

“Checkmate?” Mack murmured, a faint smile playing across his lips. “Perhaps not, my friend. You think you are playing this game with the Director, but it is I who am your true opponent. And it is my move, now.”


THE WARLOCK EXECUTIVE
continues with Part 18
scroll down


Last edited by Easter01 on Mon May 22, 2017 10:58 pm; edited 1 time in total




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

Easter01's Short Stories can be found: Here

avatar
Samantha61
Moderator
Posts : 3939
Thanks : 703
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

PostSamantha61 on Fri May 19, 2017 6:16 pm

I'm getting behind.. runcircle I will catch up here in a bit Joanne..can't wait to read the last two parts lol.. watermelon watermelon


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
valentine1f

Broomhilda's Sims2
Broomhilda's Sims2 DWJ
My Tumblr
avatar
poppy100
Resident Artist
Posts : 2053
Thanks : 496
Total Awards : 2
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

Postpoppy100 on Fri May 19, 2017 9:02 pm

scared   Wow Easter01 your story looks grimy  :Val10:


                                                                  
                                                           But scary or not!! ..You're just getting a hug   :Easter6:


thanks for your lovely siggie Crissi  hugsmilie 
avatar
szanne7000
Tech Guru
Posts : 3466
Thanks : 187
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

Postszanne7000 on Sun May 21, 2017 1:06 am

And now, the game is truly afoot!

This story is getting deeper and deeper, Joanne <3

Is Mack going to have a little chat with Father Michael, perhaps?



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
avatar
Samantha61
Moderator
Posts : 3939
Thanks : 703
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

PostSamantha61 on Mon May 22, 2017 5:17 pm

I just read part 16..omgosh..I'm shaking now..what is going to happen without Tizona.. runcircle opps forgot to thank you Joanne for this fabulous story..omgosh bravo


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
valentine1f

Broomhilda's Sims2
Broomhilda's Sims2 DWJ
My Tumblr
avatar
Easter01
Moderator
Posts : 996
Thanks : 151
Total Awards : 0

PostEaster01 on Mon May 22, 2017 10:55 pm


The Warlock Executive
A Father Michael Story
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c) 2017




Part 18

Bjørn Kriger, head of Directorate 14, slowly replaced the phone in its cradle and leaned back in his chair, his face ashen. It was shortly after sunrise, and he had been at his desk all night, taking the reports as they came in, in addition to a rather unpleasant call from the head of Interpol wanting to know just what the hell had happened. The magnitude of the disaster was almost beyond reckoning: more than a hundred elite troopers of the gendarmerie slaughtered, and only nine survivors left from the more than two dozen members of the Directorate security force he had sent to Meursault. The first indication that something had gone wrong had been a garbled report passed on to him from the commander of GIGN at Paris, who had received a transmission shortly after ten o’clock last night that had been abruptly terminated before the sender could provide a full account. In the recording that had been played for him, the man quickly blurted out an urgent request for assistance, followed by “They’re all dead, the monsters killed them all!” The next sounds to be heard was a screech of tearing metal, and horrible screaming for a few seconds before the transmission cut off.

The commander had immediately ordered out another full troop of the gendarmerie with helicopter transport, accompanied by medical teams, but the first responders on the scene were civilians rather than military. The fire at the winery building had been clearly visible in Meursault, only a few kilometers away, and the sound of gunfire had aroused the citizens of the small community. Lacking a fire brigade of its own, the response had come from the larger, nearby city of Beaune, located about seven kilometers north of Meursault. Three pumper trucks and an ambulance from the Sapeurs-pompiers, as the fire service is known in France, followed by units from the local gendarmerie, arrived at the old winery at about ten-thirty and found a situation that horrified them.

They were greeted by a small group of men and women, seventeen in all, who bore a variety of wounds from moderate to serious, and nearly all of whom appeared to be severely traumatized by whatever they had experienced. About half of the survivors wore the combat uniform and gear of the national gendarmerie; most of the remainder, including the two women, wore the remnants of conservative black business suits. The spokesman for the group was a captain of the gendarmerie, but he was not at all informative as to what had taken place, telling the rescue workers that it was a matter of national security and unwilling to provide any details. Among the injured was a Catholic priest, dressed in a tattered and singed black cassock. The paramedics immediately radioed for additional rescue units to be brought in from the surrounding communities, set up a zone for triage, and started treating the most seriously injured. The wounds themselves were odd; aside from the burns, the men appeared to have been mauled by savage animals of some kind.

The pumper trucks pulled in close to the still-burning building and began hosing down the flames from their water reservoirs, while a number of the rescue workers began collecting the bodies of the dead. There were not many of these; according to the survivors, there were more than a hundred bodies still inside the building whose remains could not be retrieved until the fire was out. The responders found this information to be quite shocking; this would have to be one of the greatest catastrophes France had ever experienced, comparable to the ISIS terrorist attacks in Paris in November, 2015, during which more than two hundred people had been killed by bombs, grenades and shootings. They began to speculate quietly among themselves, and the consensus of opinion was that, like Paris, it must have been some sort of terrorist attack, although none could account for why such an isolated rural location had been targeted.

The first responders had been in action less than ten minutes when the thrumming of helicopters was heard in the distance, and in moments a group of four Eurocopter “Super Cougar” transport helicopters hovered over the vineyard. The open space around the building, which was not large to begin with, was so crowded with emergency vehicles and people that there was insufficient room for any to land, but in short order the side hatches opened and a rain of troopers began fast-roping down to the ground, the company dispatched by the GIGN commander. Captain Berger, after determining that there were no more hostiles in the vicinity, had immediately radioed his headquarters with a more detailed situation report, so that the incoming troopers knew that they would not be roping into a “hot zone” under attack. After they had safely descended and were out of the way, several cargo crates of supplies were lowered to the ground.

Immediately after discharging its human cargo, the choppers, all but one, veered off and returned back the way they had come. The newcomers quickly took charge of the operation, setting up perimeter barricades to keep out gawkers and the media, when they arrived, as they inevitably would. A squad of men began moving vehicles to clear out enough space for a helicopter, and as soon as this was accomplished, one of the Super Cougars descended to the spot. All of the survivors of the assault were quickly hustled aboard and the chopper lifted off, headed for Paris where they would receive further medical attention, hospitalization if necessary, and be debriefed at the National Gendarmerie headquarters.  

Shortly after one o’clock in the morning, the firefighters managed to completely extinguish the fire in the building. Now the grim task of body recovery could begin. The firefighters and the gendarmerie troopers erected high-intensity floodlights and set up high-volume pumps to remove the water that had pooled in the basement to a depth of nearly half a meter as a result of their efforts to extinguish the blaze. It took more than an hour to pump the water out, before they could begin carefully to probe through the wet ash and debris. Locations of human remains were marked with small flags for the attention of medical examiners associated with the French Defence Health Service (the
Service de Santé des Armées,
or SSA) which provided medical services for the French military forces. Due to the intensity of the fire, little more was left than charred bone. As the work progressed, dozens upon dozens of colorful markers were placed. The heartbreaking work continued all through the night and well into the next morning, before all the bodies had been recovered and bagged for transport to Paris and DNA identification.

Kriger scrubbed at his face with both hands, exhausted from his long vigil and angered by his own failure to prepare sufficiently to have prevented this tragedy from occurring. He had expected demons, and demons were what he got, but who could have thought that their adversary would have so many! Or that the weapons and training of a full company of professional soldiers would be inadequate to deal with them. There would be consequences, he knew. Personal consequences, to be sure, because all this had happened on his watch and was his responsibility, but what happened to him mattered very little right now. He was far more concerned for the grieving families of the men and women who had fallen, and for the fate of his own agency as a result of the severe blows received in recent weeks. At least, thank God, Michael and Simone and Marcel were among the survivors. He had become especially close to them during the last year, regarding them almost as family, and to have lost them as well would have been a harder blow than he cared to contemplate.

At least one thing could be salvaged from this mess. He now knew the identity of the spy. Leclerc. He was very relieved it had not been Renée Dupont; bad enough that any of their own could betray them in such a manner, but had it been the brilliant and ebullient little computer technician, that would have been yet another heartbreak.

Kriger reached for the phone on his desk. “Colette. Please come to my office immediately,” he said curtly, and hung up. Leclerc had come to work this morning, just as if nothing had happened, as if he had no part in the disaster, and Kriger had wanted, so very much, to smash that bland face to a pulp with his fist. Colette Roche was the senior member of his security force currently present in the building, and a very capable woman she was, indeed. In very short order Leclerc, this miserable excuse for a human being, would be locked up, and the questioning could begin. He smiled with grim pleasure at the thought. They had their spy, and soon enough they would have the identity of the person behind these attacks. No matter what it took to extract that information. In fact, restraining Colette might be a major problem. She was a member of the Lyon werewolf pack, and as yet did not know what had happened to her brother and sister wolves at Meursault.

A few minutes later, there was a respectful knock at his office door, and Colette stepped inside and closed the door behind her, then walked to the Director’s desk and stood before it at parade rest, her hands behind her back, thumbs locked. He looked her over. Colette was dedicated to her profession; she was not a large woman, but possessed an athletic build that she maintained though constant training, and sported a short haircut in the military style appropriate for females.

“Colette,” he began, speaking softly. “I have a task for you. We have uncovered a spy in our agency, and I want you to arrest him and lock him in one of the cells under constant guard until he can be questioned.” He looked at her sadly. “But first, there is something you should know.”

In the outer office, the shape-shifting demon who had assumed the identity of the Director’s personal assistant was staring at the computer monitor on its desk, not really seeing it but instead considering the best way to carry out the orders it had been given by its master. The warlock had told it to kill the Director, which should be easy enough. This puny human body was not the only form it could assume; a shifter of his kind could transform itself easily and quickly into the shape of any body it had once possessed, and during its life in the Underworld, it had overcome many formidable demons and taken their bodies for its own. All of these demon forms were now at his disposal, at any time. It would be best if it could dispatch Kriger quietly, without raising any alarms. The difficult part would be escaping from the basement level of this building afterward, with all of its technological security measures. The security force this morning was minimal, however, since the Director had virtually stripped the building of trained personnel in order to provide security for the meeting site at Mersault (and Les Signaraux, as well, but the shifter did not know about this).

It would be so simple if it could just absorb Kriger and take his identity. But, as the demon metamorph had learned long ago, it was not possible to take the identity of another shape-shifter. Why this was so, it had no idea, but that was the situation. There was another person in with Kriger now, one of the female guards, but she was also a shifter, one of those that on this world were called were-wolves, and so she would not do, either.

Pseudo-Edouard swiveled partly around in its chair and studied Renée, the other occupant of the outer office, not bothering to conceal his interest. She was absorbed in whatever she was doing, the displays on the several computer monitors at her station rapidly changing, but she sensed his gaze, or perhaps saw his reflection on the screen, and turned briefly with a smile, waggled a few fingers at him, and returned her concentration to her work. The shifter smiled. This female would provide it with the perfect opportunity to escape. As soon as the female guard left the Director’s office, it would subdue Renée so that she could not give the alarm when Kriger was killed, and then afterward absorb her body and take her shape, casting off the form it now wore. She did not have to be conscious for the process, only alive, and any damage it did to her body now would be set right during the absorption. With her security clearances, it would be no problem to leave the building.      

It frowned (learning human facial gestures had been one of the more challenging aspects of long-term inhabitation of these bodies, but by now it had become almost instinctive) as a thought occurred to it. The master had informed it that, since the meeting site had been so heavily reinforced with troops and weaponry, that Kriger must now know that his personal assistant was the spy. Maybe that was why the guard was in his office? The shifter was fairly confident, however, that the Director did not suspect that his aid was, in fact, a demon. They would be in for quite an unpleasant surprise if they attempted to kill or capture it. There was one other thing that concerned the shifter. It could sense that the Director was a shape-shifter, but did not know what kind. No matter. There were no cat- or wolf-shifters on this world that could stand up to its special abilities.

Before it could decide upon the best solution to the several nagging uncertainties, the Director’s office door opened, and Kriger stood in the doorway and told him, brusquely, to come inside. Just behind him, the shifter could see the tight-jawed features of the female guard, who stared coldly past the Director in his direction.

It was not to be a clean kill, after all. So be it.


THE WARLOCK EXECUTIVE
continues with Part 19
scroll down


Last edited by Easter01 on Fri May 26, 2017 4:10 pm; edited 1 time in total




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

Easter01's Short Stories can be found: Here

avatar
szanne7000
Tech Guru
Posts : 3466
Thanks : 187
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

Postszanne7000 on Tue May 23, 2017 5:15 pm

Yep...

...deeper and deeper <3



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
avatar
Easter01
Moderator
Posts : 996
Thanks : 151
Total Awards : 0

PostEaster01 on Fri May 26, 2017 4:09 pm


The Warlock Executive
A Father Michael Story
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c) 2017




Part 19

The shape-shifter got up from its desk and walked to Kriger’s door. The Director went back to stand before his desk, Colette beside him. It noticed that her hand rested, a little too casually, atop her Glock side-arm.

“Please close the door, Edouard,” Kriger requested in a chill voice, his arms folded across his massive chest, and the shifter complied, thinking quickly, and then turned to face the pair across the room.

Kriger stared at his assistant without speaking, for a moment. His features could have been chiseled from granite. This little man was directly responsible for the death of more than a hundred good people. At last he spoke. “It’s over, Edouard. You have been found out.” The man just stared back at him, his eyes narrowing. Angered, the Director’s brows lowered. “We know you are a spy. You have done a great deal of harm. You are going to tell us who your master is. Have no doubt about that.” He gestured to Colette. “Take him away. Get him out of my sight.”

Edouard did not react to the Director’s accusation but merely stood calmly before them, assessing the situation, ready to spring into action. Why, that’s a challenging look,  Colette thought, surprised that the despicable man thought that he could defy them. She started forward, desperately hoping that the little weasel would resist his arrest, so that she could have the excuse to inflict a little damage. This bit of garbage was responsible for the murder of nearly a third of her pack brothers and sisters, and she would like nothing better than to sink her teeth into him and rip him into little bloody bits, but she supposed she would have to be content with a few bruises and broken fingers…or maybe a broken arm and a rib or two? It would be very nice, indeed, if the Director would allow her to assist with the interrogation.

Just as she reached out and seized him roughly by the shoulder, to spin him about and frog-march him out the door, Edouard…changed. His skin heaved fluidly under her hand, and the astonished Colette only had time to think, he’s a shape-shifter! before the short, thin, middle-aged man had disappeared and in his place stood an enormous bug, a head taller, clicking its mouth-parts and waving sharply serrated pinchers, one of which grasped her shoulder painfully, tearing the skin. Horrified, she cursed and drew her Glock nine-millimeter pistol and jammed it into the midsection of the creature, pulling the trigger repeatedly until the hammer came down on an empty chamber. All to no apparent effect, for the horrid thing now seized her with the pinchers on three additional legs, holding her fast, and, dropping the useless weapon from numb fingers, she could only close her eyes as it bent its head and those clicking jaws approached her face. Someone was screaming, and Colette realized it was herself.

At that moment, from behind her, came an enraged roar, deafening in its intensity, and the bug dropped her to the floor to face this new, greater threat. Seeping blood from the pincher wounds, Colette scrambled after the Glock, and as she scooped it up, she turned to see the insectoid locked in ferocious combat with an enormous dark brown bear, so huge that its head nearly scraped the ceiling, shaking off tatters and scraps of shredded clothing. The Director was now in the fight! She had never before seen him shift into his animal form, and it was truly awesome. Nearly two and a half meters high and more than five hundred kilograms of pure savage power, the bear embraced the insect in a crushing grasp. She could hear the hard chitinous shell of the creature cracking as it frantically waved its limbs, and as she watched Kriger-bear seized one of the legs in his jaws and ripped it from the body, leaving a gaping hole oozing greenish ichor.

Colette came out of her daze long enough to slap another clip into her Glock, but then the thing rippled - there was no other word to describe it - and suddenly the insectoid was gone and now the bear had a hairy and powerfully muscled creature in his grasp, nearly as large as himself. The thing had the head of a bull with curling horns, and it bellowed its rage, displaying multiple rows of shark-like teeth, lowering its head to try and gore the bear with the points of its horns. The bear ducked down and fastened its long fangs into the neck of the minotaur-beast, preventing it from connecting with its horns, whirling rapidly in a deadly dance, sending furniture crashing into the wall. A spiraling rain of blood splattered across the room. Locked firmly in the bear’s grip, the minotaur likewise buried its head into the shoulder of the bear, champing at it with those razor-edged teeth, but the bear’s thick fur defeated its efforts and minimized the damage it could do. Colette held her pistol up, ready to pump more slugs into the monster, but they were moving too fast for her to be sure of her aim.  

The creature now began to bellow in pain as the bear’s fangs worked deeper and deeper into its neck, and then the sound of its anguish began to fail from the crushing pressure of those great hairy arms as the Director tightened his grip more and more, cutting off its air. Colette could hear sharp snapping sounds as its ribs began to break. The thing changed again, this time shrinking back into the Edouard form in an effort to break loose, and then into a bat-winged reptile, and then into a variety of other humans, some male, some female, then expanding back into the minotaur-beast, beating at the bear with its clawed hands, but through all these changes the great bear hung on with relentless determination, its jaws so full of monster flesh that its ferocious growls were muffled. Colette darted forward now and emptied her Glock again into the minotaur’s head, and jammed her hand into her pocket for her last reload.

The room was now filled with a high-pitched, breathless keening from the distressed creature. It started thrashing wildly, and extra arms and legs began sprouting from the shifter’s body, appearing and disappearing; multiple heads, some monster, some humanoid, screamed soundlessly, but the bear held on grimly and kept squeezing, and squeezing, tighter and tighter. The creature’s body began to sag and blur, losing any semblance to a recognizable form, and still the bear squeezed.

The shaggy brown bear at last stepped back, panting, and glared down at a pool of protoplasm on the floor, and then opened his mouth in a tremendous roar of victory. Lowering his huge paws, he staggered back, and Kriger-bear and Colette watched as the silvery pool began smoking and finally shriveled up to leave a large oily smear on the blood-splashed carpet. The bear now began shrinking in size, the hair being absorbed back into the body, and in a few moments the naked form of the Director stood before her, swaying briefly before collapsing to his knees, falling forward on his hands, sides heaving. Colette quickly holstered her weapon and ran to him, kneeling to put her arm across his shoulders. Kriger’s body was covered with small wounds, none by themselves apparently serious, but in combination resulting in considerable loss of blood.

Suddenly the office door was thrown open, and four men of her security force swarmed in, weapons ready, scanning the room and ready to deal with any threat. Just behind them, Renée hovered in the doorway, white-faced, one hand to her mouth, having summoned the security men but afraid to venture in on her own. Colette rose to her feet, raising a hand, palm outward, to assure them that there was no longer any immediate danger, and spoke quickly, “Parris! Get medical assistance for the Director! Quickly now! Run!” She winced and placed a hand on her left shoulder where the demon had cut her with its pincher, and brought it away covered in blood. Her shirt was soaked, as well; the thing had cut more deeply than she had noticed. Until just now, she had felt nothing, charged on adrenalin and caught up in the battle to save the Director. She wiped her hand on her pants; it could wait. “You men. Help the Director to a chair, and you, Renée, find something to cover him with.”

The men wasted no time in following her directions, dragging Kriger’s chair out from behind his desk to the center of the room and carefully lifting him into it, no easy task given the massive size of the man, while he grumbled. In moments, Renée came back into the room with a blanket, draping it over the Director’s shoulders and arranging it over his legs. An eternity seemed to pass while Colette waited impatiently, and then she heard the sound of feet running down the hallway. Two Health Services paramedics currently on duty in the D-14 headquarters building charged into the room carrying trauma kits and quickly assessed the situation. One of the men moved to the Director and began a rapid but careful inspection of his wounds, questioning him in a low voice, while the second man, noting Colette’s bloody shirt, came over to her. She tried to brush him away, but he just gave her a stony gaze and ignored her protests. He reached into his bag and came back with scissors, which he used to begin cutting away the fabric of her shirt.

With resignation, Colette submitted to his ministrations. Irritably, she snapped at the men of the security team, who were still hovering about protectively, “Go on. Get out of here. Guard the entry. It’s too crowded in here with all of you fumbling about.” She hesitated, and then added, “Good work on the quick response,” and indicated the door with her chin. Seeing that they were no longer needed, for the moment at least, the men headed for the outer office, only to stand politely aside as another figure ran into the room.

Marie Rose Saint-Just, also toting a trauma bag, rushed over to the Director’s side, where the paramedic had pulled the blanket down to his waist and was wiping him down with antiseptic pads, cleaning up the blood so he could assess the nature of his injuries. Kriger looked up and saw her standing beside him. “Madame Saint-Just,” he said wearily, and then turned to the paramedic. “Let her attend me. Go help your colleague with Sergeant Roche.” Marie Rose inspected his torso, noting the presence of several deep gashes in addition to numerous smaller cuts and abrasions, and opened up her kit, pulling out a syringe, a vial of Lidocaine, and a suture kit. “Sir, we need to get you stitched up,” she said, matter-of-factly, and when he nodded, she began to numb the first major gash.

He watched her work without comment, deftly handling the curved suture needle, pulling the edges of the wounds together and tying them off, knowing, as she did not, that most of the minor cuts would already be healed by the time she finished with the deeper gashes, due to the accelerated healing process of a shape-shifter. The Director pulled himself more upright in the chair; already he was feeling a little better, although the intense combat with the demonic shifter had left him exhausted. He smiled slightly as Marie Rose gave a slight exclamation of surprise, having discovered that some of his wounds had closed up on their own before she could get to them.

Just at that moment there was a light knock on the door-frame of his office, and he looked up to see Father Michael standing in the doorway, a look of concern on his features, and Marcel and Simone right behind him.


THE WARLOCK EXECUTIVE
continues with Part 20
scroll down


Last edited by Easter01 on Mon May 29, 2017 6:53 pm; edited 1 time in total




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

Easter01's Short Stories can be found: Here

avatar
Samantha61
Moderator
Posts : 3939
Thanks : 703
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

PostSamantha61 on Fri May 26, 2017 8:57 pm

I am getting so far behind again..omgosh Joanne..I am so sorry..I will get to these this weekend.. cutehug


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
valentine1f

Broomhilda's Sims2
Broomhilda's Sims2 DWJ
My Tumblr
avatar
szanne7000
Tech Guru
Posts : 3466
Thanks : 187
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

Postszanne7000 on Sat May 27, 2017 12:34 pm

Well, there goes that lead...

...but, at least the traitor IS gone...

Sam... hurry up, LOL

I want Joanne to load more of this story!!! :D



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
avatar
Samantha61
Moderator
Posts : 3939
Thanks : 703
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

PostSamantha61 on Sat May 27, 2017 10:02 pm

Omgosh..just got done with part 17..oh this is not good..not good at all.. runcircle but I love it anyway ymd Joanne..thank you so much.. HappyDay


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
valentine1f

Broomhilda's Sims2
Broomhilda's Sims2 DWJ
My Tumblr
avatar
Samantha61
Moderator
Posts : 3939
Thanks : 703
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

PostSamantha61 on Sun May 28, 2017 5:02 am

Oh my gosh just read part 18..this is one of those stories that you have to really concentrate on..lol...can't take your eyes off of that page no matter what is going on around you hehe..
I love, love this story Joanne.. ymd

Thank you :Spring2


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
valentine1f

Broomhilda's Sims2
Broomhilda's Sims2 DWJ
My Tumblr
avatar
Easter01
Moderator
Posts : 996
Thanks : 151
Total Awards : 0

PostEaster01 on Mon May 29, 2017 6:52 pm


The Warlock Executive
A Father Michael Story
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c) 2017




Part 20

As the Director waved them in, Michael and his three friends quickly entered the room. Michael took in the scene, the smashed and disarranged furnishings, which Renée was trying futilely to put back into some sort of order, the paramedics and the bandaged form of his superior, beside whom, to his surprise, Marie Rose Saint-Just was packing supplies back into a first-aid kit, and, facing the wall for privacy, Colette Roche, who was buttoning up a clean shirt, somewhat overlarge, that had been fetched for her. “Director! Are you all right? What has happened here?” he asked, his thoughts racing.

Kriger pulled the blanket up around him and stood up. “It seems that our spy, Edouard Leclerc, was much more than he seemed.” He turned to Renée, who was picking up the remnants of his desk supplies from the floor. He knew that this was just her way of keeping busy, and, out of her concern for his well-being, a way to stay close. “Renée, would you please fetch me a fresh suit out of the closet. I’ve been indecently exposed long enough. I need to get cleaned up,” and he turned to Michael, “and then we can talk. In the meantime, why don’t you let Colette fill you in on what has happened.”

“Sir, would you like me to take you to the hospital?” Colette ventured.

He shook his head, and started toward the door of the private washroom located in the side wall of his office, then stopped. “Colette, please clear everyone out of here, except for Michael and his team, and close the door. I’d also like you to remain, of course.” Renée handed him the requested clothing and, looking very tired, he stepped through the door.    

About twenty minutes later the washroom door opened and Kriger stepped out, snugging a dark blue patterned tie into the collar of a fresh white shirt with a suit jacket hanging over one arm. In his brief absence, Michael and his friends had managed to restore a semblance of order to the Director’s office, moving his newly scarred wooden desk back into position and cleaning the debris from the floor. The three agents were now seated on the couch against the wall, digesting what they had been told and quietly conversing among themselves, while Colette leaned against the door to the outer office, looking very alert.  

Kriger draped the jacket over the chair behind his desk, and came over to them and sat down heavily in the sofa chair at an angle to the couch. He sighed, and rubbed absently at the healing wound on his shoulder. “It has been an eventful day, has it not? More good people lost…Colette, would you join us, please.” He gestured at the other empty chair that made up the small grouping of furniture in the corner. “I’d offer you some tea, but it appears that my service has been smashed.” As he spoke, there was a discreet knock on the office door, and Colette, who had not yet taken a seat, opened the door (with her other hand on the butt of her Glock) to admit Renée, who was carrying a tray with a teapot and cups.

“My dear, that’s simply amazing!” Kriger exclaimed. “Now I must add mind-reading to your list of talents.” She set the tray down on the coffee table and started to pick up the pot, but the Director intervened. “Thank you, Renée, but we’ll just serve ourselves. See that we’re not disturbed, please.”

She straightened up, beaming at the compliment. “Sir, the agents you had me send to Les Signaraux have just returned to the building.”

“Very good, Renée. Inform their chief that I will speak to him a little later today.”

After his analyst had departed, Colette seated herself, and after everyone but her had poured themselves a libation, the Director continued. “Michael. Simone. Marcel. You have no idea how very pleased I am that the three of you survived the disaster at Meursault. What a tragedy this was! At least it uncovered our spy…but the cost was too high. Much too high.”

“Sir, we would have been here much sooner,” Michael apologized, “but the GIGN flew us and their own people directly to Paris for medical treatment and debriefing. It took several hours of explanations before they were willing to release us.”

Kriger paused to take a sip of tea, the tiny cup incongruous in his giant hand. “No help for that. I will assume that you were discreet concerning our agency?” When Michael assented, he continued, “I expect Colette filled you in on what happened here in the office…?” at which Colette nodded curtly, “…and we’ll discuss this presently, but first I want your impressions on Mersault. I have been taking reports all night, but I trust your instincts more than anything I might get from our GIGN liaisons.”

The three agents exchanged glances among themselves, and then Michael spoke up. “Sir, before I give my report, there are a couple of things you need to know right off. First…Tizona was taken from me.”

The Director’s face was grim. “That is distressing news, indeed. That sword was the most effective single weapon we had against demons, and I know that it must, as well, be a great personal loss to you. I’ll want to hear about the circumstances, and whether you think it can be recovered. What is the other item, that you think I need to know immediately?”

“I believe we have a clue as to who might be behind these attacks. The vampire who took my sword…”    

Kriger interrupted him immediately. “Vampire? Vampires were also involved?”

“Yes, sir, at least two separate groups. But, I’ll get to that. This vampire, called Billy, admitted that a warlock was responsible for the attack.”

“A warlock!” Kriger set his cup down and leaned forward. “Actually, that makes sense. It would take a magic user of high caliber to summon and control demons. In a way, this is not really news, but common sense. Did this…Billy…tell you who this warlock is?”

“No sir, he did not. He spoke to me during a lull in the battle, which started up again before I could ask any more questions.”

The Director sighed. “That is disappointing. At least, if this vampire was not lying, it tells us that one person was behind it all. It would have been a very bad thing if demons had somehow gained the ability to bring themselves to our world, on their own. It is unfortunate that the shape-shifter who had infiltrated my office did not survive to be questioned.” Unconsciously, he stroked his beard. “I fear we really are no closer to discovering the identity of the mastermind than we were before.

“Very well, then. I’ll want your written reports on my desk tonight, all three of you, but for now, let me have the high points. I want to know how many of these creatures were in on the attack, what kind of demons were involved and any weaknesses you may have noticed. I want to know how effective conventional weapons were, and above all, how did it go so badly wrong.”

Marcel spoke quickly, before Michael could answer. “Sir, it would be a good idea to have Monsieur Thibodeaux in on this. We were not all together during the battle, and he may have some insights that were not apparent to the rest of us. He is in the building.”

At the Director’s nod in her direction, Colette unsnapped her radio from its belt clip, and spoke briefly into it. Although she wore a tiny receiver in her ear, like all members of the security force, she carried a radio rather than a lapel mike so that she could communicate on any of several bands. “He’ll be down in a moment, sir” she informed Kriger.

Michael launched into his report. “I was very impressed with the preparations the troopers had made to protect the site against attack. They had heavy weapons, electronic surveillance of the exterior, and had emplaced a minefield around the perimeter and on the roads leading in.” He hesitated. “One of the techs running surveillance thought there were about a hundred hostiles coming in, but after that nobody was counting. I think that no one could have imagined an attack from so many demons, or that they would be so resistant to damage. Once they got inside the building…that was pretty much the end of any organized resistance, sir. It was a bloodbath.”

At that moment, another knock came on the exterior door, and Colette got up to admit André Thibodeaux, her superior, who had changed into a clean uniform but still had the look of a man who was at the limit of his strength. From somewhere he had obtained a strip of black cloth, and wore it tied around his upper arm as a sign of mourning for the members of his pack who had fallen at the battle of Meursault. He gave Colette a weary smile, and she gave him a reassuring squeeze on the arm. Simone bunched up a little tighter against Marcel to make room for him on the couch.

Michael had just opened his mouth to continue his assessment of the relative strengths of the GIGN troops versus the demonic attackers, when there was a loud rumble from somewhere nearby in the building, and alarms began to sound. All of those seated in the Director’s office immediately jumped to their feet. “That was an explosion!” Thibodeaux exclaimed. “We need to evacuate the building, right now! Colette!”

Colette already had her radio to her mouth. “Code Jericho!” she shouted. “Code Jericho! Get everybody out! This is no drill!” She and André immediately grabbed the Director by the arms and hustled him out of the office, weapons drawn and alert to any threat.


THE WARLOCK EXECUTIVE
continues with Part 21
scroll down


Last edited by Easter01 on Thu Jun 01, 2017 5:34 pm; edited 1 time in total




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

Easter01's Short Stories can be found: Here

avatar
Samantha61
Moderator
Posts : 3939
Thanks : 703
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

PostSamantha61 on Mon May 29, 2017 9:21 pm

Part 19 read lol..omgosh..one more down..lol.. runcircle

Awesome Joanne..keep up the great work.. ymd


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
valentine1f

Broomhilda's Sims2
Broomhilda's Sims2 DWJ
My Tumblr
avatar
szanne7000
Tech Guru
Posts : 3466
Thanks : 187
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

Postszanne7000 on Tue May 30, 2017 12:28 am

It just never stops, does it?

Questions, Joanne... are these written, or are you writing them as we go along?

Curiosity (and impatience, on my part, lol...) :D



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
avatar
Easter01
Moderator
Posts : 996
Thanks : 151
Total Awards : 0

PostEaster01 on Tue May 30, 2017 4:19 pm

Suzanne,

It's easier to finish the story before I start posting. I tend to change things and add characters. I'm working on the next short story. It's about half finished with a great outline for a conclusion. Then... the story just went in a totally different direction.
computersmi


I have to go back to the beginning and add another villain. Oh yes... I can do that.  thlol

Easter01




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

Easter01's Short Stories can be found: Here

avatar
Samantha61
Moderator
Posts : 3939
Thanks : 703
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

PostSamantha61 on Tue May 30, 2017 5:51 pm

That's funny and inspiring Joanne.. sweetdance


Thank you so much Crissi, it's beautiful
~hugs and smiles my dear, dear BFF's~
I am so proud of all of you..
valentine1f

Broomhilda's Sims2
Broomhilda's Sims2 DWJ
My Tumblr
avatar
szanne7000
Tech Guru
Posts : 3466
Thanks : 187
Awards : Bought us a coffee!

Postszanne7000 on Wed May 31, 2017 3:30 am

Thank you, Joanne...

...it is always interesting to get insight into the mind of an author <3

(and, as I said, I'm impatient! LOL)



Thank you, Crissi, for my beautiful signature <3
avatar
Easter01
Moderator
Posts : 996
Thanks : 151
Total Awards : 0

PostEaster01 on Thu Jun 01, 2017 5:33 pm


The Warlock Executive
A Father Michael Story
by Joanne and Richard Easter (c) 2017




Part 21

The street before the Directorate headquarters was crowded with emergency vehicles; fire trucks, ambulances, and, prominently, two Ford vans lettered Déminage, the French term for bomb squad. The authorities had been quick to respond to the alarms set off in the building by the blast. Orange police barricades had been set up on either end of the block, and a crowd of the curious, most of them workers from nearby buildings, loitered before them; only the presence of gendarmes kept the overly curious and the foolhardy from venturing closer.  

Michael and the Director were seated at a little table beneath the awning of a sidewalk café across the street from the Directorate headquarters and a few doors down, just outside the police cordon. Thibodeaux’s men kept the area in front of the restaurant clear of spectators, glaring sternly at any who, in their opinion, came too close. The café had been commandeered by the security chief as a convenient location to keep an eye on the activity around their building, although the customers had been none too happy to give up their ringside seats. Marcel and Simone occupied a table next to theirs, with Colette and a half-dozen other members of the D-14 security force hovering protectively about them. Colette had tried, unsuccessfully, to get the Director to move to a less exposed position inside the restaurant, but he had gruffly brushed aside her concerns.

On the table behind Kriger, Renée had her laptop computer open, connected to the wireless network inside the nearby headquarters building, and was keeping tabs on the chatter as the Déminage investigated the structure. She had also, at the Director’s instruction, sent a warning out to all of the field offices to be on high alert in case this was not an isolated attack. The handful of other exterior tables were all occupied by Directorate employees, and a few still stood watching, but after four hours outside in the June heat most had quickly grown bored with the lack of visible activity and had gone inside the café where the proprietor served coffee and pastries as they waited for the squad to finish its work. André Thibodeaux was across the street with the bomb squad, his Interpol credentials allowing him access.

Marcel and Simone were sharing a plate of pastry and discussing, in their native language, the strange nature of the creature that had attacked the Director. Although they had not been present during the attack, Colette, as eyewitness, had been able to describe how it had assumed a variety of shapes in rapid succession before finally being crushed into lifelessness by the Director in his bear form. As were-panthers, anything concerning shape-shifting was of considerable interest to the pair.

“I have always wondered,” Marcel observed, “how it is that in our panther forms we can be larger and more massive than our human shapes. To simply say that it is “magic” seems to me to be an inadequate explanation. Even magic cannot create something out of nothing!”

Simone delicately broke a piece from one of the croissants on a plate between them, and dipped it into her cup of café au lait before tucking it into her mouth, while she considered his question. “This seems to be true for all shape-shifters, is it not?” she said, when she had finished with it. “The Director, he is much larger as a bear than a man. The Leclerc demon, did it not take shapes that were both large and small?”

“In university, did we not learn that matter cannot be either created or destroyed?” Marcel’s reply was somewhat muffled by the much larger chunk of pastry he was chewing. “Even magic cannot change the physical laws of the universe.”

Simone pushed the remains of her croissant around on her plate with one finger, but did not take another piece for herself. “Possibly, no such laws are broken? Plants can create matter out of air, do they not? Carbon dioxide and water vapor and photosynthesis, and, voila! The plant grows. Maybe we shifters do something of the sort, create mass out of the air when we transform into an animal larger than ourselves, and shed it back into the air when we become human again?”

Marcel just stared at her. It made perfect sense. “Sweetie…I believe you have just come up with the first scientific theory of shape-shifting!”

He was about to say more, when he saw the figure of André Thibodeaux crossing through the barricades, heading in their direction. The head of Directorate security came up to the Director’s table and began to brief him on the situation.

Monsieur, the men of the déminage have finished going through the building,” he reported, in English. “They were able to locate large quantities of plastique hidden throughout the structure, tucked into ceiling panels, beneath the flooring, and within the walls.” Thibodeaux wore a puzzled look. “It is a mystery as to how the explosives were placed. In many cases, it would have required the walls or flooring to have been torn out and replaced. How could anyone do such a thing without anyone noticing?”

As one, both Michael and the Director said, “Warlock.” They looked at each other and then Kriger nodded to indicate Michael should continue.

“We now have some evidence to indicate that a warlock is directing these demons,” Michael informed him. “Unfortunately, we don’t yet know who it is.”

Kriger now interrupted. “You said ‘large quantities’ of explosives. How large is “large?”

“They recovered several hundred kilograms, I was told.” Thibodeuax hesitated. “Quite a bit of it was in the flooring under your office.”

“My God!” the Director exclaimed. “That much would have leveled the building! But the explosion we heard seemed relatively small.”

“That’s the funny thing, Monsieur le Directeur. The wiring was an absolute mess! Some of it looked quite professional, and in other places, as though it had been rigged by a lunatic. Some of the charges didn’t even have any wires attached. It doesn’t make any sense!”

“I would have to say that it is a very good thing that they were incompetent,” the Director observed dryly, “or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Neither the Director nor any of the agency employees were aware of the existence of the tiny demon imps, who could teleport across long distances and rematerialize inside sealed spaces such as beneath the flooring or inside the walls of the Directorate building. For several weeks, they had been transporting miniature bricks of C-4 plastic explosive into the agency headquarters on the orders of their master, popping in and out of hidden structural spaces without anyone noticing. The warlock Klaus Dortmund had personally prewired all of the blocks with detonators, but he had been forced to depend upon the little demons to make the final connections, and unfortunately for his intentions, the creatures were neither very bright or very adept at following instructions of a technical nature. As a result, although the explosives had been placed perfectly to do incalculable damage, the wiring had been so botched that only one small section, less than two kilos of explosive, was actually wired correctly to explode.    

Dortmund had been quite aware of the limitations of the little idiots, of course, but had counted on the sheer quantity of explosive that had been planted so that at least some of it would have been ready to detonate. As a last step, he had sent two of the imps to drop transceivers on the rooftops of buildings next to the Directorate, so that he could have the pleasure of triggering the explosion himself. By tapping into the Lyon network of street cameras, he would be able to watch the final destruction of his enemies.

When his little spies, watching from concealment across the street, had informed him that the damnable priest and much of the Directorate security force had returned to their headquarters, Dortmund had picked up the transmitter, and with great anticipation, pressed the button to detonate the explosive charges. His view of the building was, however, rewarded only by a small puff of dust surging out a couple of shattered windows at street level, not the wholesale devastation he expected. He had thumbed the button savagely again, and again, with no better results, before tossing the transmitter aside in disgust.
 
“So, André,” the Director now asked his security chief, “when can we return to our building?”

“It should be soon, monsieur. Once they have finished removing all of the explosives from the site in safety containers, I expect the gendarmes will give us the all clear to return.”

Colette, who had never relaxed her watch of the surroundings for an instant, now spotted a Fedex truck coming slowly down the street, the driver clearly taken aback by the police presence and the barricades blocking him from proceeding further. “Sir,” she said urgently, “please go inside, off the street. That truck,” she pointed with her radio, “might be carrying more explosives.”

Kriger looked away from Thibodeaux, up the street, and saw that the truck had stopped a half a hundred meters short of the cordon and the driver had climbed out and was talking to some bystanders on the sidewalk. He cocked his head, and then nodded reluctant agreement and rose to take shelter in the back of the café, followed by Michael and his team, Renée, and two of the security men. Thibodeaux made a gesture with his chin at Colette. “Go check it out. See what they’re doing here.”

Colette trotted down the street, radio in one hand and her Glock in the other. The driver saw her coming with her weapon out, and, visibly alarmed, looked around quickly and then put his hands up in a surrender gesture. When she came up to him, she began to speak rapidly to him, and he replied with expansive gestures, pointing to the interior of the truck. By this time, they had been joined by two officers of the city’s Police nationale force, and Colette holstered her weapon and the four of them went to the back of the truck. The driver and one of the officers went inside, and in just a minute the man returned with a long, thin, and securely wrapped package.

“Put it on the ground, and back away,” Colette ordered. The driver shrugged expressively, visibly annoyed, but did as ordered, standing on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets. One of the officers spoke on his radio, and a minute or two later, one of the bomb squad handlers showed up with his dog. The dog sniffed around the package for a bit, unimpressed, and the handler then took his canine partner into the back of the truck. They came out in a few minutes and gave Colette and the officers a thumbs-up, while his dog sat down, wagging its tail. The bomb expert gave him a treat and patted him on the head, and then they returned back the way they had come.

The waiting driver now came back to the truck, giving Colette a told-you-so expression, and, reaching into the cab of his truck, brought out a digital pad and handed it to her for her signature. She scrawled her name with the stylus, reached down to scoop up the package, and trotted back to where André was waiting expectantly. Being at the moment in conversation with the Incident Commander of the Sapeurs-pompiers for this section of Lyon, he simply held a hand up and so she waited patiently for them to finish. As soon as the fire chief went back across the street, where the firemen were removing the barricades and the trucks were packing up, he took the package from her and inspected the label carefully. He frowned, but only said “Hmm,” and turned his attention back to Colette.

“The commander has given us permission to return to our building, so pass the word out here,” he instructed. “I’ll take this inside and let the Director know.” He tucked it under his arm and then disappeared with it inside the café.

The Director was now occupying a large dining table inside, around which were also seated Michael and his team. Renée had her laptop open on the table, but for the moment was not engrossed in its contents, instead quietly conversing with Simone. Kriger looked up as Thibodeaux approached, surprise on his face as he saw the package. Before the Director could speak, André informed him that the headquarters building had been cleared and it was now safe to return.

“Very good, André. It has been a rather long wait, and we did not need this kind of delay when our agency is in the middle of a crisis! We need to get our people back at their desks, ready to deal with the fallout from the Meursault disaster, and to find out who is responsible for the bombs in our building!” Kriger’s voice rose slightly, a remarkable occurrence but one that indicated that he was feeling the stress of recent events. Thibodeaux spoke briefly to one of his force, and the man began politely dislodging Directorate employees from their tables and sending them back across the street.

As this was being done, Kriger eyed the package Thibodeaux was holding. “Now what is it that you have there?” He reached up to take the package, but André merely shook his head slightly, saying, “Je suis désolé monsieur, it is addressed to the Father,” before handing the package to Michael. Momentarily startled by this turn, the Director smiled ruefully at his own presumption. “The déminage dog checked it out,” the security man continued, “and cleared it for explosives, but I would still use extreme caution in opening it. Director, if you would humor me, please, by stepping away from the table?”

Michael set the package down on the table and then they all stood up, the Director taking a few steps back but, to Thibodeaux’s unspoken displeasure, remaining close enough to witness the opening of the box. Michael leaned over and read the label. “There’s no return address,” he announced. The package was a little over a meter long and perhaps twenty centimeters wide by half that much. Marcel reached into his boot, pulled out a combat knife, and began to cut away the packaging tape. In short order, he had it all stripped away. “Father?” he inquired, raising an eyebrow. Michael nodded, and Marcel gingerly lifted the cardboard of the edge with the point of his blade until, impatiently, Michael took hold of it and folded it back to expose the contents.

Dios mío!” he gasped, staggered by the sight of Tizona nestled among the tissue paper packaging. He dropped heavily back into his chair, and then reached out to touch the shining blade with his fingertips, as though it might disappear before his very eyes. “It cannot be! But how?”

“There is something beneath it, Père.” Simone carefully reached into the box and lifted the point of the sword to extract the envelope that rested beneath. “It has your name on it,” she said, and handed it to him.

Michael took the envelope with trembling fingers and fumbled at the seal. Marcel reversed his knife and handed it to him, hilt first; Michael took it and slit the top of the envelope with great care. Inside, folded precisely with sharp creases, were three sheets of expensive linen stationary, the color of fresh cream.

The dumbfounded priest unfolded the first sheet. It was embossed in the corner with the initials “M.E.V.” On the page, written in an exquisite script, was a message in Italian. “It’s an archaic form of the language,” Michael commented, more to himself, and then he read it slowly out loud, translating for the others.

“Seek you the spider plotting in his web
Deep beneath the ancient London City
Evil are his creatures, bringers of death
Act swiftly now to smite this foul villain
Remove his evil stain upon this world

“The signature on the bottom is M. E. Velli,” Michael finished, and looked up at his friends.

Simone extended her hand. “Michael, may I see that, s'il vous plaît?” The priest handed the page to her, and while she examined it, the Director commented, “Rather bad poetry, but it gives us our first real lead on the location of the warlock, which is what I presume this ‘Velli’ person means by ‘the spider.’”

Marcel was not so sure. “If it can be trusted. It might just be intended to send us off in the wrong direction.”

“There is the fact of the sword,” the Director said flatly. “That is pretty convincing. It was taken from Michael during the attack, and now here it is. The warlock would not have wanted to give it up, so whoever sent it must be close to him but is obviously working against him.” He paused. “We need to know who this Velli is.” He sat back down at the table, and the others followed his lead.

Simone, during this exchange, had brought the page up close to her face and inhaled deeply, frowning as she did so. “Vampire,” she informed them. “Whoever handled this was a vampire.”

Marcel’s face darkened. “Vampires are all liars. We can trust nothing he says.”

Kriger turned to Renée. “See if there is a vampire named Velli, or some variant, in our database.” She immediately began to consult her computer, bringing up the Directorate’s extensive compendium of information on known supernatural beings.

Michael cleared his throat, and then laid the second page down on the table top in front of the Director. “I believe this speaks to his credibility. Velli warns us that the warlock has planted explosives in our building, and suggests that we immediately evacuate.”

Kriger snorted. “Hah! A bit too late, wouldn’t you say? But you are right, that is further proof that the author of these pages has firsthand knowledge of the warlock’s plans…and is trying to help us.”

Marcel continued stubbornly to insist, “I still do not like this. When has a vampire ever helped us, in anything? They are the enemy, not friends or allies.”

“True enough,” Kriger agreed. “But vampires are always self-serving. He would not help us unless there was something to be gained by it.” He tapped the page with his finger. “Take a look at this little postscript.” He spun the page around so Marcel could read it. “It’s in English.”

“Should our paths cross in the future, perhaps you will remember this little favor,” the young French agent read aloud. “It seems Velli expects his activities will bring him into conflict with us one day, and is asking to be treated gently.” He slid the page back across to the Director. “Merde. It’s not enough. Why would he risk angering a powerful warlock, in return for some future tolerance by us?”

Renée broke in, apologizing for the interruption. “I’m sorry, sir. We have no information on any vampire or other supernatural, or any person, named Velli.”

“It is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma,” the Director observed, quoting Winston Churchill’s 1939 radio speech regarding the mystery of Russia’s intentions. “Regardless, we have to take it seriously. Michael, what is that third page you are holding onto?”

Michael laid the last document on the table. It was a hand-drawn schematic of the interior of a building, with a number of marginal notes in English, written in the vampire’s delicate script. “I suppose you might call this the pièce de résistance. It is a blueprint of the parking level of the Dortmund Building in London. According to the notes, there is a still lower level that is the workshop of the warlock, just beneath the garage.”

“Ah, the spider’s nest!” Kriger exclaimed.

Michael laid a fingertip on part of the diagram. “The plan shows a hidden elevator shaft, next to the public elevators. Velli’s notes state that this elevator connects the workshop to the office and penthouse of the building’s owner, Klaus Dortmund.”

The Director leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingertips on the tabletop while he considered this new information. “Well, there you have it,” he said, after a moment. “Whether or not we can trust this vampire, too many of the pieces are coming together. I think we need to act upon this information, and soon. We have some planning to do.”

Even Marcel found himself nodding in agreement with this last statement.


THE WARLOCK EXECUTIVE
continues with Part 22
scroll down


Last edited by Easter01 on Mon Jun 05, 2017 4:45 pm; edited 1 time in total




Easter01's The Father Michael's Saga can be found: Here

Easter01's Short Stories can be found: Here

Page 8 of 9 Previous  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9  Next

View previous topic View next topic Back to top

Create an account or log in to leave a reply

You need to be a member in order to leave a reply.

Create an account

Join our community by creating a new account. It's easy!


Create a new account

Log in

Already have an account? No problem, log in here.


Log in

 
Permissions in this forum:
You cannot reply to topics in this forum