Illusion : Har'lein (4)

*Swish*

*CRACK*

*Swish*

*CRACK*

With every -

*Swish*

And every -

*CRACK*

I could feel my anger fester, it's growth represented with eachnew red mark.

*Swish*

*CRACK*

However, I knew I could not let my anger get the best of me in such a situation. If I were to do so, I would, without a shadow of a doubt, fail the test. Oddly enough, the tortured face of the ghost nanny, Yolandi, that I had seen once before comforted me. Knowing that this was only an illusion brought some kind of sick calm to my heart every time I felt my emotions reach a tipping point.

*Swish*

Many positive comment's were made about a member who goes by the name of Heso'k, and how they were proud that even a new member had the ability to let loose every once-in-awhile despite the strict facade they had to maintain in front of the current captain of the ship they named Hell. And with each swishing sound, I could feel the anticipation in the invisible aging eyes of the bearded men. They couldn't wait to satiate their 'appetite' by rousing a reaction from my shaking visage.

*CRACK*

And with every cracking sound, I could feel the anticipation drain, boredom seeping in for a moment, but a swish once again filled them with anticipation before they once again began to feel that this was too boring of a sight. I could tell they wanted to see me riled up, they wanted to see me struggle, they needed to see me lash out. The desire to see my strife was so clearly written on their faces and it could be seen in the way that they leaned forward excitedly every time the whip was primed. It could be seen in the way they followed the swishing whip as it made its way to its target.

*Swish*

Once smooth and milky white, Alice's rough and blood tainted skin showed clear signs of abuse. Each cracking whip strike left either a red narrow gash along her back, or an unsightly mark upon her face. The previously supple and fair bust that was previously evident on her naked form showed signs of severe abuse and malnutrition as the 'meat bags' now hung loosely from her chest as if she had aged for many years during the agonizing minutes I have spent staring helplessly at her tattered body.

"Enough!" a silky female voice bellowed throughout the room of decrepit bearded men as they turned their attention towards a door.

The large door, as the only entrance into the dusty stone conference room and standing about 12 meters tall and 8 meters wide, has an ominous form that places it high above the slightly elevated round table and throne-like chairs occupied by the bearded men. Its seemingly unnecessary height seemed to have been some kind of foreshadowing as a large hand became visible as its hinges began to squeak alongside the sound of grating coming from its enormous weight being dragged across the floor of the room.

"Who dares to play around with a new born?"

////

"Haahh..." a man parted his chapped lips as he exhaled a large chest full of smoke that made its great escape from his lungs to the exit known as the mouth, before it danced in the center of the room alongside the running ceiling fan.

In front of him laid an inordinate amount of root beer colored glass bottles, the contents of which completely discard the 'root' portion of its coloring, upon a dark wooden coffee table with many burn noticeable marks. He was reclining on a moderately comfortable chair, a lit cigarette sitting comfortably between his middle and index finger as he rested his baggy eyes.

'This ain't so bad...' he thought, as he basked in the sluggish and yet euphoric feeling of alcohol sinking into his aging body.

He could only appreciate the little things, as there weren't very many big things left to enjoy at his age. He never had children, and he has long outlived his lovers and closest friends. His job is quite important, but the demand for his assistance has gone down significantly since the churches were granted permission from the government to regulate dealings in the supernatural. Ever since then, only certified exorcists and holy servants were allowed to take jobs in his field while unauthorized work was severely penalized if discovered. The only light in his life was the local news channel on the box shaped television in his dark living room.

"The weather looks like it will remain dreary as dark clouds continue to hover over the area- Eh? Ah, ehem, this just came in, but apparently a strange occurrence has been sighted near the Helion District's largest hospital, Mere Tech MH."

And as these words echoed around the room, his dull eyes began to light up, if only a bit, as he noticed an opportunity had presented itself to him. 'That's so close by... imagine if...' he began to think to himself, and almost as if on queue, his phone began to vibrate within his pocket. Slowly, he reached his scarred hands to the worn remote of his TV to press down on the mute button before he dug around in his pocket, "Hello, this is Oscar speaking," his voice lightly rumbling in respect to the damage smoking had done to it over the years, "Who is this?"

"This is the Helion District's Holy Authority of Exorcists-" the voice on the other side of the phone began to speak, "Cut the shit! I already know where this call is coming from, who is this, Borris?" Oscar demanded as he knocked back another beer.

'There ain't no way these bastards are going to...'

"Ehehe, yeah still as sharp as ever aren't you old man?" Borris laughed, his lips curling as he decided to get to the point, "I know you don't like to dance around these things, so I'll tell it to you straight. You want to get back into the exorcist business?"

////

Emotions are quite difficult to understand, especially when left in the fragile chest of a human.

In situations that you recognize and acknowledge that you should be compelled to be angry, one may instead feel uncharacteristically numb and devoid of emotion. It's peculiar that an emotional response to an event may be to ignore it, even if that may give rise to opportunities for those events to occur unhindered yet again. Well, until those emotions inevitably burst from an individuals chest, and their reaction to whatever tipped them over the edge becomes much more volatile than called for.

In situations that you feel as if you don't even have the right or a reason to be angry, one may feel as if they are karma incarnate, as if they are meant to exact punishment on those that have inflicted grievances on others. That is until you realize that isn't your place, or that you were simply overreacting as a result of the aforementioned method of coping.

And well, some of us are just that. Karma incarnate.

"Turn over that newborn at once, and I will accept the fact that half of you weasels pissed your pants the moment I walked in here as your punishment..." she said to the member's of the Jumping Jabbering Rabbits gathered around my body that had still been maintaining the visage of my human-life as a result of the influence of these childish men.

The illusion around me quickly began to fade and I once again returned to my newborn state. If before I had looked like a mere doll to the woman that had entered through those doors, I am now barely a speck in the palm of her hand. This woman was one of the few of an ancient line of full-fledged demon, a member of the Giant Demon race. These demon's consolidate there experiences, their training, and essentially the whole of their being inside of a crystal situated in place of their heart. Throughout their body flows knowledge, strength, and an unshakable moral compass.

That's not to say there aren't whimsical, perhaps even seemingly rule-breaking members of this ancient spawn of the infernal plane, but even those that ignore the rules of others have a strict internal code by which they conduct themselves. It just so happens that their internal circumstances appear quite loose to those unaware of them. I have yet to see how this woman conducts herself, but I have to assume that she follows a strict set of external rules of which she has internalized from her evident years as a government official. These beings often find themselves excelling in such managerial positions, simply due to their lengthy history as demon spawn and their unwillingness to allow for deviations from their set of rules.

Once again, the newest member of the council took it upon himself to elevate himself into a role of responsibility. It would seem that there was a new power that would rise from these group of fools, but possibly not for quite a while. Heso'k quickly tossed aside the childishness of his fellows, and presented himself respectfully to the figure in front of himself.

"My name is Heso'k Belphesis. On behalf of the entire council, we apologize, Har'lein A'zentein. It was not our intention to offend an instrument of the infernal plane, and surely not our goal to waste even a minute of your time with this matter." Heso'k spoke without looking up to meet her gaze unless he was spoken to once more, for he was knowledgeable enough of the surface level customs of the particular clan of Giant Demon's she must hail from based on her apparel.

Har'lein felt a slight smirk creep its way upon her face with her aquamarine eyes staring metaphorical daggers into the mans back. She had waited to see if he would meet her gaze, and couldn't help but feel both amused and impressed that he hadn't done so.

'An informed man among these fools...? I fear that this group may once again see the splendor of its golden year's should he manage to attain a great deal of influence here, though it seems he may already be on the way to doing so.'

"Heso'k Belphesis, I acknowledge you. I expect answers to come from you should someone return to this 'esteemed' group of elders regarding this situation, do you understand me little man?"