Conquest Of The Fallen: Dark Dominions-Chapter 314: Guillotine Execution

THE SUN CAME UP around 1100 Hours. It was dusky and warm, cool rays like honey on the cheeks.

"Finally, a proper Sabbath weather," said Ursula as she strode up a private stairwell, speaking to Delilah Manatee, the Governess she'd put up over her children. The Legata had just being dressed and she looked fine as a tall glass of water as she moved up the brownstone steps. Her candescent voice echoed mildly off this secret pathway as she discussed with the brown-haired governess:

"Delilah, ain't this just a miraculous turn in the air? After the silly affair with that mad-person in the Athenaeum levels, I thought for sure this Sabbath was lost—that we were gonna have to conduct the Rituals here in the Gray House without the presence of the Orishas. But the Martyr has blessed again this day for us. No frightening foe can ruin this for my kids. Speaking of, are they dressed?"

The brunette walking with Ursula was half her height and held none of the grace in her curves, but this woman was the closest thing the Lily of Roa had to a sister. Delilah put a hand to the sweep of Ursula's magenta gown, her fingers running in the material like she'd dipped them into a creek in fall. She told Ursula, "Like you, Your Excellency, they are as sons and daughters of Angelus descended from Paradise, where you are the divine Aurora."

"Oh, your flattery is incomparable." Ursula chuckled. She didn't take Delilah's fingers off her waist.

"I only speak such that is," the gentle woman replied. She knew what was bubbling up in the Legata's head and added, "The Ambassador will be there for the Rituals; you can rest your mind, m'lady."

Ursula spoke fast, "it's not the rites that bother me, darlin'. Lord Israfel is no stranger to sacrifices; he has had many given to his name, and that of his kindred. No. It's the execution of that foul monster I'm worried about. I do not know if it is right to show the entire Republic a face—or rather, faces of such horror."

"You do not desire your people to behold the face of true evil," Delilah stopped climbing and turned Ursula to face her, "and that's kind of you; you are a truly amazing leader. But 'tis high time the dwellers of Rocasus lift their eyes to the presence of the real evil around us. In both the Great Wars this Continent fought in the last decade, Rocasus was sufficiently exempted. We have being misted in peace and indulgence for three centuries. We have known no fight, no conqueror at our border, no tyrant on the throne. And this all because of you, m'lady."

She paused and took Ursula's hands. "It's time Rocasians everywhere rise to the here and now. It ain't time for indolence and partaking. It's time we all stare into the Abyss. It's time, Your Excellency, to look in the face of true evil."

She squeezed Ursula's hands. And she in turn nodded.

Delilah's tea eyes fell briefly to the spills of dewy sunshine housed in the peaks of the Legata's breasts; she politely looked away from the three caramel mounds. Silently, she led the rest of the way up the steps. It was a short distance to a singular gray iron-door. Delilah pushed in and watched Ursula walk inside. Just before she shut back the iron-door, she said with a smile, "five minutes to go-time, Your Excellency."

The door closed with a scraping. And Ursula Romanov stared out from the elegance of her office, out the glittered windows, at the hundreds of people of her city gathering for a Sabbath day beheading.

Three levels down, in the exquisite suite for Royal Emissaries was the ruddy Ambassador himself. He, unlike the Legata was not thinking of how it might hurt a million people's feelings to stare into the face of a man who killed people and wore their skins and limbs; he wasn't thinking about the Rocasian people at all.

"Gah! Peitho. I just wanna see this ugly bastard's head hit the floor—and maybe roll a few times. And then at the Rituals, perhaps I can get an Orisha for a quick tumble…I hear they're giving like that."

[I don't think that translates to sex, Lord host.]

Rafel frowned. "Huh." He began telling Peitho intimately, "My balls have being pretty heavy since little Daschelle got me on one in the Athenaeum. And she's probably getting dressed in ribbons and garters right now anyway. I have no chance with those pesky handmaids around. And the only thing remotely soft in this room right now is that watermelon."

He eyed a fat one on the tray table. "I ain't fucking fruit!" he growled, "only Bacchus does that shit."

He wasn't sure but he thought he heard Peitho laughing. "—so you better find me a willing temple girl at this death party. And she HAS to be good at sucking stuff. I don't want no amateur! That's a deal-breaker."

Peitho understood. His harem sect and his [Lustsonance] conquests were all a thousand miles away, in Titans Landing.

"…and before you offer yourself in [Augmented Reality], no, I don't want to jack off. This darn trousers!" Rafel hissed. "Fucking denim."

"I can help," came a voice from the door.

Rafel spun around, one leg in. He was only now realizing the door was ajar. And Yukima Nassai Romanov was standing in it.

"What is it with Romanov girls and sneaking about?" He still struggled with the one trouser leg. Yuki stood on the opposite end, watching him with a slow smile. Her green eyes glowed with a lot of interest. He was really hot—especially shirtless, hunched with his abs everywhere, and angry.

She loved angry, shirtless dudes.

Part reason why she was a cop.

[Ding!]

[I think I've found you one girl, Lord host. And she'll suck your balls for free too.]

Rafel ignored Peitho, spitting to Yukima. "What are you doing here?"

He made it seem like he didn't notice how fucking gorgeous she looked in her lilywhite gown—he did. He had never seen her in a dress before. She was always 'duty this', 'duty that' in her razor-sharp cop blues. But not this Sabbath. He liked that she still wore her hair up though. She had a nice neck.

Rafel almost forgot he'd asked a question; his eyes were literally on the mould of her tits—thinking why she had to go and wear a bra—when her response came:

"You require an escort. Or do you forget your [dignitas]? I don't know how you demons treat your royalty but here in Roa, an Ambassador of the Capital is given a special security detail." She laughed small. "Come on, AMBASSADOR. We can't keep the Orishas waiting." Rafel took notice that Yuki didn't make mention of her mother's position as Legata over the Orishas. Evilly, he thought with a hidden grin, that made seducing one that much harder, and enticing. Rafel sighed and dropped his hands off his pants. "Fine. A little help."

"Thought you'd never ask." Yuki slid in with a rogue smile. She took one look at his crotch and her smile grew. "A bit eager, are we?"

"Don't flatter yourself, kid." Rafel said to her. "The fuckin' wind makes me hard. Now quiet and fix my darn trousers. You should know your place in the presence of a man with this much dignitas, no?"

Yukima stared up from dressing him as he intelligently tossed her words back in her face. His gold eyes were enchanting—she almost requested a quickie. But something inside of her told her he'd deny her; that the banana-big fatness in his briefs wasn't for her.

The Rituals of the Sabbath turned out to be really cool—if that could be said of a Temple service.

Rafel hadn't been to a benediction at the Cathedral in Titans Landing, not since he and Cora found the Highfather to be a boy-loving pedo, but he suspected the feast was the same benign glory which he encountered at the Rituals. Maybe with less idols though.

The Rituals were typically a long line of women in black widow's masks—the Orishas—slashing the necks of young goats without a wince, drinking sips of said blood, pouring libation to a couple of [B-rank] gods like Adramolech and Lurja, and the chief goddess of the ceremony: Calypso. Rafel was not at all shocked to see a 20ft-wide larger-than-life oil painting of his steamy wife in divine white, lain atop rolling waves of a world that was all sea. This, Calypso. These revered Orishas who didn't talk through the blood-letting sacrifice then moved into the masses with incense lamps, touching upraised hands, blessing foreheads, sending air kisses, banishing foul spirits, cleansing sins, purging the Republic and its people for another fruitful moon.

Rafel eagerly accepted the cresent symbol which a certain Orisha made onto his forehead with scented white powder when she came their way. Whilst the Romanovs all went on their knees and muttered prayers, Ursula and the children, he too went on his knees—but the only prayer he was making was to see through the black, covering veils.

He did see though.

And he was gobsmacked.

"Peitho, are you seeing this?"

[Ding!]

[Yes, but I thought it was my job to find you a suitable bed-mate. She could be ugly.]

"Her body is not. I could make her keep the veils on the entire time."

But then before Rafel could make his move, the 'cool' ritual ended. He was exactly the kind of devil that found blood sacrifice, goat slaughtering, and fetish idolatry 'cool'.

In the next ten minutes, all in the Republic were packed in the front acres of the palatial Gray House.

The crowd filled the sprawling yard, which was by no mean a small estate, and then flowed out into the streets; citizens of Roa peering from galleries and balconies and rooftops even. Uniformed Marshals kept up small iron fences to shield the bulk of the crowd from spilling into the restricted area where the Legata and her family sat under a bannered canopy. And Yuki had to hurdle her way with five sturdy guards past the pushing frontlines to get Rafel to the perch of Romanovs.

The monstrous prisoner was brought in and the crowd fell into dead quiet.

The royal vizier stood and boomed loudly; the scratching iron chains on the hideous man's legs echoed over the heads of thousands of men and women as the Vizier pointed a finger on it and said,

"BEHOLD, PEOPLES OF ROCASUS, a creature coughed up from the desecrated ruins of the bottomless pit! A monster appalling and disgraceful; a fiend is more graceful. This ABOMINATION is brought before you all…neither male or female." Heads in the crowd turned to look at one another. "YES!" The Vizier rolled on, "this foul person is as sick in the head as he is in the body. By the favor of The Martyr, and all the gods, the swift reaction of the dignified Ambassador, this unholy apothecary was brought in chains before you all this Sabbath.

"Behold the faces of corruption, the body of evil, the form of death. Citizens of Roa, I GIVE YOU, the Patch-work Man!!!"

Five seconds after this,

—thud!

The very ugly head of this nameless psycho hit the foot of the Guillotine; a very clean cut—rolling and stopping just as Rafel dreamed.

And the peoples finally found their voice: "YAAAAAHHHHHH!"

They roared so hard the waters of River Sana'a vibrated.