Lady Moon, Sha'tan #1

Chapter 17: Dark Sun Lord

WARNING: this story is rated PG-13, and from now on will deserve this rating. If you are under 13, or very sensitive, I strongly advise you to stop reading NOW. I won't be responsible if you ignore this warning, then get upset or have nightmares. You have been warned!

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Another vase crashed against the white wall, leaving a large, dripping dirty water stain behind it. Ray Powers growled in frustration. Stupid Council! How dared they threaten him so! He was the Sun Lord; he could do as he pleased! They had the nerve to summon him -HIM- and give him a warning: he was to behave or they would not protect him anymore. He would be arrested and judged like a common criminal. He panted, choking on his own rage. He was not to approach a girl before the Moon Lady was made available to him. They even objected to his use of drugs and booze. What was he supposed to do for three months, waiting for her! Die of boredom? And how was he to make a living if he couldn’t experiment his beloved creations?

They said they were prepared to wait another fifty years for the next Sun Lord, that they were not even sure he was fertile, as he had never sired any children. Of course he hadn’t! Those feeble Moon females kept killing themselves, they couldn’t take the pain! They didn’t understand the beauty of his toys, the artistic dimension of tortured bodies twisting in agony. Maybe this one would though. She was strong and fierce. She would last longer before she broke. They all did, eventually. That was what he got off on: their begging, sobbing, shouting… He’d rather leave the rape part to his minions, although he had to force himself with the Moon girls. The things he had to do for his country!

What was the Council complaining about anyway? All Sun Lords displayed sadistic tendencies, it was a recurrent genetic flaw carried along by the selection program. His three predecessors had fought it and ended up discreetly locked away in an asylum before they reached fifty. He chose to embrace it, and was still sane, at least by his own criteria.

He just raised it to another level, encouraged in his wicked ways by Lord Myers, his adoptive father, who was beyond himself with pride at the honour of being designated as his guardian. Ray could never do anything wrong by him, getting away with maiming animals, hurting his classmates, and other niceties. The poor innocent boy was just experimenting, what was the fuss all about?

But things really got out of hands when he began to build his entourage, a group of wealthy guys sharing his wicked tastes and lack of empathy. They lured young females in their lair, and had their fun with them, covered by Powers’ immunity. He then decided to turn his pleasure into a business, and went on creating torture tools, using their preys as test subjects. He even attended medical school for a while to increase his knowledge of the human body.  He was specializing in devices that would cause maximum pain with no permanent damage, and there were many buyers for these, as his bank account could testify.

His eyes rested on his last pieces, strange vice like contraptions, destined to be locked on a nerve or a pressure point. He had several orders lined up for them already but hadn’t used them yet. He should draw a full map of the most efficient spots for his customers, and now he had no guinea pig. All that because of that last bitch! Somehow he knew that picking up a White was not a good idea, but he had been too stoned to care. Worse even, she happened to be Lord Chen’s niece, and saying her Uncle went mad at the news was an understatement. Council members decidedly had too much of family sense.

He slammed his fist on the table. He couldn’t keep his clients waiting for three months. Some of them were very powerful, and he needed them on his side. He had to come up with a solution. But first he could use a bit of strong, liquid fuel to think.

On his way to the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a mirror. He scowled at the familiar sight of his bloated, unhealthy skin. His once attractive looks were long gone, destroyed by the abuse he submitted himself to. The nanites had given up on his appearance, already struggling to keep his vital organs functional. He shrugged. Who wanted to live forever anyway?

Grabbing a bottle of whisky, he filled a large glass and downed it, revelling in the familiar burning sensation in his mouth and throat. Back to the sitting room, he dropped into the soft padded leather of his favourite armchair and poured the liquid again, drinking it slowly this time. A foolproof plan, to get his hands on her fast. That was what he should focus on.

He frowned, attempting to recall all useful information about her, Dana Sand, Commander at the White Camp. After the Vlassov failure, he had her followed by one of his men. She had been spending an awful lot of time at Liam O’Brien’s place recently, could she be his mistress? That sounded too good to be true. She was too cautious and the man too righteous for that to happen, unfortunately. He had met him once, this paragon of male virtue, and could nearly taste his utter disgust at his mere sight. Then his pal Sean, O’Brien’s brother, said Liam was dating someone. Something was amiss there, he could smell it. He would have to dig into it, find out what they were doing daily, together, for hours.

He shortly considered abducting her on her way back, when she was crossing the deserted town alone, but decided against it. Too hazardous. She would no doubt fight back and create a commotion. And with her reputation, who would have enough motives to attack her, but him? He might as well leave a signed confession behind and brand his own forehead, if she didn’t kill him in a duel before. Deflowering her would only work if he made it sound like she consented to it. Then he would have her kicked out of the Army and into his bed.

A nasty grin stretched his mouth as he figured a way to do just that.