Pastor s ordination robe
The Forbidden Feast
2024.05.16 20:02 Frosty-Country4755 The Forbidden Feast
I have to share this. It’s not just a story; it’s a warning. If you value your sanity, stop reading now.
I spent my junior year of college studying art history in Rome. It was everything I’d hoped for: the architecture, the paintings, the endless history. But what happened during my last week there still haunts me. The Vatican City tour was supposed to be the highlight of my trip, but it became a nightmare I can’t escape.
Our guide, an older man named Marco, led us through the usual tourist spots, but he seemed distracted. His eyes kept darting to a small, unmarked door at the end of a corridor in the Vatican Museums. After the tour, I lingered, watching as Marco slipped away from the group and towards the door. Curiosity got the better of me. I followed.
I approached the door, and to my surprise, it was ajar. I peeked inside and saw a dimly lit staircase leading down. I hesitated, but then I heard voices – chanting, whispering. I descended, my heart pounding. The air grew colder with each step, the walls narrowing, until I emerged into a cavernous underground chamber.
At first, I thought it was some kind of ancient chapel, but the sight before me was far from holy. There were robed figures gathered around a long, stone table, chanting in Latin. On the table lay a human body. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I tried to convince myself it was some kind of bizarre reenactment or performance art, but the smell of decay and the horror etched on the lifeless face told me otherwise.
I hid behind a pillar, my heart racing, praying they wouldn’t see me. The chanting grew louder, more frenzied, and then they began…eating. The realization hit me like a freight train. These were no actors. This was a ritual, a feast – cannibalism. I could barely keep from vomiting as I watched them consume the flesh with a grotesque reverence.
They started with the organs, tearing into the liver and heart with their bare hands, the sound of ripping flesh and the sight of blood running down their chins making me dizzy with horror. They passed around pieces of flesh, some searing it over candles, others eating it raw. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the stench of death.
One of the robed figures held up a severed arm, chanting in a low, guttural voice before biting into it, tendons snapping under the pressure of his jaws. The others followed suit, tearing at the body with a hunger that was both primal and ritualistic. Their eyes rolled back in ecstasy, mouths stained red, as if they were partaking in some unholy communion.
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I turned, expecting the worst, but it was Marco. His face was pale, eyes wide with fear. “You weren’t supposed to see this,” he whispered. “They’ll come for you now.”
He dragged me back up the stairs, but it was too late. The chanting had stopped. I could hear footsteps, quick and purposeful, coming up from behind. We ran through the labyrinthine corridors of the Vatican, the ancient stone walls seeming to close in on us. I could hear them – the robed figures, their whispers echoing in the halls.
We burst out into the daylight, but the Vatican guards were waiting. Marco was seized and I was dragged away, screaming, trying to explain what I’d seen. They locked me in a small, windowless room, and for hours I sat there in darkness, waiting for whatever fate awaited me.
Eventually, a cardinal entered. He was calm, composed, and utterly terrifying in his placidity. He sat across from me, his piercing eyes examining my soul. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he began to speak.
“What you witnessed,” he said, his voice smooth and unsettling, “is a sacred rite, a tradition older than Christianity itself. Long before the establishment of the Church, our ancestors discovered a way to commune with the divine, to gain knowledge and power beyond human comprehension.”
He leaned in closer, his breath cold against my face. “This rite, this consumption of the flesh, is a way to absorb the essence, the life force, of the departed. It grants us visions, strength, and longevity. It binds us to the ancient ones, those who walked the earth when it was young and untamed.”
I could feel the bile rising in my throat, but I couldn’t look away. “But why?” I stammered. “Why would you do something so… monstrous?”
His smile was chilling. “Have you ever wondered why the Eucharist, the Communion, is such a central sacrament in Christianity? When Jesus said, ‘This is my body… this is my blood,’ it was not merely symbolic. It was a continuation of an older, more powerful tradition. By consuming the flesh and blood, we become one with the divine.”
The cardinal stood, his robes rustling like whispers of the damned. “But the bread and wine are just a shadow of the true rite. Here, in the depths of the Vatican, we keep the original covenant. The flesh we consume is sanctified, chosen. It is our way of maintaining the connection to the divine, of ensuring the Church’s power endures.”
I was horrified, but he continued, his voice a soothing monotone that belied the horrors he described. “The world is filled with darkness, with forces that seek to corrupt and destroy. We are the guardians, the keepers of balance. To fight such evil, we must embrace the forbidden, the unthinkable. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “You have seen too much. But fear not, for your silence will be assured. You will return to your life, but you will never speak of this. Not to anyone. For if you do, the consequences will be dire.”
I was released the next day, warned never to speak of what I’d seen. Marco was gone. I returned to the States, trying to forget, but the nightmares won’t let me. Every night, I see their faces, hear their chanting. I feel their hunger.
I don’t expect you to believe me. I’m sharing this because someone needs to know. If you ever visit the Vatican, stay with the group. Don’t stray. And if you see a small, unmarked door, turn around and run. Some secrets are worth dying for.
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I spent my junior year of college studying art history in Rome. It was everything I’d hoped for: the architecture, the paintings, the endless history. But what happened during my last week there still haunts me. The Vatican City tour was supposed to be the highlight of my trip, but it became a nightmare I can’t escape.
Our guide, an older man named Marco, led us through the usual tourist spots, but he seemed distracted. His eyes kept darting to a small, unmarked door at the end of a corridor in the Vatican Museums. After the tour, I lingered, watching as Marco slipped away from the group and towards the door. Curiosity got the better of me. I followed.
I approached the door, and to my surprise, it was ajar. I peeked inside and saw a dimly lit staircase leading down. I hesitated, but then I heard voices – chanting, whispering. I descended, my heart pounding. The air grew colder with each step, the walls narrowing, until I emerged into a cavernous underground chamber.
At first, I thought it was some kind of ancient chapel, but the sight before me was far from holy. There were robed figures gathered around a long, stone table, chanting in Latin. On the table lay a human body. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I tried to convince myself it was some kind of bizarre reenactment or performance art, but the smell of decay and the horror etched on the lifeless face told me otherwise.
I hid behind a pillar, my heart racing, praying they wouldn’t see me. The chanting grew louder, more frenzied, and then they began…eating. The realization hit me like a freight train. These were no actors. This was a ritual, a feast – cannibalism. I could barely keep from vomiting as I watched them consume the flesh with a grotesque reverence.
They started with the organs, tearing into the liver and heart with their bare hands, the sound of ripping flesh and the sight of blood running down their chins making me dizzy with horror. They passed around pieces of flesh, some searing it over candles, others eating it raw. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and the stench of death.
One of the robed figures held up a severed arm, chanting in a low, guttural voice before biting into it, tendons snapping under the pressure of his jaws. The others followed suit, tearing at the body with a hunger that was both primal and ritualistic. Their eyes rolled back in ecstasy, mouths stained red, as if they were partaking in some unholy communion.
Suddenly, a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I turned, expecting the worst, but it was Marco. His face was pale, eyes wide with fear. “You weren’t supposed to see this,” he whispered. “They’ll come for you now.”
He dragged me back up the stairs, but it was too late. The chanting had stopped. I could hear footsteps, quick and purposeful, coming up from behind. We ran through the labyrinthine corridors of the Vatican, the ancient stone walls seeming to close in on us. I could hear them – the robed figures, their whispers echoing in the halls.
We burst out into the daylight, but the Vatican guards were waiting. Marco was seized and I was dragged away, screaming, trying to explain what I’d seen. They locked me in a small, windowless room, and for hours I sat there in darkness, waiting for whatever fate awaited me.
Eventually, a cardinal entered. He was calm, composed, and utterly terrifying in his placidity. He sat across from me, his piercing eyes examining my soul. After what felt like an eternity of silence, he began to speak.
“What you witnessed,” he said, his voice smooth and unsettling, “is a sacred rite, a tradition older than Christianity itself. Long before the establishment of the Church, our ancestors discovered a way to commune with the divine, to gain knowledge and power beyond human comprehension.”
He leaned in closer, his breath cold against my face. “This rite, this consumption of the flesh, is a way to absorb the essence, the life force, of the departed. It grants us visions, strength, and longevity. It binds us to the ancient ones, those who walked the earth when it was young and untamed.”
I could feel the bile rising in my throat, but I couldn’t look away. “But why?” I stammered. “Why would you do something so… monstrous?”
His smile was chilling. “Have you ever wondered why the Eucharist, the Communion, is such a central sacrament in Christianity? When Jesus said, ‘This is my body… this is my blood,’ it was not merely symbolic. It was a continuation of an older, more powerful tradition. By consuming the flesh and blood, we become one with the divine.”
The cardinal stood, his robes rustling like whispers of the damned. “But the bread and wine are just a shadow of the true rite. Here, in the depths of the Vatican, we keep the original covenant. The flesh we consume is sanctified, chosen. It is our way of maintaining the connection to the divine, of ensuring the Church’s power endures.”
I was horrified, but he continued, his voice a soothing monotone that belied the horrors he described. “The world is filled with darkness, with forces that seek to corrupt and destroy. We are the guardians, the keepers of balance. To fight such evil, we must embrace the forbidden, the unthinkable. Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “You have seen too much. But fear not, for your silence will be assured. You will return to your life, but you will never speak of this. Not to anyone. For if you do, the consequences will be dire.”
I was released the next day, warned never to speak of what I’d seen. Marco was gone. I returned to the States, trying to forget, but the nightmares won’t let me. Every night, I see their faces, hear their chanting. I feel their hunger.
I don’t expect you to believe me. I’m sharing this because someone needs to know. If you ever visit the Vatican, stay with the group. Don’t stray. And if you see a small, unmarked door, turn around and run. Some secrets are worth dying for.
2024.05.16 20:02 Flagg1991 Children of the Night (End)
The pain was the worst thing`Dominick Mason had ever known…and he knew what it felt like to die. It felt like his brain was in a blender, being chopped to liquid for a Jeffery Dahmer smoothie and though it seemed melodramatic, he imagined he could feel himself losing brain cells by the minute. The sun, Merrick told him, would not burn him, but it would decay him faster, so sleep or rest during the day. With the sick, throbbing agony in the center of his brain, however, that was impossible. He spent most of the day curled up on his side, hugging his knees, and moaning. He had flashbacks to dying in his apartment, and that made things even worse. The room became too small, too close, the air too stale. His heart, filled with the blood of last night’s meal, pounded in his chest, and he went from slightly chilly to hot and feverish as blood was forced through his circulatory system. It mixed with the embalming fluid and left him feeling full and constipated. He didn’t want to get up, but he also didn’t want to go on lying there. He was the definition of miserable.
Before long, the pain became too great and he got up to pace, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and gritting his teeth. Merrick, who slept very little if at all, sat in his chair and watched, trying his best to talk him through it. “It’ll be over soon,” Merrick said. “The pain receptors in your brain are the first to go. When they burn out, you won’t feel anything.”
“When?” Dom asked, his voice raising with the tide of pain.
“A couple days?”
“A couple days???”
“The pain will lessen gradually,” Merrick said, “this is the worst of it.”
Dom believed that this was, indeed, the worst of it, but he doubted it would lessen gradually. For the rest of the day, the pain got worse and worse until every light blinded him, every sound turned his stomach, and the smell of anything made his gorge rise. The cloying smell of the embalming fluid, the light but unmistakable odor of dead flesh, and the scent of stale blood sitting in decomposing stomachs made him want to vomit, but he was afraid to. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of blood rushing from his mouth and splattering the floor. He still possessed enough of his facilities, he believed, to go insane.
Pain has a way of darkening one’s mood, and by the time the sun began to set, Dom was in the most sour mood possible. Even Merrick’s calm, fatherly voice was beginning to get on his nerves. When he took the oath to him the day before (or was it the day before that?), he turned his faith and trust over to Merrick entirely. He was finally accepted, included, finally had the love and fellowship that, in the pit of his soul, he had always wanted. Merrick understood him, Merrick was kind to him.
But deep down, Dom realized that he didn’t fully trust him. He said that his brain didn’t rot because he was “lucky.” That sounded like some bullshit to Dom. Why wasn’t Joe a blithering idiot too? Was he lucky as well? Did lightning strike in the same place twice? In life, people had done nothing but hurt and lie to Dom. Why would death be any different? He thought back to the strange liquid that always seemed to leak from Merrick’s nose, and Joe’s. He thought it was embalming fluid, but it never leaked from his own nose, or from anyone else’s. He tried to tell himself that it was far too soon to judge, but once he began to doubt something, his mind raced away. He felt a twinge of guilt, as Merrick had done absolutely nothing to deserve his doubt, but goddamn it, his head was on fire and he wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.
Just after sundown, the music began as Club Vlad opened for the night. It throbbed in the center of Dom’s head and made him want to claw his eyes out. When it became too much for him, he slipped away and stumbled into the sultry summer night. He came out in the alley running behind the club, clutching his head and breathing through bared teeth. He staggered, bumped into a metal trash can, and roared at the top of his lungs, as if he could purge himself of the pain by screaming.. His voice echoed and came back to him, making the pain worse.
Merrick was lying. He knew it. People always lied to him. His brain was rotting and PEOPLE WERE LYING! Flashing with anger, he slammed his fist into the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant. He barely felt anything so he did it again and again until his hand was lumpy and shaking. He sat heavily on the ground and pressed his hands to his head. It felt like maggots were burrowing into his brain, and he was suddenly terrified that they really were. He needed to stop this awful pain, but how?
An idea came to him.
The funeral home.
Maybe there was something there.
He was on his feet and lumbering there before the thought had even finished reverberating through his mind. It was a long shot, but he was desperate. On the way there, he stuck to the shadows, staying out of the light cast by the streetlamps and avoiding people. When he passed them, he kept his head down. When he reached the funeral home, he went to the back door where he and Jessie had gone the other day. He tried it, and it opened.
Inside, he bounced off the walls like a pinball, knocking over an end table and tearing at the flesh of his head, pulling it away in long, gray strips. He panted like a wild animal, his body a raging tempest of emotions. It was reaching a crescendo, he thought, his brain was about to go supernova. The world dimmed, things got really echoy. The young man he’d picked the embalming fluid up from was there, looking scared.
Flashing, Dom grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, knocking a painting of a flowery field to the carpet. Everything seemed to go in slow mo. “How does Merrick keep his brain from rotting?” Dom heard himself demanding from far away. “How does he keep the pain away?”
The man trembled. “I-I-”
Dom slammed him again. “Tell me or I’ll make you like me.”
“No!” the man wailed. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes wet with fear.
“How?”
“He-He uses a solution,” the man stammered. “Some kind of special thing. It preserves his brain. That’s all I know.”
An idea occurred to Dom.
Holding the man by the back of his neck, Dom dragged him into the embalming room and pushed him against the table. His head felt like it was swelling. Hot, screaming, getting ready to explode. He looked around, found the embalming machine, and grabbed the hose. There was a sharp tip on it so that you could jam it into a body. He held it in his hand, hesitating for just a moment before pressing it to his temple. The man watched in horror as Dom slowly shoved the tip into his head. It tore his flesh, broke through his skull, and sank into his brain. He felt no pain, only pressure, but cried out anyway. His eyes rolled up into his head and a shudder went through his body.
“Turn it on!” he yelled.
“That’s not what he -”
“TURN IT ON!”
Starting, the man turned the machine on. Cold embalming fluid squirted directly into Dom’s brain. Almost at once, the pain began to ebb away, replaced only by a fuzzy sense of numbness. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, looking for all the world like an addict taking a hit of his favorite substance after a long and trying day. Fluid leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes and dripped down the back of his throat.
The man waited for a long time, then turned the machine off.
The pain was gone.
At least for now.
“Tell me again,” Dom said.
The man did. Merrick used a special preserving agent to keep his brain intact. Joe, the man suspected, got it as well. So Merrick had lied to him.
Dom felt betrayed.
And angry.
Leaving the man (Dom realized that he didn’t even know his name), he walked back to Club Vlad, his hands fisted in his pockets. All his life, he had been hurt, lied to, and ignored. All his life, people had done wrong to him. And all those years, he just took it.
He resolved not to be so accepting in death.
At last, he was going to stop being a sniveling little bitch and stand up for himself.
When he reached Club Vlad, he slammed through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he called out Merrick’s name. The old man was sitting in his chair, being attended to by Jessie and Matt. He looked startled when Dom came in. “You lied to me,” Dom said, stalking over to his benefactor.
“What are you talking about?” Merrick asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You lied to me!” Dom screamed. He bent over and got so close to Merrick’s face that he could have kissed him. “You told me there was no way to save my brain, but that’s not true. You’re pumping your head full of shit and letting the rest of us rot.”
A dark shadow flickered across Merrick’s face. “Watch your tone when you talk to me,” he said. His voice was low, menacing.
“Fuck you,” Dom said. “I should k -”
Suddenly, Dom was being grabbed from behind and yanked back, an arm around his neck. He cried out in alarm as Joe swung him around and slammed him face first into the wall. He heard his nose crunch, felt his teeth shatter. Next, Joe wrestled him to the glitter-sprinkled floor and wedged his knee between his shoulder blades.
Merrick watched with a sneer of disgust, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He wheeled himself over, Jessie holding his IV stand steady and following behind. “Listen, you son of a bitch,” Merrick said, “you’re lucky to be a part of this family.”
Cold fear filled the pit of Dom’s stomach, yet he wouldn’t back down, couldn’t back down. He had lived his entire life like a mouse in a burrow, he wasn’t about to live his entire death the same way.
“Fuck your family,” he said defiantly. “And fuck you.”
Merrick’s face darkened and he sat back in his chair. He looked at Jessie and nodded. She went away and came back a moment later holding something in her hand. Dom’s eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A wooden stake, one end honed to a razor point.
Why they had one of those lying around, Dom didn’t know; it’d be like Superman keeping a piece of kryptonite on the mantle over the fireplace. Merrick directed Max and Matt to hold Dom’s arms down/ Joe pivoted, kneeling on his head now so that Dom’s back was exposed. Dom’s heart slammed with terror and tremors raced through his body.
“Is this what you want, Dominick?” Merrick asked. “To die? To truly die?”
Dom swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to live, to love, to have a family one day. He wanted a happy, normal life, the life TV and social media had been promising him since he was a little boy.
But all of that went out the window the night he died in his little apartment. There was no life anymore, just a grotesque parody of life. What was there for him other than death? Clinging desperately onto life for decades like Merrick? Stuffing himself full of embalming fluid and moth balls? Grinding for one more minute just so he could sit hooked up to a machine?
Dom spoke.
“What?” Merrick asked, not having heard.
Dom licked his lips. “Just fucking do it.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Expectation hung in the air. Finally, breaking the tension, Merrick nodded to Jessie. Kneeling down, she brought the stake up, and Dom closed his eyes.
This was it.
He braced himself for death.
Jessie brought the stake down just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Her head whipped back, embalming fluid, skull fragments, and gray, sickly pieces of brain showering from the back of her head. She flopped back and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
A woman cop, her black uniform in stark contrast to the burning white light, stood in the doorway to the hall, her gun drawn. Everyone did, indeed, freeze, more out of surprise than respect for authority. They all looked at her, their dead mouths agape, resembling children who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Everyone on the ground!” she barked.
No one knew what to do. They hadn’t expected to be raided by the police so had not prepared. She jerked her gun and everyone instinctively flinched. “On the ground!” she repeated. To Max: “You too, bone boy.”
The first one to react was Joe. He sprang at her like a big, undead frog. She brought the gun around and fired, but he was already crashing into her. The shot went wild and struck the IV bag next to Merrick; he ducked and let out a sound of fear. The others rushed her, and Dom got quickly to his feet. Jessie lay on the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream and her bony fingers frantically examining the ragged hole in the center of her forehead. For a moment, he was frozen; everything was happening too fast. Then, when Merrick saw him and cried, “Stop him!, he came alive. Jessie tried to grab at his leg, but he kicked her hand away and stomped on it like it was a giant spider. On the other side of the room, Matt, Joe, and Max had forced the cop to the ground. Perhaps excited by all the action, perhaps just hungry, they began to tear her apart. She howled in pain, and the last thing Dom saw before he fled was her open, blood-filled mouth. Her eyes were filled with pain…with terror.
After that, Dom ran.
***
When the interloper was dead, Merrick directed Joe and Matt to dispose of the body. “Get rid of it,” he said wearily and rubbed his temples, “make sure it isn’t found.”
They rolled her into a carpet from the office, and the way her feet stuck out may have been comical under other circumstances.
Goddamn it, this was bad. Merrick’s entire philosophy rested on avoiding detection. He had done well in that regard. Whereas other vampires had attacked their villages and gotten themselves dug from the ground and staked, he had made it four decades. He never shat where he ate, and there is no bigger turd than killing a cop. They might dawdle on all the boys who’d gone missing - taken because their blood was stronger and more robust than the blood of girls - but they would not take a cop dying lightly at all.
Merrick owned various businesses around the country. He and the others would simply move on. Tomorrow night, they would disappear into the night. They had done it before and they would likely do it again. Once things were settled at their new base of operations, he would have Joe killed for all the trouble he’d caused.
And Dom?
Let him go.
The little rat wouldn’t last a month on his own.
“Jessie?”
Jessie sat against the wall, gazing into space.
“Jessi…start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
She didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. The shot had all but lobotomized her.
Damn it.
Joe backed the van up to the back door of Club Vlad, and then helped Matt carry the carpet-rolled body down the stairs. They loaded it in and closed the back doors. Together, they drove around looking for a place to dump it. Merrick wanted it to go unfound, but Joe doubted there was anywhere isolated enough in the city. On a whim, he drove to Washington Park, a vast expanse of green trees and shadows. There was a large pond there. It seemed the best option. They were leaving tomorrow anyway, so did it really matter?
Joe backed the van to a railing overlooking the dark water and put it in park. He and Matt got out, fetched the body, and carried it to the railing. They lifted and heaved it over. It splashed. Thus, they rid themselves of Vanessa Rodregiez.
***
Bruce sat anxiously up in his easy chair and waited for his cell to ring.
Parked in front of the TV by warm lamplight, a beer wedged between his legs, he’d been watching the 11’o’clock news when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was Vanessa. “Hey,” she said, “I think I found our body?”
“Which one?” Bruce asked and took a drink. “We have a lot of those these days.”
“Dominick Mason.”
Bruce sat forward in his chair. “Dead Dom? Where?”
“He just came out of a funeral home, ironically enough.”
“That sounds about right,” Bruce said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m following him east on Central.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” Bruce asked.
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
Bruce sat the phone aside and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At some point, he fell asleep sitting up, his head lulled to one side and his mouth open. He snorted himself awake, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He checked his phone and was perturbed to see that it was past 2am.
Vanessa hadn’t called.
He dialed her number and let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. Sighing, he ended the call, then waited a few minutes and called again.
Still no answer.
It was possible she had forgotten. Maybe the guy turned out to not be Dead Dom after all. She followed some random guy around, realized it, and that was that. Hell, she was probably too embarrassed to call and tell him about it.
Something told him that wasn’t right, however.
There was something else going on here.
Something…darker.
Just before 3am, his phone rang. He snatched it off the end table next to the chair and answered it. It was Burt, the night sargent. “Rodriguez is missing,” he said simply.
Bruce’s heart sank. “Missing?”
“Yeah, she hasn’t checked in for hours and she isn’t answering calls.”
“I’m on my way,”
Bruce tore through the house, pulling on his uniform, socks, and shoes in less time than it took a Daytona 500 pit crew to service a car. In ten minutes he was speeding down 787, the Albany skyline rising in the distance. As he hurried to the station, he thought back to his last conversation with Vanessa. She’d found Dom the Dead Man, the “corpse” who’d scared Ed Harris out of a 20 year career. Despite all their talk about vampires and the living dead, Bruce didn’t believe it, not really. Even so, he was sure that Dominick Mason had done something to Vanessa.
He checked in at the station before doing anything else. They had triangulated Vanessa’s last known location via cell towers. Cops were already out searching the streets for her. Bruce went out as well, intending to start from her last known position and work his way east on Central. The closest funeral home was Tebbutt and Frederick on Central. There was also Lasak & Gigliotti on North Allen Street. Bruce didn’t know which one Vanessa had seen Dom come out of, so he checked both.
Both were deserted at this hour.
Undeterred, Bruce drove up and down Central Ave. At one point, he noticed a shape in an alleyway that looked human. He hit the brakes, jumped out, and pointed his gun at it. “Freeze!”
An old wino stepped out of the darkness. “Alright, you got me,” he said, hands up. “I started COVID. It was an accident, I swear.”
Bruce sighed and put his gun away.
For two more hours, Bruce searched the streets of Albany for Vanessa. At 4am, he spotted a squad car abandoned in the rear parking lot of an abandoned gas station on lower Lark Street. He called it in and the desk sergeant confirmed that it was the one Vanessa had signed out that night.
Still there was no sign of Vanessa herself.
Just after dawn, as the city came alive and CDTA buses began lumbering up and down the streets, Bruce got a call on his cell. “A jogger found a body in Washington Park.”
Bruce was in his personal car. He had no bubble light, no siren. Even so, he sped through the streets like he did, blowing through red lights and stop signs with little care to himself or anyone else. When he got to Washington Park, he found an army cops by the pond, the scene cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and jumped out without even turning off the engine.
The body was rolled up in a carpet and lying on the bank. Two beat cops unrolled it at Bruce’s direction. “We should wait for -” one of them started, but Bruce cut him off.
“Do it.”
They compiled, and at the carpet’s center, like a rotten cream filling, was the body of Vanessa Rodregiuez. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes wide and staring. Her throat had been mangled and ripped away, her head nearly severed. Even in the black and red mess, Bruce could make out the teeth marks and puncture wounds. They may have looked like something else to anyone else who saw them, but he knew, in that moment, what they were dealing with.
A sharp pang of horror sliced through him, and his knees went weak.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the beat cops drew.
Bruce fell to, rather than knelt on, one knee. He bent over the body, a mixture of horror and grief welling his throat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her in death, but he stayed his hand. Instead, he visually examined the body. She had bruises on her face, defensive wounds on her hands, and her gun was gone. Whoever had attacked her, she put up a fight.
Something glinted on her pants.
“What’s that?” one of the cops asked.
“I dunno,” the other replied, “but it’s all over the carpet.”
Indeed, there were glinty little specks all over it, winking like mocking eyes. Nice work, eh? We really fucked her up, didn’t we? Wink wink.
“It looks like…”
The other cop cut him off. “Glitter.”
Bruce flashed back to his visit to Club Vlad the other day.
There had been glitter everywhere.
Bruce stood up.
He had work to do.
***
Instead of going back to the station to start his shift, Bruce went to Lowes. There, he bought a mallet, a gas can, and a dozen sticks of wood. An employee in a blue vest used a machine to sharpen them to a wicked point and he took his purchases to the car. Next, he drove over to the Mobil station and filled the gas can. He was so hellbent on revenge that he sprang for premium, the good stuff. No expense shall be spared.
His final stop was at a Catholic church. He filled a canteen with holy water from the marble font by the door, then swiped a crucifix from the wall. He stopped by the station, went inside, and grabbed a black duffle bag with POLICE written across the front in yellow. He opened the gun cabinet in his office, took out a shotgun, and loaded it with shells. He grabbed a handful from the box and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just finishing up when Bertha came in. “There you are,” she spat, “I’ve waited long enough for you to do something. I demand -”
Bruce shoved the duffle bag into her arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’re going to get your granddaughter,” Bruice lied. Kind of.
Bertha’s demeanor changed. “Good. It’s about time. I was starting to think you were a complete incompetent.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Outside, he plucked the bag out of Bertha’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and Bertha sat in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Club Vlad,” Bruce said and started the engine.
“I want all of them arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said.
She barked orders the entire way there. Bruce was so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard her. The image of Vanessa’s ruined throat and terror-twisted face haunted him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back and forced himself to calm down.
I’ll cry when I’m done killing, he thought.
A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of Club Vlad. It was a hot and sunny day and the place seemed even more ominous because of it. The windows were black, the front cast in perpetual shadows by the old marquee from when it used to be a theater. The place was surely closed, but Bruce could hear music still playing from inside, some techno dance bullshit. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”
Getting out, he slung the dufflebag over his shoulder and carried the shotgun, the canteen full of holy water clasped to his belt. Bertha carried the gas can, looking confused. “Why do we need this?” she asked.
“We’re burning the place down.”
Bertha blinked in surprise…then an evil grin carved across her face. “That’ll show the bastards.”
Unlike last time, the door was locked. Bruce used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, being careful not to cut himself. This was the point of no return. What he had in mind would probably get him kicked off the force or even thrown in jail - and we all know how tough jail can be for a former barnaclehead. The memory of Vanessa’s contorted face pushed him on, however.
He’d suffer any consequences he needed to just so long as he got the sons of bitches who did this to her.
Inside, the club was cool and cave-like. Strobe lights flashed, on and off, black and white, dazzling Bruce’s eyes. The bartender was at his station, cleaning up from the night before. When he saw Bruce and Bertha come in, he started. Bruce pointed the shotgun at him. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded.
The bartender hesitated, then reached for something under the bar.
The shotgun kicked in Bruce’s hands, and the bartender flew back, turning as he crashed into the barback. Bottles, glasses, and mugs crashed to the floor along with the bartender. Bruce racked the gun, and the shell flew out. He moved low and fast now, expecting to be swarmed by vampires, living thugs who worked for vampires, or vampire thugs who worked for themselves.
Though the shot had been like thunder, no one came.
Bruce had no idea where to go, but he imagined that vampires were naturally gravitate to the lowest part of the building. Was there a basement? Shit, he should have looked up the building plans at city hall. Damn, this is what happens when you go off half-cocked. He searched around a bit, opening doors and sweeping the rooms beyond with the shotgun. He found no basement, only stairs leading up. “Stay close,” he said to Bertha.
In the lead, Bruce crept up the stairs, the flashlight on the shotgun providing a cone of clean, white light. At the top of the stairs, he went right, and came to an office and a store room. Backtracking, and bumping into a bungling Bertha, he went into the next room. It was large and open with a vaulted ceiling, almost like a ballroom. Here the same strobe lights throbbed on and off, making him dizzy. Was this to dazzle prospective vampire hunters?
Either way, this was the place. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some curled up on their sides and others in the classic vampire pose: Flat on their backs with their hands laced over their chests. In the center, like the sun to the planets, Merrick Garvis lay slumped back in his wheelchair, his neck exposed for any potential assassin to come and cut. Not that it would kill him. At least Bruce didn’t think it would.
“They’re all dead,” Bertha whispered. She looked around and gasped. “There’s Jessie.”
Jessie lay on her back, her hands folded on her chest. She had a ragged bullet hole in the center of her forehead. “Oh, God,” Bertha wavered, “someone shot her.”
He hoped it was Vanessa. And he hoped it fucking hurt.
Looking around, Bruce couldn’t find Dominick Mason. Was he the one who killed Vanessa? Was it a group effort? He wanted the little son of a bitch bad, but it looked like he’d have to go on without him. They didn’t have much time.
Unshouldering the duffle bag, he knelt down and rummaged around. “Start splashing that gas on the bodies,” he said.
“But -”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
There must have been a harder edge in his voice than normal, because Bertha jumped and did as she was told. She upended the can and began to splash gasoline onto the sleeping forms, the smell of it acrid and strong.
Taking out a stake and the mallet, Bruce went over to Merrick and knelt down. He gripped the stake in one hand and placed it firmly against Merrick’s chest. He brought the mallet up and hesitated, the gravity of what he was doing finally reaching him. What if he was wrong? What if -
Merrick’s head whipped up and their eyes locked.
Too late.
Bruce brought the mallet down as hard as he could. The stake drove deep into Merrick’s heart, and the vampire let out a howling screech that rang through the chamber like the cry of a banshee. His bony fingers clawed at the stake and his head whipped from side to side, his back arching and his robe coming open. In the quick strobe pattern, Bruce was shocked to see that his body was little more than a wood frame, chicken wire, and cotton balls. His blacked heart was hidden behind a screen of mesh that the stake had easily torn through. It throbbed, seemingly in time with the strobe lights, and Merrick let out another wail.
Bertha screamed, and Bruce jumped to his feet.
The vampires, drawn by their master’s cries of distress, were rising to their feet. Two, four, six of them, pale and ethereal like ghosts in a gothic mansion. They came toward Merrick, and Bruice fell back a step. The old man had gone still and lay slumped to one side, his eyes open and his mouth slack, embalming fluid leaking from the corner of his lips. Jessie bent over him and touched his face. Though she moved like a zombie, with no human emotion, Bruce was crazily sure that it was a touch of tenderness and love. Merrick didn’t stir.
He was dead.
Jessie looked at him. Yellow liquid leaked from her eyes like tears. Instead of attacking him, she turned on her grandmother and slammed her against the wall. Bertha screamed and dropped the can. It landed on its side, its contents sloshing out onto the floor. A man that resembled the pictures Bruce had seen of Joe Rossi only deader rushed him, slamming into him and knocking the shotgun aside. It hit the floor and skidded away. Joe grabbed Bruce around the throat and squeezed. Still the lights flashed, off and on, off and on. The walls thrummed with the mechanized beat of dance music, pierced only by Bertha’s screams as Jessie ripped out her throat.
Joe leaned in, his fangs wicked and glowing in the light. Bruce clawed at the monster’s face, tearing away strips of dead flesh. Joe turned his head to the side, and Bruce kneed him in the groin. Even dead, getting kicked in the balls hurt like hell, apparently. Joe’s grip loosened and Bruce was able to shove him off. Bruce unclasped the canteen and frantically screwed the cap off as Joe recovered. Joe sprang at him again, and Bruce splashed him in the face.
A sound like sizzling meat filled the air, and Joe screamed at the top of his lungs. He pressed his hands to his face and danced around the room, his skin liquifying and oozing between his fingers. The others were coming now, led by a terrible skeletal thing. Bruce scooped the shotgun off the floor, brought it around, and fired. The blast hit the thing dead center, tearing it literally in half. The top half flew back, an all too human look of surprise on its face, and the bottom half fell over with a wet thud. Another vampire came at, and Bruce slammed it across the face with the butt of the gun. He heard its jaw crack, saw teeth flying.
Bertha lay dead on the floor, Jessie bent over her. The smell of Bertha’s blood attracted the others, who seemed to forget about Bruce, Merrick, and everything else. Joe was on his knees, wailing in pain, and the skeletal thing was pulling itself toward Bertha. A feeding frenzy broke out as vampires fought to get a piece of her the way piglets might fight over their mother’s teat. Bruce watched in a mixture of horror and fascination, but recovered himself. He grabbed the gas can from the floor and dumped the rest of its contents on Merrick’s body, the feeding vampires’ backs, and the floor, using the last of it to make a little trail to the door. He tossed the can aside, bent down, and stuck a match.
A huge, fiery whump filled the room, and fire streaked along the trail. The vampires all went up in a huge ball of flames, and fire shot up Merrick’s body, catching his robe, his hair, and the wooden frame that had kept him semi upright for God knows how long. Letting out inhuman screams, the vampires broke from Bertha’s corpse. One stumbled around, bounced off the wall, and fell; another toddled toward Bruce before falling to its knees. The half skeleton kept drinking from Bertha’s neck even as it burned.
The heat was enormous, baking. Bruce backed away, and the last thing he saw before smoke obscured his vision was Merrick Garvis.
He was literally melting.
***
Dominick Mason tried to go home, but he no longer had a home. All of his worldly possessions sat on the sidewalk in front of his building, discarded coldly as easily. His key didn’t work in his door and there was a FOR RENT sign on it. Why would it be any other way? He was dead. Sooner or later, everyone forgets you when you’re dead, and all the things you held so dear wind up in the trash. It was a hard pill to swallow, but most people aren’t around to see it after they die.
He was.
From his building, he walked east toward Washington Park. In the distance, thick, black smoke billowed into the air, and sirens rose. He barely noticed and wouldn’t have cared even if he did. No more rubbernecking for him. That was for the living.
The pain that had plagued him so the previous day came back, only less this time. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was getting harder to think. Not that he cared, really. What was there to think about anyway? How he had no one to mourn or miss him? How he died and not one single person, except for maybe his mother, cared, or even noticed? How he had done nothing with his life? Even to the women he’d slept with, what was he? Just another dating app hookup. They probably didn’t even remember his name.
Merrick had been right about one thing. Death was easy. It was life that was hard…life that hurt.
With that in mind, Dominick made his way to Washington Park. It was a vast and deep place with many small caves and thickets. Kids played on the playground, their cries of laughter scenting the still air. It had grown cloudy and began to rain. Still, smoke poured into the sky in the direction of Club Vlad. Dom didn’t wish ill on Merrick and the others, didn’t hope it was them burning. He didn’t care anymore. Not about them, not about anyone. For better or worse (and he would argue it was worse), his life was over. His time came days ago, he just missed the boat.
Picking out an isolated little area, Dom sat against a tree with his legs splayed out in front of him. He titled his head back and closed his eyes. Yes, thinking was hard now. His mind felt sluggish, cold. He was thirsty…so, so thirsty, but he ignored it.
Slowly, the bugs found him. Flies buzzed around him and laid their eggs in his skin. Beetles scuttled over him, followed by worms.
Next, it was the birds. They ate out his eyes and nibbled at his blue, bloated skin.
The animals came last.
Their appetites were bigger.
And they left little remaining of poor, outcast Dominick Mason.
***
That night, Bruce sat alone in his little trailer, a bottle of whiskey wedged between his legs and unshed tears in his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the darkened TV set and took long swallows from the bottle. He planned to drink until he forgot or passed out, whichever came first. He tried to not think about Vanessa, but in his addled state, he couldn’t control himself, and began to cry. When that storm passed, like the others before it, he chugged from the bottle.
As distant church bells clanged the hour - midnight - a feeble knock came at the door. Bruce took another drink and it came again. Getting up, he stumbled, nearly fell, and gripped the bottle tightly. He didn’t want to lose one precious drop.
Again, the knock.
“I’m coming,” Bruce slurred. He staggered to the door and fought with the lock. He was dizzy and seeing double.
When he got it, he opened the door.
The bottle dropped from his hand and clanked onto the floor.
Vanessa, clad in a puke green hospital gown, stood on the step, her hands pressed to her chest and a look of anguish on her milk white face. Her head tilted to one side, the wounds on her neck cleaned but open, gaping. Her dark eyes shone with tears. “I’m dead,” she said.
Breaking down in tears, she collapsed against him and they sank to the floor. She was cold and smelled. Bruce wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest anyway. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said drunkenly. “Hey, it’s alright.
“I’m dead,” she repeated, and her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Bruce held her close, trying to warm her icy skin. He didn’t know what to say, so he cried with her.
“You’re safe now,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”
“I want blood,” she said and sobbed harder, “I want to hurt people.”
“Shhh,” Bruce said again. “It’s okay.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a utility knife. He flicked the blade across his wrist and searing pain shot up his arm. “Here,” he said and offered her his blood, “drink this.”
He did this without care and without thought. She needed him, and one barnaclehead always backs up another.
Vanessa hesitated, looking from his face to the oozing blood, unsure.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Vanessa brought his wrist to her mouth.
And began to drink.
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Before long, the pain became too great and he got up to pace, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and gritting his teeth. Merrick, who slept very little if at all, sat in his chair and watched, trying his best to talk him through it. “It’ll be over soon,” Merrick said. “The pain receptors in your brain are the first to go. When they burn out, you won’t feel anything.”
“When?” Dom asked, his voice raising with the tide of pain.
“A couple days?”
“A couple days???”
“The pain will lessen gradually,” Merrick said, “this is the worst of it.”
Dom believed that this was, indeed, the worst of it, but he doubted it would lessen gradually. For the rest of the day, the pain got worse and worse until every light blinded him, every sound turned his stomach, and the smell of anything made his gorge rise. The cloying smell of the embalming fluid, the light but unmistakable odor of dead flesh, and the scent of stale blood sitting in decomposing stomachs made him want to vomit, but he was afraid to. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of blood rushing from his mouth and splattering the floor. He still possessed enough of his facilities, he believed, to go insane.
Pain has a way of darkening one’s mood, and by the time the sun began to set, Dom was in the most sour mood possible. Even Merrick’s calm, fatherly voice was beginning to get on his nerves. When he took the oath to him the day before (or was it the day before that?), he turned his faith and trust over to Merrick entirely. He was finally accepted, included, finally had the love and fellowship that, in the pit of his soul, he had always wanted. Merrick understood him, Merrick was kind to him.
But deep down, Dom realized that he didn’t fully trust him. He said that his brain didn’t rot because he was “lucky.” That sounded like some bullshit to Dom. Why wasn’t Joe a blithering idiot too? Was he lucky as well? Did lightning strike in the same place twice? In life, people had done nothing but hurt and lie to Dom. Why would death be any different? He thought back to the strange liquid that always seemed to leak from Merrick’s nose, and Joe’s. He thought it was embalming fluid, but it never leaked from his own nose, or from anyone else’s. He tried to tell himself that it was far too soon to judge, but once he began to doubt something, his mind raced away. He felt a twinge of guilt, as Merrick had done absolutely nothing to deserve his doubt, but goddamn it, his head was on fire and he wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.
Just after sundown, the music began as Club Vlad opened for the night. It throbbed in the center of Dom’s head and made him want to claw his eyes out. When it became too much for him, he slipped away and stumbled into the sultry summer night. He came out in the alley running behind the club, clutching his head and breathing through bared teeth. He staggered, bumped into a metal trash can, and roared at the top of his lungs, as if he could purge himself of the pain by screaming.. His voice echoed and came back to him, making the pain worse.
Merrick was lying. He knew it. People always lied to him. His brain was rotting and PEOPLE WERE LYING! Flashing with anger, he slammed his fist into the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant. He barely felt anything so he did it again and again until his hand was lumpy and shaking. He sat heavily on the ground and pressed his hands to his head. It felt like maggots were burrowing into his brain, and he was suddenly terrified that they really were. He needed to stop this awful pain, but how?
An idea came to him.
The funeral home.
Maybe there was something there.
He was on his feet and lumbering there before the thought had even finished reverberating through his mind. It was a long shot, but he was desperate. On the way there, he stuck to the shadows, staying out of the light cast by the streetlamps and avoiding people. When he passed them, he kept his head down. When he reached the funeral home, he went to the back door where he and Jessie had gone the other day. He tried it, and it opened.
Inside, he bounced off the walls like a pinball, knocking over an end table and tearing at the flesh of his head, pulling it away in long, gray strips. He panted like a wild animal, his body a raging tempest of emotions. It was reaching a crescendo, he thought, his brain was about to go supernova. The world dimmed, things got really echoy. The young man he’d picked the embalming fluid up from was there, looking scared.
Flashing, Dom grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, knocking a painting of a flowery field to the carpet. Everything seemed to go in slow mo. “How does Merrick keep his brain from rotting?” Dom heard himself demanding from far away. “How does he keep the pain away?”
The man trembled. “I-I-”
Dom slammed him again. “Tell me or I’ll make you like me.”
“No!” the man wailed. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes wet with fear.
“How?”
“He-He uses a solution,” the man stammered. “Some kind of special thing. It preserves his brain. That’s all I know.”
An idea occurred to Dom.
Holding the man by the back of his neck, Dom dragged him into the embalming room and pushed him against the table. His head felt like it was swelling. Hot, screaming, getting ready to explode. He looked around, found the embalming machine, and grabbed the hose. There was a sharp tip on it so that you could jam it into a body. He held it in his hand, hesitating for just a moment before pressing it to his temple. The man watched in horror as Dom slowly shoved the tip into his head. It tore his flesh, broke through his skull, and sank into his brain. He felt no pain, only pressure, but cried out anyway. His eyes rolled up into his head and a shudder went through his body.
“Turn it on!” he yelled.
“That’s not what he -”
“TURN IT ON!”
Starting, the man turned the machine on. Cold embalming fluid squirted directly into Dom’s brain. Almost at once, the pain began to ebb away, replaced only by a fuzzy sense of numbness. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, looking for all the world like an addict taking a hit of his favorite substance after a long and trying day. Fluid leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes and dripped down the back of his throat.
The man waited for a long time, then turned the machine off.
The pain was gone.
At least for now.
“Tell me again,” Dom said.
The man did. Merrick used a special preserving agent to keep his brain intact. Joe, the man suspected, got it as well. So Merrick had lied to him.
Dom felt betrayed.
And angry.
Leaving the man (Dom realized that he didn’t even know his name), he walked back to Club Vlad, his hands fisted in his pockets. All his life, he had been hurt, lied to, and ignored. All his life, people had done wrong to him. And all those years, he just took it.
He resolved not to be so accepting in death.
At last, he was going to stop being a sniveling little bitch and stand up for himself.
When he reached Club Vlad, he slammed through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he called out Merrick’s name. The old man was sitting in his chair, being attended to by Jessie and Matt. He looked startled when Dom came in. “You lied to me,” Dom said, stalking over to his benefactor.
“What are you talking about?” Merrick asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You lied to me!” Dom screamed. He bent over and got so close to Merrick’s face that he could have kissed him. “You told me there was no way to save my brain, but that’s not true. You’re pumping your head full of shit and letting the rest of us rot.”
A dark shadow flickered across Merrick’s face. “Watch your tone when you talk to me,” he said. His voice was low, menacing.
“Fuck you,” Dom said. “I should k -”
Suddenly, Dom was being grabbed from behind and yanked back, an arm around his neck. He cried out in alarm as Joe swung him around and slammed him face first into the wall. He heard his nose crunch, felt his teeth shatter. Next, Joe wrestled him to the glitter-sprinkled floor and wedged his knee between his shoulder blades.
Merrick watched with a sneer of disgust, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He wheeled himself over, Jessie holding his IV stand steady and following behind. “Listen, you son of a bitch,” Merrick said, “you’re lucky to be a part of this family.”
Cold fear filled the pit of Dom’s stomach, yet he wouldn’t back down, couldn’t back down. He had lived his entire life like a mouse in a burrow, he wasn’t about to live his entire death the same way.
“Fuck your family,” he said defiantly. “And fuck you.”
Merrick’s face darkened and he sat back in his chair. He looked at Jessie and nodded. She went away and came back a moment later holding something in her hand. Dom’s eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A wooden stake, one end honed to a razor point.
Why they had one of those lying around, Dom didn’t know; it’d be like Superman keeping a piece of kryptonite on the mantle over the fireplace. Merrick directed Max and Matt to hold Dom’s arms down/ Joe pivoted, kneeling on his head now so that Dom’s back was exposed. Dom’s heart slammed with terror and tremors raced through his body.
“Is this what you want, Dominick?” Merrick asked. “To die? To truly die?”
Dom swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to live, to love, to have a family one day. He wanted a happy, normal life, the life TV and social media had been promising him since he was a little boy.
But all of that went out the window the night he died in his little apartment. There was no life anymore, just a grotesque parody of life. What was there for him other than death? Clinging desperately onto life for decades like Merrick? Stuffing himself full of embalming fluid and moth balls? Grinding for one more minute just so he could sit hooked up to a machine?
Dom spoke.
“What?” Merrick asked, not having heard.
Dom licked his lips. “Just fucking do it.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Expectation hung in the air. Finally, breaking the tension, Merrick nodded to Jessie. Kneeling down, she brought the stake up, and Dom closed his eyes.
This was it.
He braced himself for death.
Jessie brought the stake down just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Her head whipped back, embalming fluid, skull fragments, and gray, sickly pieces of brain showering from the back of her head. She flopped back and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
A woman cop, her black uniform in stark contrast to the burning white light, stood in the doorway to the hall, her gun drawn. Everyone did, indeed, freeze, more out of surprise than respect for authority. They all looked at her, their dead mouths agape, resembling children who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Everyone on the ground!” she barked.
No one knew what to do. They hadn’t expected to be raided by the police so had not prepared. She jerked her gun and everyone instinctively flinched. “On the ground!” she repeated. To Max: “You too, bone boy.”
The first one to react was Joe. He sprang at her like a big, undead frog. She brought the gun around and fired, but he was already crashing into her. The shot went wild and struck the IV bag next to Merrick; he ducked and let out a sound of fear. The others rushed her, and Dom got quickly to his feet. Jessie lay on the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream and her bony fingers frantically examining the ragged hole in the center of her forehead. For a moment, he was frozen; everything was happening too fast. Then, when Merrick saw him and cried, “Stop him!, he came alive. Jessie tried to grab at his leg, but he kicked her hand away and stomped on it like it was a giant spider. On the other side of the room, Matt, Joe, and Max had forced the cop to the ground. Perhaps excited by all the action, perhaps just hungry, they began to tear her apart. She howled in pain, and the last thing Dom saw before he fled was her open, blood-filled mouth. Her eyes were filled with pain…with terror.
After that, Dom ran.
***
When the interloper was dead, Merrick directed Joe and Matt to dispose of the body. “Get rid of it,” he said wearily and rubbed his temples, “make sure it isn’t found.”
They rolled her into a carpet from the office, and the way her feet stuck out may have been comical under other circumstances.
Goddamn it, this was bad. Merrick’s entire philosophy rested on avoiding detection. He had done well in that regard. Whereas other vampires had attacked their villages and gotten themselves dug from the ground and staked, he had made it four decades. He never shat where he ate, and there is no bigger turd than killing a cop. They might dawdle on all the boys who’d gone missing - taken because their blood was stronger and more robust than the blood of girls - but they would not take a cop dying lightly at all.
Merrick owned various businesses around the country. He and the others would simply move on. Tomorrow night, they would disappear into the night. They had done it before and they would likely do it again. Once things were settled at their new base of operations, he would have Joe killed for all the trouble he’d caused.
And Dom?
Let him go.
The little rat wouldn’t last a month on his own.
“Jessie?”
Jessie sat against the wall, gazing into space.
“Jessi…start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
She didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. The shot had all but lobotomized her.
Damn it.
Joe backed the van up to the back door of Club Vlad, and then helped Matt carry the carpet-rolled body down the stairs. They loaded it in and closed the back doors. Together, they drove around looking for a place to dump it. Merrick wanted it to go unfound, but Joe doubted there was anywhere isolated enough in the city. On a whim, he drove to Washington Park, a vast expanse of green trees and shadows. There was a large pond there. It seemed the best option. They were leaving tomorrow anyway, so did it really matter?
Joe backed the van to a railing overlooking the dark water and put it in park. He and Matt got out, fetched the body, and carried it to the railing. They lifted and heaved it over. It splashed. Thus, they rid themselves of Vanessa Rodregiez.
***
Bruce sat anxiously up in his easy chair and waited for his cell to ring.
Parked in front of the TV by warm lamplight, a beer wedged between his legs, he’d been watching the 11’o’clock news when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was Vanessa. “Hey,” she said, “I think I found our body?”
“Which one?” Bruce asked and took a drink. “We have a lot of those these days.”
“Dominick Mason.”
Bruce sat forward in his chair. “Dead Dom? Where?”
“He just came out of a funeral home, ironically enough.”
“That sounds about right,” Bruce said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m following him east on Central.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” Bruce asked.
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
Bruce sat the phone aside and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At some point, he fell asleep sitting up, his head lulled to one side and his mouth open. He snorted himself awake, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He checked his phone and was perturbed to see that it was past 2am.
Vanessa hadn’t called.
He dialed her number and let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. Sighing, he ended the call, then waited a few minutes and called again.
Still no answer.
It was possible she had forgotten. Maybe the guy turned out to not be Dead Dom after all. She followed some random guy around, realized it, and that was that. Hell, she was probably too embarrassed to call and tell him about it.
Something told him that wasn’t right, however.
There was something else going on here.
Something…darker.
Just before 3am, his phone rang. He snatched it off the end table next to the chair and answered it. It was Burt, the night sargent. “Rodriguez is missing,” he said simply.
Bruce’s heart sank. “Missing?”
“Yeah, she hasn’t checked in for hours and she isn’t answering calls.”
“I’m on my way,”
Bruce tore through the house, pulling on his uniform, socks, and shoes in less time than it took a Daytona 500 pit crew to service a car. In ten minutes he was speeding down 787, the Albany skyline rising in the distance. As he hurried to the station, he thought back to his last conversation with Vanessa. She’d found Dom the Dead Man, the “corpse” who’d scared Ed Harris out of a 20 year career. Despite all their talk about vampires and the living dead, Bruce didn’t believe it, not really. Even so, he was sure that Dominick Mason had done something to Vanessa.
He checked in at the station before doing anything else. They had triangulated Vanessa’s last known location via cell towers. Cops were already out searching the streets for her. Bruce went out as well, intending to start from her last known position and work his way east on Central. The closest funeral home was Tebbutt and Frederick on Central. There was also Lasak & Gigliotti on North Allen Street. Bruce didn’t know which one Vanessa had seen Dom come out of, so he checked both.
Both were deserted at this hour.
Undeterred, Bruce drove up and down Central Ave. At one point, he noticed a shape in an alleyway that looked human. He hit the brakes, jumped out, and pointed his gun at it. “Freeze!”
An old wino stepped out of the darkness. “Alright, you got me,” he said, hands up. “I started COVID. It was an accident, I swear.”
Bruce sighed and put his gun away.
For two more hours, Bruce searched the streets of Albany for Vanessa. At 4am, he spotted a squad car abandoned in the rear parking lot of an abandoned gas station on lower Lark Street. He called it in and the desk sergeant confirmed that it was the one Vanessa had signed out that night.
Still there was no sign of Vanessa herself.
Just after dawn, as the city came alive and CDTA buses began lumbering up and down the streets, Bruce got a call on his cell. “A jogger found a body in Washington Park.”
Bruce was in his personal car. He had no bubble light, no siren. Even so, he sped through the streets like he did, blowing through red lights and stop signs with little care to himself or anyone else. When he got to Washington Park, he found an army cops by the pond, the scene cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and jumped out without even turning off the engine.
The body was rolled up in a carpet and lying on the bank. Two beat cops unrolled it at Bruce’s direction. “We should wait for -” one of them started, but Bruce cut him off.
“Do it.”
They compiled, and at the carpet’s center, like a rotten cream filling, was the body of Vanessa Rodregiuez. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes wide and staring. Her throat had been mangled and ripped away, her head nearly severed. Even in the black and red mess, Bruce could make out the teeth marks and puncture wounds. They may have looked like something else to anyone else who saw them, but he knew, in that moment, what they were dealing with.
A sharp pang of horror sliced through him, and his knees went weak.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the beat cops drew.
Bruce fell to, rather than knelt on, one knee. He bent over the body, a mixture of horror and grief welling his throat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her in death, but he stayed his hand. Instead, he visually examined the body. She had bruises on her face, defensive wounds on her hands, and her gun was gone. Whoever had attacked her, she put up a fight.
Something glinted on her pants.
“What’s that?” one of the cops asked.
“I dunno,” the other replied, “but it’s all over the carpet.”
Indeed, there were glinty little specks all over it, winking like mocking eyes. Nice work, eh? We really fucked her up, didn’t we? Wink wink.
“It looks like…”
The other cop cut him off. “Glitter.”
Bruce flashed back to his visit to Club Vlad the other day.
There had been glitter everywhere.
Bruce stood up.
He had work to do.
***
Instead of going back to the station to start his shift, Bruce went to Lowes. There, he bought a mallet, a gas can, and a dozen sticks of wood. An employee in a blue vest used a machine to sharpen them to a wicked point and he took his purchases to the car. Next, he drove over to the Mobil station and filled the gas can. He was so hellbent on revenge that he sprang for premium, the good stuff. No expense shall be spared.
His final stop was at a Catholic church. He filled a canteen with holy water from the marble font by the door, then swiped a crucifix from the wall. He stopped by the station, went inside, and grabbed a black duffle bag with POLICE written across the front in yellow. He opened the gun cabinet in his office, took out a shotgun, and loaded it with shells. He grabbed a handful from the box and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just finishing up when Bertha came in. “There you are,” she spat, “I’ve waited long enough for you to do something. I demand -”
Bruce shoved the duffle bag into her arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’re going to get your granddaughter,” Bruice lied. Kind of.
Bertha’s demeanor changed. “Good. It’s about time. I was starting to think you were a complete incompetent.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Outside, he plucked the bag out of Bertha’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and Bertha sat in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Club Vlad,” Bruce said and started the engine.
“I want all of them arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said.
She barked orders the entire way there. Bruce was so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard her. The image of Vanessa’s ruined throat and terror-twisted face haunted him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back and forced himself to calm down.
I’ll cry when I’m done killing, he thought.
A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of Club Vlad. It was a hot and sunny day and the place seemed even more ominous because of it. The windows were black, the front cast in perpetual shadows by the old marquee from when it used to be a theater. The place was surely closed, but Bruce could hear music still playing from inside, some techno dance bullshit. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”
Getting out, he slung the dufflebag over his shoulder and carried the shotgun, the canteen full of holy water clasped to his belt. Bertha carried the gas can, looking confused. “Why do we need this?” she asked.
“We’re burning the place down.”
Bertha blinked in surprise…then an evil grin carved across her face. “That’ll show the bastards.”
Unlike last time, the door was locked. Bruce used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, being careful not to cut himself. This was the point of no return. What he had in mind would probably get him kicked off the force or even thrown in jail - and we all know how tough jail can be for a former barnaclehead. The memory of Vanessa’s contorted face pushed him on, however.
He’d suffer any consequences he needed to just so long as he got the sons of bitches who did this to her.
Inside, the club was cool and cave-like. Strobe lights flashed, on and off, black and white, dazzling Bruce’s eyes. The bartender was at his station, cleaning up from the night before. When he saw Bruce and Bertha come in, he started. Bruce pointed the shotgun at him. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded.
The bartender hesitated, then reached for something under the bar.
The shotgun kicked in Bruce’s hands, and the bartender flew back, turning as he crashed into the barback. Bottles, glasses, and mugs crashed to the floor along with the bartender. Bruce racked the gun, and the shell flew out. He moved low and fast now, expecting to be swarmed by vampires, living thugs who worked for vampires, or vampire thugs who worked for themselves.
Though the shot had been like thunder, no one came.
Bruce had no idea where to go, but he imagined that vampires were naturally gravitate to the lowest part of the building. Was there a basement? Shit, he should have looked up the building plans at city hall. Damn, this is what happens when you go off half-cocked. He searched around a bit, opening doors and sweeping the rooms beyond with the shotgun. He found no basement, only stairs leading up. “Stay close,” he said to Bertha.
In the lead, Bruce crept up the stairs, the flashlight on the shotgun providing a cone of clean, white light. At the top of the stairs, he went right, and came to an office and a store room. Backtracking, and bumping into a bungling Bertha, he went into the next room. It was large and open with a vaulted ceiling, almost like a ballroom. Here the same strobe lights throbbed on and off, making him dizzy. Was this to dazzle prospective vampire hunters?
Either way, this was the place. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some curled up on their sides and others in the classic vampire pose: Flat on their backs with their hands laced over their chests. In the center, like the sun to the planets, Merrick Garvis lay slumped back in his wheelchair, his neck exposed for any potential assassin to come and cut. Not that it would kill him. At least Bruce didn’t think it would.
“They’re all dead,” Bertha whispered. She looked around and gasped. “There’s Jessie.”
Jessie lay on her back, her hands folded on her chest. She had a ragged bullet hole in the center of her forehead. “Oh, God,” Bertha wavered, “someone shot her.”
He hoped it was Vanessa. And he hoped it fucking hurt.
Looking around, Bruce couldn’t find Dominick Mason. Was he the one who killed Vanessa? Was it a group effort? He wanted the little son of a bitch bad, but it looked like he’d have to go on without him. They didn’t have much time.
Unshouldering the duffle bag, he knelt down and rummaged around. “Start splashing that gas on the bodies,” he said.
“But -”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
There must have been a harder edge in his voice than normal, because Bertha jumped and did as she was told. She upended the can and began to splash gasoline onto the sleeping forms, the smell of it acrid and strong.
Taking out a stake and the mallet, Bruce went over to Merrick and knelt down. He gripped the stake in one hand and placed it firmly against Merrick’s chest. He brought the mallet up and hesitated, the gravity of what he was doing finally reaching him. What if he was wrong? What if -
Merrick’s head whipped up and their eyes locked.
Too late.
Bruce brought the mallet down as hard as he could. The stake drove deep into Merrick’s heart, and the vampire let out a howling screech that rang through the chamber like the cry of a banshee. His bony fingers clawed at the stake and his head whipped from side to side, his back arching and his robe coming open. In the quick strobe pattern, Bruce was shocked to see that his body was little more than a wood frame, chicken wire, and cotton balls. His blacked heart was hidden behind a screen of mesh that the stake had easily torn through. It throbbed, seemingly in time with the strobe lights, and Merrick let out another wail.
Bertha screamed, and Bruce jumped to his feet.
The vampires, drawn by their master’s cries of distress, were rising to their feet. Two, four, six of them, pale and ethereal like ghosts in a gothic mansion. They came toward Merrick, and Bruice fell back a step. The old man had gone still and lay slumped to one side, his eyes open and his mouth slack, embalming fluid leaking from the corner of his lips. Jessie bent over him and touched his face. Though she moved like a zombie, with no human emotion, Bruce was crazily sure that it was a touch of tenderness and love. Merrick didn’t stir.
He was dead.
Jessie looked at him. Yellow liquid leaked from her eyes like tears. Instead of attacking him, she turned on her grandmother and slammed her against the wall. Bertha screamed and dropped the can. It landed on its side, its contents sloshing out onto the floor. A man that resembled the pictures Bruce had seen of Joe Rossi only deader rushed him, slamming into him and knocking the shotgun aside. It hit the floor and skidded away. Joe grabbed Bruce around the throat and squeezed. Still the lights flashed, off and on, off and on. The walls thrummed with the mechanized beat of dance music, pierced only by Bertha’s screams as Jessie ripped out her throat.
Joe leaned in, his fangs wicked and glowing in the light. Bruce clawed at the monster’s face, tearing away strips of dead flesh. Joe turned his head to the side, and Bruce kneed him in the groin. Even dead, getting kicked in the balls hurt like hell, apparently. Joe’s grip loosened and Bruce was able to shove him off. Bruce unclasped the canteen and frantically screwed the cap off as Joe recovered. Joe sprang at him again, and Bruce splashed him in the face.
A sound like sizzling meat filled the air, and Joe screamed at the top of his lungs. He pressed his hands to his face and danced around the room, his skin liquifying and oozing between his fingers. The others were coming now, led by a terrible skeletal thing. Bruce scooped the shotgun off the floor, brought it around, and fired. The blast hit the thing dead center, tearing it literally in half. The top half flew back, an all too human look of surprise on its face, and the bottom half fell over with a wet thud. Another vampire came at, and Bruce slammed it across the face with the butt of the gun. He heard its jaw crack, saw teeth flying.
Bertha lay dead on the floor, Jessie bent over her. The smell of Bertha’s blood attracted the others, who seemed to forget about Bruce, Merrick, and everything else. Joe was on his knees, wailing in pain, and the skeletal thing was pulling itself toward Bertha. A feeding frenzy broke out as vampires fought to get a piece of her the way piglets might fight over their mother’s teat. Bruce watched in a mixture of horror and fascination, but recovered himself. He grabbed the gas can from the floor and dumped the rest of its contents on Merrick’s body, the feeding vampires’ backs, and the floor, using the last of it to make a little trail to the door. He tossed the can aside, bent down, and stuck a match.
A huge, fiery whump filled the room, and fire streaked along the trail. The vampires all went up in a huge ball of flames, and fire shot up Merrick’s body, catching his robe, his hair, and the wooden frame that had kept him semi upright for God knows how long. Letting out inhuman screams, the vampires broke from Bertha’s corpse. One stumbled around, bounced off the wall, and fell; another toddled toward Bruce before falling to its knees. The half skeleton kept drinking from Bertha’s neck even as it burned.
The heat was enormous, baking. Bruce backed away, and the last thing he saw before smoke obscured his vision was Merrick Garvis.
He was literally melting.
***
Dominick Mason tried to go home, but he no longer had a home. All of his worldly possessions sat on the sidewalk in front of his building, discarded coldly as easily. His key didn’t work in his door and there was a FOR RENT sign on it. Why would it be any other way? He was dead. Sooner or later, everyone forgets you when you’re dead, and all the things you held so dear wind up in the trash. It was a hard pill to swallow, but most people aren’t around to see it after they die.
He was.
From his building, he walked east toward Washington Park. In the distance, thick, black smoke billowed into the air, and sirens rose. He barely noticed and wouldn’t have cared even if he did. No more rubbernecking for him. That was for the living.
The pain that had plagued him so the previous day came back, only less this time. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was getting harder to think. Not that he cared, really. What was there to think about anyway? How he had no one to mourn or miss him? How he died and not one single person, except for maybe his mother, cared, or even noticed? How he had done nothing with his life? Even to the women he’d slept with, what was he? Just another dating app hookup. They probably didn’t even remember his name.
Merrick had been right about one thing. Death was easy. It was life that was hard…life that hurt.
With that in mind, Dominick made his way to Washington Park. It was a vast and deep place with many small caves and thickets. Kids played on the playground, their cries of laughter scenting the still air. It had grown cloudy and began to rain. Still, smoke poured into the sky in the direction of Club Vlad. Dom didn’t wish ill on Merrick and the others, didn’t hope it was them burning. He didn’t care anymore. Not about them, not about anyone. For better or worse (and he would argue it was worse), his life was over. His time came days ago, he just missed the boat.
Picking out an isolated little area, Dom sat against a tree with his legs splayed out in front of him. He titled his head back and closed his eyes. Yes, thinking was hard now. His mind felt sluggish, cold. He was thirsty…so, so thirsty, but he ignored it.
Slowly, the bugs found him. Flies buzzed around him and laid their eggs in his skin. Beetles scuttled over him, followed by worms.
Next, it was the birds. They ate out his eyes and nibbled at his blue, bloated skin.
The animals came last.
Their appetites were bigger.
And they left little remaining of poor, outcast Dominick Mason.
***
That night, Bruce sat alone in his little trailer, a bottle of whiskey wedged between his legs and unshed tears in his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the darkened TV set and took long swallows from the bottle. He planned to drink until he forgot or passed out, whichever came first. He tried to not think about Vanessa, but in his addled state, he couldn’t control himself, and began to cry. When that storm passed, like the others before it, he chugged from the bottle.
As distant church bells clanged the hour - midnight - a feeble knock came at the door. Bruce took another drink and it came again. Getting up, he stumbled, nearly fell, and gripped the bottle tightly. He didn’t want to lose one precious drop.
Again, the knock.
“I’m coming,” Bruce slurred. He staggered to the door and fought with the lock. He was dizzy and seeing double.
When he got it, he opened the door.
The bottle dropped from his hand and clanked onto the floor.
Vanessa, clad in a puke green hospital gown, stood on the step, her hands pressed to her chest and a look of anguish on her milk white face. Her head tilted to one side, the wounds on her neck cleaned but open, gaping. Her dark eyes shone with tears. “I’m dead,” she said.
Breaking down in tears, she collapsed against him and they sank to the floor. She was cold and smelled. Bruce wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest anyway. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said drunkenly. “Hey, it’s alright.
“I’m dead,” she repeated, and her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Bruce held her close, trying to warm her icy skin. He didn’t know what to say, so he cried with her.
“You’re safe now,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”
“I want blood,” she said and sobbed harder, “I want to hurt people.”
“Shhh,” Bruce said again. “It’s okay.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a utility knife. He flicked the blade across his wrist and searing pain shot up his arm. “Here,” he said and offered her his blood, “drink this.”
He did this without care and without thought. She needed him, and one barnaclehead always backs up another.
Vanessa hesitated, looking from his face to the oozing blood, unsure.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Vanessa brought his wrist to her mouth.
And began to drink.
2024.05.16 19:48 Otherwise-Ad-8566 Ghost- Daylyt
I’ve been surface thinking, like what’s under
the surface did it all surfing the waves I did
hundred of services finding my purpose was it
worth it feeling worthless I could’ve been
Erkle(Ergo) but stood and went purple(Crip)
hugging past memories see the hood a give
you that fast synergy a high vibe three up top
rocking(Crack, Fist pump) a High(Addict)
Five($) beasts(X-Men) in the hood but you
might end up an X-Men(Dead) the next plan
for you to be remembered death is a honor
better know that it’s ironic we don’t got new
pics of Kodak remember him gasping for air
asking god to spare us a life I am mentally flat
tired of fighting asking if Christ finna save my
niggas we stuck in a crisis Christ we ain’t living
righteous I would go to church but my pastor
be steady upping the prices tithes and
offerings suffering cost us the day I found god
is when I lost him
submitted by Otherwise-Ad-8566 to GrammaticalRap [link] [comments]
the surface did it all surfing the waves I did
hundred of services finding my purpose was it
worth it feeling worthless I could’ve been
Erkle(Ergo) but stood and went purple(Crip)
hugging past memories see the hood a give
you that fast synergy a high vibe three up top
rocking(Crack, Fist pump) a High(Addict)
Five($) beasts(X-Men) in the hood but you
might end up an X-Men(Dead) the next plan
for you to be remembered death is a honor
better know that it’s ironic we don’t got new
pics of Kodak remember him gasping for air
asking god to spare us a life I am mentally flat
tired of fighting asking if Christ finna save my
niggas we stuck in a crisis Christ we ain’t living
righteous I would go to church but my pastor
be steady upping the prices tithes and
offerings suffering cost us the day I found god
is when I lost him
2024.05.16 19:38 Jhonjournalist Slovakia’s Prime Minister was Shot Multiple Times and was in Serious Condition
 | https://preview.redd.it/skfnczffrt0d1.jpg?width=800&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=4289b4dd821e506080bad0a0039a168e7c475621 submitted by Jhonjournalist to u/Jhonjournalist [link] [comments]
Safeguard Clergyman Robert Kalina had told correspondents on Wednesday outside the emergency clinic where Fico was being treated for his injuries that the 59-year-seasoned professional Russian pioneer was all the while being dealt with a few hours in the wake of being shot in the midsection. Slovakia Prime Minister is in Serious ConditionNo less than four shots were discharged external a social community in the town of Handlova, almost 140 kilometers (85 miles) upper east of the capital, where Fico was meeting with allies, the public authority said.A suspect was in guardianship in the wake of being kept at the scene, and an underlying examination found “an unmistakable political inspiration” behind the death endeavor, Inside Clergyman Matus Sutaj Estok said as he informed columnists close by the protection serve. Fico was shipped first via vehicle, and afterward by helicopter to a provincial medical clinic as it was considered too dire to move him on the ground. Delegate speaker of parliament Lubos Blaha affirmed the occurrence during a meeting of parliament and dismissed the council until additional notification, the Slovak TASR news organization said. Police immediately closed the scene and photographs and video displayed something like one individual being arrested. Slovak news sources said the suspect was a 71-year-old elderly person. There were no reports of different suspects running free, and no prompt insights regarding a rationale in the shooting of the profoundly troublesome, veteran legislator. He was moved to a helicopter and cameras then, at that point, caught him being moved on a cot, covered by covers, into an emergency clinic in the city of Banska Bystrica. Learn More: https://worldmagzine.com/politics/slovakias-prime-minister-was-shot-multiple-times-and-was-in-serious-condition/ |
2024.05.16 19:33 taway31629 Is breaking the law always a sin?
I have been raised in a Christian household but it wasnt until recently that I started to actually become more active and explore my faith and read the Bible. I have a way to go I think and one way I have felt I’ve gotten closer to God is by helping my dad who is a deacon at our church and a prison minister. Occasionally and especially on holidays he will make plates of food/sandwiches and drive around to hand it out to the homeless, I’ve helped him multiple times and it’s very fulfilling. He knows most of their names and prays with them.
Recently I got into an argument with an uncle who is a very conservative evangelical type (which is perfectly fine and I respect him very much). there were state and city ordinances passed a few years back and kind of reiterated every few months against feeding the homeless, and when discussing it with him I essentially said I disregard them because God calls for us to feed the hungry.
He told me I was twisting scripture and cited Romans 13 1, basically saying that breaking the law is *always* a sin, which I find ridiculous but tbh I’m not very sure and I’m not very familiar with scripture. I’m mostly just going with my feelings, but I don’t know
submitted by taway31629 to TrueChristian [link] [comments]
Recently I got into an argument with an uncle who is a very conservative evangelical type (which is perfectly fine and I respect him very much). there were state and city ordinances passed a few years back and kind of reiterated every few months against feeding the homeless, and when discussing it with him I essentially said I disregard them because God calls for us to feed the hungry.
He told me I was twisting scripture and cited Romans 13 1, basically saying that breaking the law is *always* a sin, which I find ridiculous but tbh I’m not very sure and I’m not very familiar with scripture. I’m mostly just going with my feelings, but I don’t know
2024.05.16 19:19 WorldMagzineMedia Slovakia’s Prime Minister was Shot Multiple Times and was in Serious Condition. Slovak Unfamiliar Pastor Juraj Blanár likewise called it a death endeavor in a virtual entertainment post. Kalina had said a procedure on Fico was not yet complete and depicted his condition as “remarkably serious.”
 | submitted by WorldMagzineMedia to u/WorldMagzineMedia [link] [comments] |
2024.05.16 19:15 FFRBP777 The Oathmaker's Judgement (Or, It's My Birthday Party, I Can Cry if I Want To)
Well. Tomorrow was the day. David was aware of the looming deadline over his head, but the fact that it was tomorrow felt more real. David spent most of the day taking a moment to himself. From the Cyclops, to the chimera, to his two quests, he never felt like he did enough. His quests were just glorified scouting expeditions, so he hardly had any Kleos from that. Every injury, every broken bone, every cut and scrape kept him up at night as he wondered if the oath would kill him or if his journey would be the one that would be his end. And at the same time, a question ran through his head, every single day of his time he was in camp.
Was David a hero? To be honest, he wasn't sure.
All his sweat, all his tears, all the times he fought through the pain of broken bones, the times he fought back his anxiety. He refused for it to come to nothing. Even when he felt like he would end up like he’d fail. That he'd end up a cautionary tale for campers to refuse to do Styx Oaths, he still carried onwards.
His mood soured even more as he remembered Alkis. Hm…he wondered what was up with his friend/mentor. As his oath got closer and closer, he saw less and less of the son of Dionysus. A part of him wondered if he distanced himself, in case that he would end up having to deal with David if his oath were to be broken. Whatever happened to him, he hoped that he was doing well. He heard he was doing better at Olympus, back when camp visited. A shame he couldn’t be there to catch up.
As David’s mind continued to muse, another uncomfortable part of him realized that the oath that caused him so much stress might not have been such a bad thing. He found friends, and a girlfriend on his journey. Even his body changed, his physique turning more into lean muscle as he grew to be well over six feet in height. Win or lose his little wager, one thing was for sure, David changed for the better at the end of it.
Well, it still wasn't hard confirmation, which was killing him. Self-improvement was great and all, but David really hoped his efforts were enough to not get eternal damnation. In the last week, David spent the last few days in a state of peace, more or less. Like when you finish a final exam. No matter what happened, David couldn't stop it now.
So, Was David a hero? Well, he did all he could to try. The rest was up to fate.
But, David was not the only one with their mind on the next day. To his surprise, both of his best friends, Cel and Jules worked on the beach to set up a bit of an early birthday party. They set up a good amount of streamers and balloons on the beach, David’ favorite music and set up lots of sweets, with David’s favorite food, al pastor. It was nice to know that, even if ths was his last day before damnation, he could enjoy himself.
Eventually, as the birthday party went on, David stood up to give a speech. He gave a somewhat awkward smile as the night went on, well aware of his time that may be coming to the end.
“So…almost eighteen years. If you told me when I came to camp that I'd make a dumb bet in front of my dad and risk my eternal damnation, I'd probably think you were crazy. And maybe run away. But yeah, uh. Word of advice: please don't do a Styx oath. It's not just a spicy way to say I swear. Trust me, the stress will kill you.”
He chuckled as he took a drink of water. Clearing his throat, he continued to talk.
“But, to my family, to my friends, to Ellie. Thank you all, for helping me. I'm so lucky to have all of you in my corner. I've done all I could to uphold my end of the oath.”
He took a shaky breath, giving a smile that he tried to be reassuring, but it came out as more nervous than anything else.
“To be honest a part of me feels that I could have done more. But, whatever happens, happens. I just wish I could have had more…ah. You know…this is getting really heavy and like, I'd rather not so uh. Ahem. Everyone, please. Enjoy yourself. There's cake still I think…”
As the night went on, the son of Ares opened presents. He wasn't sure how practical this was, if he was being honest considering there was a non zero chance he wouldn't be able to enjoy it. But, he appreciated the gesture so, he gratefully opened each one. A Mythomagic box set, some Yu-Gi-Oh cards, some celestial bronze weapons… as he opened and opened every gift, there was one more box he saw. It was the size of a shoe box, in bronze giftwrapping. It didn't have a tag, or any way to tell who it was from. Huh. Odd. David opened the gift, and in the box was a bronze survival lighter and two pieces of paper, one folded and one rolled up. David picked up the smaller paper and read it out loud which said:
“To [DAVID RUIZ], we have reviewed your Styx oath in full and have determined that the oath has been fulfilled. In this package is your contract, now null and void. As it is no longer eternally binding, we recommend for you to dispose of it, as to avoid identity theft. We here at Styx Legal Associates recommend the traditional method packaged in with it, but as it is no longer binding for all of the afterlife, feel free to shred, burn or dispose of it as you see fit. Sincerely, Styx Legal Associates."
David opened the other paper, and sure enough it was his exact words, written on the contract. Along with…huh. So the Underworld has his social. Honestly, should have seen that coming. Making sure Jules didn't catch a peek at that, he grabbed the lighter and held it under his contract.
The paper burnt slower than David thought, the fire slowly chewing the contract as it pitted and blackened. David didn't realize he was holding his breath, until halfway through he let his breath out.
Two years. He forced himself in this oath for two years, proving to himself and hopefully, his father that he could shape up. It was risky, but his mind recalled when his Conquistador ancestors arrived to the New World, how they burnt their ships. It was a declaration, no going back.
Well, they were bastards, but the gesture was a neat idea.
David's eyes fixed on the paper, as if it would magically grow back if he turned his face away. This was it. Decisive victory, over his father for thinking he was a waste of space. But most importantly, against himself. His cowardice, his weak will, his anxieties. He took the pressure of the oath and became much better for it. For all the sleepless nights, for all the broken bones and near-death experiences it caused. The strange thing was he wasn't sure that he'd take it back if given the chance.
He wouldn't have met Ellie, or any other of his closest friends if not for his binding oath. So, as strange as it was, he felt a bit bittersweet as he watched it go up, now only a quarter of the contract left. As horrible as it was, it was a chapter of his life that molded who he was. Without the oath, forcing him to push himself every day to his limits, to ensure his own survival he wasn't sure that he'd be the person he was today.
Yet, he was looking forward to this new part of his life as the flame ate away at the paper. He watched it start to engulf the last remnants of it, reaching up to his fingertips.
“Ah!”
He instinctively waved his hand, dropping the shreds of paper as it fell onto the ground below. It burnt the last remnants until nothing was left but smoking ashes that David quickly put out with his shoe.
Finally. David was free.
And so, the Son of Ares, brave hero, on the night before his eighteenth birthday, wept.
OOC:
And there we have it! The conclusion to one of my favorite story arcs I've ever done in RP. Thanks to all of you for following along, from start to end! When I made David, I was surprised that, what originally was a simple character concept quickly became one of my favorites. It was really fun to write a character go from a wimp to a true hero in every sense of the word. With that, the curtains close on a two year long story arc. If you wanna rp with David, or just have your character hang during the party, both are good! This is a celebration both IC and OOC!
That being said, I'm not completely finished with David, so stay tuned...
submitted by FFRBP777 to CampHalfBloodRP [link] [comments]
Was David a hero? To be honest, he wasn't sure.
All his sweat, all his tears, all the times he fought through the pain of broken bones, the times he fought back his anxiety. He refused for it to come to nothing. Even when he felt like he would end up like he’d fail. That he'd end up a cautionary tale for campers to refuse to do Styx Oaths, he still carried onwards.
His mood soured even more as he remembered Alkis. Hm…he wondered what was up with his friend/mentor. As his oath got closer and closer, he saw less and less of the son of Dionysus. A part of him wondered if he distanced himself, in case that he would end up having to deal with David if his oath were to be broken. Whatever happened to him, he hoped that he was doing well. He heard he was doing better at Olympus, back when camp visited. A shame he couldn’t be there to catch up.
As David’s mind continued to muse, another uncomfortable part of him realized that the oath that caused him so much stress might not have been such a bad thing. He found friends, and a girlfriend on his journey. Even his body changed, his physique turning more into lean muscle as he grew to be well over six feet in height. Win or lose his little wager, one thing was for sure, David changed for the better at the end of it.
Well, it still wasn't hard confirmation, which was killing him. Self-improvement was great and all, but David really hoped his efforts were enough to not get eternal damnation. In the last week, David spent the last few days in a state of peace, more or less. Like when you finish a final exam. No matter what happened, David couldn't stop it now.
So, Was David a hero? Well, he did all he could to try. The rest was up to fate.
Eventually, as the birthday party went on, David stood up to give a speech. He gave a somewhat awkward smile as the night went on, well aware of his time that may be coming to the end.
“So…almost eighteen years. If you told me when I came to camp that I'd make a dumb bet in front of my dad and risk my eternal damnation, I'd probably think you were crazy. And maybe run away. But yeah, uh. Word of advice: please don't do a Styx oath. It's not just a spicy way to say I swear. Trust me, the stress will kill you.”
He chuckled as he took a drink of water. Clearing his throat, he continued to talk.
“But, to my family, to my friends, to Ellie. Thank you all, for helping me. I'm so lucky to have all of you in my corner. I've done all I could to uphold my end of the oath.”
He took a shaky breath, giving a smile that he tried to be reassuring, but it came out as more nervous than anything else.
“To be honest a part of me feels that I could have done more. But, whatever happens, happens. I just wish I could have had more…ah. You know…this is getting really heavy and like, I'd rather not so uh. Ahem. Everyone, please. Enjoy yourself. There's cake still I think…”
“To [DAVID RUIZ], we have reviewed your Styx oath in full and have determined that the oath has been fulfilled. In this package is your contract, now null and void. As it is no longer eternally binding, we recommend for you to dispose of it, as to avoid identity theft. We here at Styx Legal Associates recommend the traditional method packaged in with it, but as it is no longer binding for all of the afterlife, feel free to shred, burn or dispose of it as you see fit. Sincerely, Styx Legal Associates."
David opened the other paper, and sure enough it was his exact words, written on the contract. Along with…huh. So the Underworld has his social. Honestly, should have seen that coming. Making sure Jules didn't catch a peek at that, he grabbed the lighter and held it under his contract.
The paper burnt slower than David thought, the fire slowly chewing the contract as it pitted and blackened. David didn't realize he was holding his breath, until halfway through he let his breath out.
Two years. He forced himself in this oath for two years, proving to himself and hopefully, his father that he could shape up. It was risky, but his mind recalled when his Conquistador ancestors arrived to the New World, how they burnt their ships. It was a declaration, no going back.
Well, they were bastards, but the gesture was a neat idea.
David's eyes fixed on the paper, as if it would magically grow back if he turned his face away. This was it. Decisive victory, over his father for thinking he was a waste of space. But most importantly, against himself. His cowardice, his weak will, his anxieties. He took the pressure of the oath and became much better for it. For all the sleepless nights, for all the broken bones and near-death experiences it caused. The strange thing was he wasn't sure that he'd take it back if given the chance.
He wouldn't have met Ellie, or any other of his closest friends if not for his binding oath. So, as strange as it was, he felt a bit bittersweet as he watched it go up, now only a quarter of the contract left. As horrible as it was, it was a chapter of his life that molded who he was. Without the oath, forcing him to push himself every day to his limits, to ensure his own survival he wasn't sure that he'd be the person he was today.
Yet, he was looking forward to this new part of his life as the flame ate away at the paper. He watched it start to engulf the last remnants of it, reaching up to his fingertips.
“Ah!”
He instinctively waved his hand, dropping the shreds of paper as it fell onto the ground below. It burnt the last remnants until nothing was left but smoking ashes that David quickly put out with his shoe.
Finally. David was free.
And so, the Son of Ares, brave hero, on the night before his eighteenth birthday, wept.
And there we have it! The conclusion to one of my favorite story arcs I've ever done in RP. Thanks to all of you for following along, from start to end! When I made David, I was surprised that, what originally was a simple character concept quickly became one of my favorites. It was really fun to write a character go from a wimp to a true hero in every sense of the word. With that, the curtains close on a two year long story arc. If you wanna rp with David, or just have your character hang during the party, both are good! This is a celebration both IC and OOC!
That being said, I'm not completely finished with David, so stay tuned...
2024.05.16 19:06 Spystudios Discussing Pastor Ty’s Death
 | submitted by Spystudios to SpyStudios [link] [comments] |
2024.05.16 18:58 TacoBellBody Is Patrick Mahomes an LGBTIQA+ Supporter?
I'm a gay guy from Missouri with little football knowledge. But I haven't heard a single player including Mahomes call out Butker for what he said.
Mahomes is the biggest athlete in Missouri if not the entire country and I can't find a single quote of his support for people who are LGBTIQA+ but there are a million quotes about his Christian faith. So I just spent a couple minutes googling him and here's a quote:
"My Christian plays a role in everything I do," Mahomes said. "I always ask God to lead me in the right direction."
“I understand that he’s given me a lot of blessings in my life, and I’m trying to maximize them and glorify him,” Mahomes said.
I can't find if he actually attends a church HOWEVER, I can see that he is associated with Nexus church in Kansas.
Here's a picture of Patrick and Pastor Purkey hanging out together in 2019: https://www.facebook.com/jon.purkey/posts/pfbid02tbphW5ah9ooTvNrhB62U36LeyMmquoBwsLMrkHxenA5VyJSxHsm8uz6LBLkQkFWel
Here's a picture of Patrick and Pastor Purkey Praying together in 2020 before the Miami Game: https://www.facebook.com/jon.purkey/posts/pfbid0fAW2iJLDag7A2KCrHUyG7wVjpu5xwij1ZLucsFQJLoNkmWXvWxseA5diRcKUoiynl
Here's Patrick promoting a Nexus church tailgate last year: https://www.facebook.com/reel/1010934136998459
Here's a Mahomes-themed shirt from the church: https://www.facebook.com/reel/637982217513711
Here's a video by Pastor Purkey reading from Leviticus about homosexuality: What does the Bible say about Homosexuality?! (youtube.com)
I can't verify it, but here's a facebook post with a picture of Hitler that was allegedly posted and removed back in 2020.: Reddit - https://preview.redd.it/nexus-church-stories-v0-5fa10aqa7fpb1.jpeg?width=363&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=df20b2b6fe288b3545dc267acc66c3374a8e11e0
Does anyone know why Patrick hasn't ever said anything supportive about the LGBTIQA+? He seems to be very close to Pastor Purkey.
submitted by TacoBellBody to missouri [link] [comments]
Mahomes is the biggest athlete in Missouri if not the entire country and I can't find a single quote of his support for people who are LGBTIQA+ but there are a million quotes about his Christian faith. So I just spent a couple minutes googling him and here's a quote:
"My Christian plays a role in everything I do," Mahomes said. "I always ask God to lead me in the right direction."
“I understand that he’s given me a lot of blessings in my life, and I’m trying to maximize them and glorify him,” Mahomes said.
I can't find if he actually attends a church HOWEVER, I can see that he is associated with Nexus church in Kansas.
Here's a picture of Patrick and Pastor Purkey hanging out together in 2019: https://www.facebook.com/jon.purkey/posts/pfbid02tbphW5ah9ooTvNrhB62U36LeyMmquoBwsLMrkHxenA5VyJSxHsm8uz6LBLkQkFWel
Here's a picture of Patrick and Pastor Purkey Praying together in 2020 before the Miami Game: https://www.facebook.com/jon.purkey/posts/pfbid0fAW2iJLDag7A2KCrHUyG7wVjpu5xwij1ZLucsFQJLoNkmWXvWxseA5diRcKUoiynl
Here's Patrick promoting a Nexus church tailgate last year: https://www.facebook.com/reel/1010934136998459
Here's a Mahomes-themed shirt from the church: https://www.facebook.com/reel/637982217513711
Here's a video by Pastor Purkey reading from Leviticus about homosexuality: What does the Bible say about Homosexuality?! (youtube.com)
I can't verify it, but here's a facebook post with a picture of Hitler that was allegedly posted and removed back in 2020.: Reddit - https://preview.redd.it/nexus-church-stories-v0-5fa10aqa7fpb1.jpeg?width=363&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=df20b2b6fe288b3545dc267acc66c3374a8e11e0
Does anyone know why Patrick hasn't ever said anything supportive about the LGBTIQA+? He seems to be very close to Pastor Purkey.
2024.05.16 18:58 Jendocide A true short tale about Witchcraft
For the first two years of highschool I went to a private christian academy and for the other two a public school, so I ended up with a very mixed friend group. One of my academy friends started dating this boy who was the son of one of the pastors. He liked to hang out with us, but he was uptight about certain things, like he thought that ouija boards actually summoned evil spirits and got genuinely angry when someone mentioned playing it. I’ve been an atheist since I was in middle school so I just found it funny that something so obviously fake freaked him out so much. On the other side, I had a friend who was into witchcraft, like, believed in casting spells and leaving “charms” under peoples lockers, and shit like that. Mostly though she was into weed and getting drunk.
At any rate, they managed to coexist without conflict for a while, I guess because they probably didn’t talk to each other much. One time while we were all hanging out at his house, smoking and listening to music, they blew up into a huge fight. I wasn’t in the room when it started so I don’t really know what it was about, but probably the obvious. I came in and they were full-on yelling, and he was telling her to leave. Before she was out the door she stopped on the threshold, turned around and recited some line she had obviously rehearsed, something like, “By lover’s lust and devil’s power, your gold will rust and milk will sour!” And obviously he freaked out and wouldn’t sit still even after she was gone. I kinda egged him on, like, “Ooh, she definitely hexed you, you better watch out.” My academy friend eventually got him to calm down (she was still religious but I don’t think she believed in evil spirits) and eventually things settled, and it seemed like he had gotten over it.
A couple weeks later though, she tells me that he is now convinced the curse is real. I’m like, really? but she’s kinda angry at me for telling him it was. So I ask her what he thinks is real about it. And she tells me the milk in his house keeps going bad. Like, actual medieval peasant mentality. Obviously I find this hilarious, but I’m trying to be amelioratory so I’m like, “Okay, let’s just go over there and see what’s going on. I doubt an evil spirit is haunting his house.”
So we go over to his house, and the first thing I do is open the fridge. And it’s barely cold.
She changed the fridge’s thermostat.
submitted by Jendocide to LibraryofBabel [link] [comments]
At any rate, they managed to coexist without conflict for a while, I guess because they probably didn’t talk to each other much. One time while we were all hanging out at his house, smoking and listening to music, they blew up into a huge fight. I wasn’t in the room when it started so I don’t really know what it was about, but probably the obvious. I came in and they were full-on yelling, and he was telling her to leave. Before she was out the door she stopped on the threshold, turned around and recited some line she had obviously rehearsed, something like, “By lover’s lust and devil’s power, your gold will rust and milk will sour!” And obviously he freaked out and wouldn’t sit still even after she was gone. I kinda egged him on, like, “Ooh, she definitely hexed you, you better watch out.” My academy friend eventually got him to calm down (she was still religious but I don’t think she believed in evil spirits) and eventually things settled, and it seemed like he had gotten over it.
A couple weeks later though, she tells me that he is now convinced the curse is real. I’m like, really? but she’s kinda angry at me for telling him it was. So I ask her what he thinks is real about it. And she tells me the milk in his house keeps going bad. Like, actual medieval peasant mentality. Obviously I find this hilarious, but I’m trying to be amelioratory so I’m like, “Okay, let’s just go over there and see what’s going on. I doubt an evil spirit is haunting his house.”
So we go over to his house, and the first thing I do is open the fridge. And it’s barely cold.
She changed the fridge’s thermostat.
2024.05.16 18:57 yung12gauge The Black Crystal - need ideas/guidance!
I'm DMing a D&D 5e Homebrew Campaign. I may have written myself into a corner and I'm unsure how to resolve the spot where I'm at in the game without breaking things for the party.
In summary: The bad guys of the campaign so far are called the Ironshapers; they're a group of human mercenaries that the illegitimate prince hired to extort the population and keep the city oppressed. The leader, Captain Blackthorn, has gone fully off the rails and has attuned a set of platemail to himself, becoming some awful mix of man and warforged, using his iron fist to personally hold rebels and naysayers accountable.
The party (four level 4's) was dungeon crawling through the sewers beneath the city. They found a hidden entrance into the city palace's catacombs, where they eradicated an evil necromantic wizard cult and found some scandalous information linking Captain Blackthorn and his armor to the cult. They discovered a letter from Blackthorn thanking them for helping them attune the armor to him by replacing his heart with a black crystal that binds his mortal flesh to the suit of armor.
The party also killed the cult boss, and in his robes, they found yet another black crystal. They tried to chuck it in the party's Warforged Barbarian, but nothing happened, because I figure it requires some kind of ritual, and maybe even a living body, to bind it to the armor and give any benefit.
At this point: The group is closing in on Captain Blackthorn and has whittled away his henchmen; an encounter is imminent. They are currently carrying the crystal and hoping to take it to a wizard or enchanter in the city's guild quarter who might be able to tell them more on what it is, and how to use it.
I'm looking for any ideas or info on how I can make this crystal a cool plot point. I'd like it to either be something the Warforged can eventually use to make himself stronger (but maybe at the cost of a curse?) or I'd like the crystal to be something they can use directly against Blackthorn in their confrontation.
Any and all advice is welcome. If you made it this far, thanks for reading my fanfic drivel.
submitted by yung12gauge to DnD5e [link] [comments]
In summary: The bad guys of the campaign so far are called the Ironshapers; they're a group of human mercenaries that the illegitimate prince hired to extort the population and keep the city oppressed. The leader, Captain Blackthorn, has gone fully off the rails and has attuned a set of platemail to himself, becoming some awful mix of man and warforged, using his iron fist to personally hold rebels and naysayers accountable.
The party (four level 4's) was dungeon crawling through the sewers beneath the city. They found a hidden entrance into the city palace's catacombs, where they eradicated an evil necromantic wizard cult and found some scandalous information linking Captain Blackthorn and his armor to the cult. They discovered a letter from Blackthorn thanking them for helping them attune the armor to him by replacing his heart with a black crystal that binds his mortal flesh to the suit of armor.
The party also killed the cult boss, and in his robes, they found yet another black crystal. They tried to chuck it in the party's Warforged Barbarian, but nothing happened, because I figure it requires some kind of ritual, and maybe even a living body, to bind it to the armor and give any benefit.
At this point: The group is closing in on Captain Blackthorn and has whittled away his henchmen; an encounter is imminent. They are currently carrying the crystal and hoping to take it to a wizard or enchanter in the city's guild quarter who might be able to tell them more on what it is, and how to use it.
I'm looking for any ideas or info on how I can make this crystal a cool plot point. I'd like it to either be something the Warforged can eventually use to make himself stronger (but maybe at the cost of a curse?) or I'd like the crystal to be something they can use directly against Blackthorn in their confrontation.
Any and all advice is welcome. If you made it this far, thanks for reading my fanfic drivel.
2024.05.16 18:22 Aggressive_Home_5776 Husband addicted to P*rn
I've known my husband for almost 5 years, he's my absolute best friend and I love him to pieces. I thought we had the perfect marriage because we hardly ever argue and he basically worships the ground I walk on. He's been open about his struggles watching porn as a pre-teen and teenager but he talked about in the past tense so i figured he was long over it. We've been married for a year and a half and it's been perfect from what I knew, our therapist even told us we had one of the healthiest marriages that she's counseled. We only go to therapy for preventative measures and we believe you should go even if you don't have any marital problems. He's never once even hinted that he could still be struggling with the addiction and I was upfront with him many times before we got married that I believe watching it while married is wrong and I find it to be cheating. He agreed so I thought it wouldn't be a problem in our marriage. Fast forward to now, he tells me his addiction from when he was a kid never went away and it has been the cause of his ED when we try to be intimate. He said he's been trying to muster up the courage to tell me for years but he's finally doing it now because we decided to try for a baby and it didn't end up working on his end. He said he's been convincing himself that the solution to his problem was to watch it in secret before intimacy to help him get h*rd. He was so remorseful and heartbroken and I stayed strong for him and told him I forgave him. I scheduled a therapy session for the both of us but l'm so heartbroken. The therapist isn’t Christian so she doesn’t really understand how I feel. I'm more upset that he hid it from me for so long than the fact he was struggling with the addiction I'm a very blunt and up front person and lying isn't something I physically can do because l'm a horrible liar and it makes me anxious so I don't bother doing it. I feel so alone because I feel like there's nobody I can talk to about this. I tell my friends and my mom everything and it's just eating me alive. I am not going to leave him, I promised I'd help him get through it. As long as he puts in effort to put an end to it l'm not going anywhere but I just feel so alone. I feel like I’m mourning the perfect marriage I once thought I had, its like I didn’t know him this whole time. He’s meeting with our pastor next week and I’m proud hes taking initiative and getting help, but it doesn’t erase the feeling of betrayal.
submitted by Aggressive_Home_5776 to Christianmarriage [link] [comments]
2024.05.16 18:13 HabitConnect513 What do I do to initiate sex under these circumstances?
First of all, I don’t want the advice of just “leave him,” that’s not an option, period. I’m 22 and initiating sex with my bf of 4 years is impossible. Our sex life is unsatisfying bc we only do it maybe once a week and sometimes go over 2 weeks. It’s great when we actually do it, but he never fucking wants to. I know he doesn’t have a low sex drive or low testosterone bc he jacks off almost every fucking morning. And no he hasn’t been “brainwashed” by the porn, he’s just not attracted to me. I am thin and he calls me pretty, he just doesn’t ever want to have sex with me. When we do have sex it’s in the middle of the night when he randomly wakes up horny and is half asleep. I look up advice for initiating and it just makes me anxious bc everyone acts like it’s soooo easy for a woman and for some reason I’m a failure and can’t do it. It makes me feel so unfeminine and hideous. Like I’m not even a woman. I can’t start touching/rubbing on him, or taking his clothes off bc he just pushes my hands away. I can’t just take my clothes off, he literally doesn’t respond to it and doesn’t care. I can’t try dirty talk bc he just laughs at me and tells me I’m being weird. Which yes I probably do it awkwardly since I’ve never done it before, but he just killed my confidence so I never tried again. I can’t look him up and down and compliment him or flirt with him bc he thinks compliments are awkward and doesn’t like them. Anytime I try to initiate he also always says “it’s not the right time.” He has said this afteduring his shower, before/after eating, before bed, and while he’s playing video games. Aside from working, that’s literally all of the activities of the day. I’ve tried multiple times wearing different types of lingerie with a robe over it and then removing the robe and smiling at him, but he says I “can’t just jump in, I have to do something to seduce him first.” Each time I’ve tried this he deeply sighs and says “I’m not in the mood.” I have also tried sending him nudes during the day and he just ignores them. What else am I supposed to fucking do??? He claims he wants me to be confident bc confidence is sexy but he has rejected me so many times I’m terrified to even try to initiate, but if I don’t, we go like 2 weeks without sex. How tf am I supposed to be confident here?? Any advice would be helpful. Even stories of how your wife/gf initiated in a way that was super hot would be appreciated.
submitted by HabitConnect513 to AskMenAdvice [link] [comments]
2024.05.16 17:58 Sikhdiviner Please don't post lies, block me and shut down comment responses. The only ones trying to clout is you off my name.
 | Orochisama i don’t even know who you are. Black Twitter? submitted by Sikhdiviner to Vodou [link] [comments] Who Says I’m involved in black Twitter? Most of the Conversations on Twitter revolve around rupaul drag Race, LGBTQ, Ballroom, current events or marvel comics. 😂🤣 I don’t get in fights with spiritualists about bullshit on Twitter i only respond to what is said about me. I have 25K followers on twitter. I'm not a 140 character drama type of person. I usually have more to say. I never said You were white because i don’t know who you are. Remember i have a picture and you do not, you have me blocked. A Verified Check is something most people have especially if they have been published for anything or they paid for it. Again, been there done that before ATRs was ever involved in my life. I have problems with black women? Literally a black women showed me this blocked post. 75% of my audience is black women on tiktok and most of my clients since i only read or do spiritual work for yt people, i don’t initiate or mentor them in ATRs, too many problems over the years and Everyone knows my policies and boundaries. It is ok to have boundaries. Just like it is ok to have your own opinion about lgbtq community and you do not have to agree with the current controversial topic. It's the bullshit y'all that you make up. I don't care about you being pansexual or poly. Hello I'm in my 40s, do you google? How many videos do i have on youtube since 2016 talking respect and inclusion in ATRs in Sputh asian Communities (something I'm know for internationally in usa, Canada, uk and Trinidad still hence the art exhibit i was asked to be apart of last month). Who outed himself to the Palo community because people did not know? Do you know why? I walked away from a certain bar too early and my ex (a Puerto Rican since you think only they are taino) was shot. Yes I'm talking about pulse. I recently talked about my experience with beau DeMayo on twitter because the xmen97 episode triggered me. Again this is all public conversations. Do you know what the ballroom scene is? Especially in Philly and DC?? It's funny how i have icon femme queens that ask me to contribute on podcasts and discussion groups while I'm involved in the kiki scene in Brazil. I have been on several live shows with just trans people inside and outside ATRS. Again this can be found. Or how many clients I've had on lgbt reality shows? If i needed to talk about clout then i would do that, but i don't? They know me, i don't talk about them because i don't use my client’s info to get likes and views. They respect the fact i keep their privacy. I have never taken a hoodoo class. Where did you get that lie from? Where is the receipt for that? Please show. I talk about herbs all the time for free with every consultations. I don’t even use books for spell work. I post it online and it's copied, you think i got that from a book? Do you know How to go into any yard or Woods and identify plants herbs and roots? Do you know which is poisonous and what is not? Do you know what can you use So Jamaicans and haitians don’t have tainos? Just Asking Go ask around Philadelphia to Virginia who the younger family is. It's a unique enough surname with only three family trees splits all over the country. You might find a few black baptist churches still functioning. My paternal grandfather was a pastor too. I didn't even hear the word hoodoo growing up, i heard root? I heard juju or conjure. My family did not even venerate catholic saints despite immigrating through new Orleans. You are upset i have a patron? that my followers and clients asked for because they want to learn. I have Dropbox of over 1000 books and journal articles on various traditions? The price is $5 for unlimited access. It's 1 terabyte. I pay $20/ month for my Dropbox hosting. You think it should be free? All the documents i collected since 2009 in English, Spanish, French, Portuguese, kreyol and Arabic? It should be free? No one offers their Dropbox for free unless it's uncurated mess of misinformation about ATRs. It has nothing to do with you being queer or lgbt, you just want to use my energy and resources for free and for me to shut up about it. That's entitlement for just existing? I'm sorry i grew up in the 80s and 90s i had to study and literally advocate for myself for everything just to go to a white school and to get into college because my white teachers told me “you are black and don't need to go to college”. I didn't grow up with random people just giving me things because i had a fit or i added a new identity label. Sorry I'm old i guess I'm exhausted and I'm not impressed by laziness or mediocrity. If someone doesn't know what they are doing, i am not going to say they are a prize or a resource. I am not good at lying, my face always tells. So i do not waste time doing it. I don't make up things when people can easily find it. It amazes me how you get on Reddit and write 3 pages trying to tell me who i am and you don't even know who you are yet. And whose has threats? I make observations and promises. Nature runs on energetic reciprocity, and auto determination. Every life form has a survival instinct down to the cellular level. If someone decides to throw work at me, i throw it back and i don't care what happens or how long it happens because it is self defense. Whatever my spirits from the “supermarket sweep” decide needs to be done to you or your family that distracts you enough to leave me alone. Some people are not here anymore and the community may miss them but i do not. And i do not have to. There are spiritualists who have been throwing work at me since 2015, some 2012. Some i have never met in person, never touched them. I got tired of cleansing with herbs and animals and ignoring them, because they came up again and again in every divination, every ceremony, in every country. And even when i almost died years ago, i still turned the other cheek, i only talked shit and i didn't do anything more. But after people attacked my mom, guess what? i have no pity anymore for anyone in the spiritual community because my mom was the one that helped anyone, she was the one that was helping migrant workers, protesting for rights since college, she was the nurse that made me take care of my parapalegic aunt and grandmother since i was 8 years old, she was the one that taught me to be a good person no matter what people say about you. She was the one that took care of other people's children when they got sick, she took people to chemotherapy and a breast cancer advocate in her 60s! She did all that and what she received was abandonment when she could no longer help other people. They stole all her money, told her she had no more use and let her die by herself and would have if i did not move to help. And then motherfuckers have the audacity to post my mother’s photo and post about her struggles, her pain, and even said she killed herself which was not true! I saw what being nice to your enemies gets you. I don't have time for it. And i have no remorse for anything that happens to anybody after they physically or spiritually attack me. You are supposed to be spiritual, you are supposed to be better, do better, be able to make better decisions but if you do not, the blame is on you and not me. A snake does not threaten, it warns about consequences and possibilities, that's it. That's nature. The community exposes criminals and lifts them back up again. So i have no faith in their grandiose gestures because they have done it over and over and nothing happened. It's weak shit You don't like me Because of my opinion that's fine. I have no problem with an opinion, only the lies, and trying to artificially put a one sided narrative is the issue. |
2024.05.16 17:42 MyClericalGnomance Beginners guide to honour mode & unlocking the golden dice.
Introduction
The main purpose of this guide will be to help unlock the golden dice for those of you who feel less confident about tackling honour mode. This is designed to be a path of least resistance, so we won’t be experiencing everything this game has to offer. It’s also worth noting that instead of focusing on min-maxing for damage; we prioritise safe & consistent damage. We don’t need to be respeccing characters often, if at all, and we won’t be relying on strength elixirs. My girlfriend (u/-babyjanehudson) and I put this together as we’ve beaten honour mode a 5 times now without any failed attempts, we were even in the first 800 people to beat it which is kinda cool! Here’s how we did it. First starting with our builds, then a little general advice and finally just a list of some general Do’s & Don’ts. Apologies for the wall of text.
Builds:
Bardlock (party face) - Great old one Warlock 2, college of lore bard 10 - Cha16>Dex16>Con14>Wis12- Key items are the spell sparkler until Markoheshkir, potent robe, quickspell gloves, necklace of elemental augmentation & the warped headband of intellect (great for general party face checks in acts 1+2) at least until you get the birthright at sorcerers sundries in act 3. Once I reach act 3 and have persuaded half of the shadow cursed lands into dying, I personally choose to respec into Sorlock: 2 goolock, 2 fighter, 8 draconic sorcerer. It’s not necessary but I find it gives the edge in combat while in act 3, as there are less dialogue checks available that bard can abuse. Being a sorlock means every morning in camp I can convert ALL level 1+2 spell slots into extra sorcery slots meaning my bonus action is now always being used for eldritch blast thanks to quickened spell meta magic plus we have action surge :) Skill priority for this character is Persuasuion > Intimidation > Deception > Performance > Perception > Investigation. Credit to u/kethrynweryn for this build, it’s easily my fav in the game.
Life cleric 12 - Wis16>Con16>Dex14>Str
(light cleric does more damage so is technically better for experienced players but a life cleric is there to save your run in case of an emergency, something pretty invaluable to beginners in HM as we can’t assume we are winning every fight in the first 2 turns like we ideally aim to)
- key items are reapers embrace, sentinel shield, hell riders pride, the whispering promise & blood of lathander. Other items of note would be luminous armor & the radiant/illumation rings. Most fights will simply involve casting spirit guardians at its highest level and running through crowds of enemies like you’re mowing a lawn, picking up the war caster feat is brilliant for helping you keep concentration when taking attacks of opportunity but i know as a feat it’s a little divisive, just my personal preference. This setup trivialises all combat encounters in act 2. Just remember to check enemies for radiant retort, they’re few and far between but can fuck things up if you forget.
Swords Bard Archer (Lockpicker) - 6 Swords Bard, 4 Rogue Thief, 2 Fighter - Dex17>Cha14>Con14>Wis12>Str
- Key items are hag hair (+1dex), titan string, risky ring, hill giant club, helm of arcane acuity & band of the mystic scoundrel. With this setup every time you attack, you can hold person, fear, vicious mockery or invisibility as a bonus action :) Just make sure to use your slashing flourish as much as possible to maximise damage. Don’t forget to get to the high ground whenever possible to increase your damage.
Barbarian - Wild heart Bear Barb 8, Battle Master Fighter 4 - Str16>Con16>Dex14>Wis12
- Key items are more flexible here as this build is less dependant on gear. I recommend grabbing the Everburn blade if you can, it really helps during the slog of act 1 (to get it easily, when you first find Shadowheart on the nautiloid immediately swap any one of the spells in her book for Command, then use command drop on Zhalk and steal his sword. I do not recommend trying to fight him for it). Most the time you’ll just wear the usual barb stuff, bracers of defence & a 2H weapon of your choice. If you’re willing to brave Raphael & Ansur this build becomes a powerhouse with the gauntlets of hill giant strength, amulet of health & Baldurans giantslayer. These items are incredible but are also locked behind fights which pose the highest risk to your run, prepare carefully and if you don't feel confident enough then don’t be ashamed to just skip them. Anyway we take wild heart bear because being resistant to everything but psychic damage is really underrated. You can use this character to abuse the poor souls that your swords bard has been using hold person on for easy crits. Make sure to always use reckless attack. Initially it sounds bizarre but stick with me, you want enemies to have advantage against your barb. Attacking recklessly while keeping your AC capped around 17~19 means the computer always prioritises attacking your barb’ over the rest of your party. This is great as we will be taking half damage from every source other than psychic. Not to mention if you’re always using reckless attack, the feat Great Weapon Master no longer has a downside, so it becomes a reliable +10 to damage.
Final note for builds:
As you’ve probably noticed, yes almost everybody in the party takes a dip in fighter for access to action surge & shield proficiency. I learned this habit from Colby like everything else I know. He’s the Bob Ross of DnD builds and well worth your time.
General Advice
The most important factor in honour mode is “meta knowledge”, This means things like: knowing how to enter each combat effectively, making sure everyone is in a good position before starting, knowing exactly which enemies/spells you’ll face during that fight and ensuring you always take the enemy by surprise to gain a free turn. Being properly prepared is better than any build. As for difficulty, Act 1 is always going to be your biggest challenge so use plenty of rests and pick your fights carefully. For this guide I also recommend using your bard to persuade the act 2 bosses into committing suicide.Do’s:
- Always have a these spells prepared: longstrider, aid, enhance ability, bless, misty step, heroes feast, counterspell, shield & guidance.
- Buy the ring of bless from Volo the moment you meet him at the grove.
- Steal Laezel’s armor at the start if you’re not using her, it’s great medium armor in the first few hours.
- Let Volo take your eye for a permanent see invisibility buff.
- Barbarian should always use reckless attack
- Buy & craft every potion of speed you can get your grubby mitts on. With the slight nerfs to Haste in HM potions of speed are a safer alternative.
- Take the Hag hair +1dex for swords bard and most the time just let Ethel have Mayrina, its fiddly to control who Ethel will offer the deal to so just go in being prepared to sacrifice Mayrina.
- Talk to crusher outside the goblin camp and persuade him to kiss your feet. He'll run off embaressed, follow him to the bridge away from all the other goblins. Now you can safely and easily kill him to loot his ring which increases movement speed.
- Use your party face to poison the goblin camp in act 1, killing over half of them outside before even entering combat and then the party face can simply deny everything.
- Look up the wiki page for every boss and check their legendary resistances/actions BEFORE starting the encounter. Ethel, inquisitor w’wargaz, cazador, steel watch titan & Nether brain specifically can do some seriously nasty stuff that’s exclusive to HM & can easily catch you off guard.
- Kill Balthazar in his room/lab where you first meet him. To make the fight even easier you can take flesh into the self same trial using the bell so you don’t have to fight him alongside Balthazar. Either way it’s a much easier than the fighting in the shadowfell.
- Take alert if someone has a spare feat available, otherwise increasing your main ability score is usually the best bet.
- Cast sanctuary on Isobel during the raid on the last light in, a lot easier than chasing after her trying to heal & blade ward her. Alternatively ignore her altogether, go straight to ambush against the drider, grab the lantern and release dolly dolly dolly, allowing you to skip the Isobel & Marcus’s fight altogether.
- Keep characters ability scores in even values when possible, odd values do not change anything (with a slight exception to constitution as odd values still give a little extra hp).
- Try to keep all characters at 12 Wis or higher to avoid being feared, charmed or hold person’d.
- Cast darkness over Halsins portal to prevent enemies attacking it.
- Take Gortash's deal to skip his fight & the steel foundry.
- Use minor illusion to group enemies together & pull them out of position before initiating combat. You can also use this method to fix broken NPC’s when they’re not standing where they’re meant to. Looking at you Alfira & Lakrissa.
- If you’re open to a little cheesing you can leave some ranged/throwing party members on the steps before the Grym boss fight. Now just rain hell down on the boss from safety.
- Globe of invulnerability is exactly as broken as it sounds. These scrolls restock daily at sorcerers sundries & trivialise every boss encounter in act 3. Ansur specifically has no way of countering this.
- Illithid powers. These wriggly little cuties are some of the strongest buffs/abilities available. I recommend having every possible party member take atleast: favourable beginnings, luck of the far realms, ability drain & cull the weak. If you opt to go half illithid then you get access to some outrageous kit such as: fly, psionic dominance, illithid expertise & blackhole.
- Summon any minions before casting Aid, Heroes feast, Longstrider & other morning buffs.
- Use your potions, elixirs & scrolls as much as possible. They’re literally everywhere & with good reason. A well timed potion of invisibility or scroll of misty step can save a run.
- Most people know this already but don’t forget you can throw healing potions at allies in a pinch.
- Before descending the stairs to Cazador’s fight have a party member go invisible. They can run over and free Astarion before rolling initiative. This method can also be used to free Volo, Mayrina, Aylin or set up smokepowder barrels for a one turn kill.
- Use darkness to cover any pickpocketing and then flee the area before the NPC notices they've been got.
- Only trade with vendors using your highest persuasion character.
- Give your frequently visited vendors a few hundred gold to max out their attitude. this way you have the best prices for both buying and selling.
- Remember you can skip the final fight altogether using the dialogue option (important distinction) to blow Gale up at the brain stem in act 3.
Don’ts:
- Don’t awaken at the Zaithisk unless you’re certain you can make the checks, there is a great guide on respeccing for this exact moment credit to u/kodiak3393.
- Don't use friends, guidance or any other spell when bargaining with Ethel for Mayrina & the hag hair. It will trigger Ethel's legendary action and prevent you from getting the hag hair.
- Don’t free Orpheus unless you're prepared to also fight the Emperor in the final fight.
- Don’t play as durge for the first time. Worth noting the cloak exclusive to durge is easily the best in the game but being durge throws the player some unexpected curveballs that can end a run if you're not prepared.
- Don’t keep sharpshooter toggled on permanenlty unless you’ve got risky ring or oil of accuracy.
- Don’t try & save the gondians, don’t go to the iron throne, do not pass go, do not collect £200
- Don’t underestimate Flind the and other Gnolls who are attacking Rugan in act 1, you ideally want to be level 4 before this fight. Ensure to start the encounter from insidde the cave where Rugan is trapped, it can be accessed from the area near the fake paladins of tyr & Karlach.
- Don’t use the cantrip Friends unless you plan on immediately leaving the area or killing the target.
- Don’t convince Ketheric to commit suicide at the mindlfayer colony. Instead use the first phase of the fight to get into position & takeout the Mindflayer asasp then get to work on the apostles. Makes phase 2 infinitely easier.
- Don’t talk to Wulbren or the Tieflings in the Moonrise prison until you’ve killed the warden and all the guards. These guards are utterly brain dead and somehow will never inform anyone upstairs of your massacre, regardless of how stealthily or raucously you tackle them. So just go hog wild. This’ll secure your potent robe with ease.
[Updated & reformatted version of the guide I wrote and posted a few months ago on bg3builds with my old account u/JoseMongo]
2024.05.16 17:20 Network-Leaver What is the Network and Network Leadership Team (NLT)?
Recent discussions here referred to the fact that some local Network pastors were downplaying the role of the Network, Steve Morgan, and Network Leadership Team. It would be a good idea to revisit this topic to know more about these Network leaders and their roles.
Overview of the Network
The Network by-laws provide some documentation for the Network Leadership Team (NLT) and their role. The by-laws refer to the NLT as a corporation known as the “Network”. This is interesting on two fronts. There is no evidence that the Network actually exists as an official corporation filed with a state agency and the federal Internal Revenue Service. It is believed that Network related funds and payroll are run through Joshua Church’s accounts and 501(c)(3) non profit status. According to page 10, the Network budget is overseen by the NLT and may be delegated to a local church and board.
They use the term “Network” to refer to themselves. This was their choice of words leading to the broad use of the term in public.
The first eight pages of the Network by-laws are devoted to outlining the beliefs and values of the Network culminating in the Apostles and Nicene creeds. These beliefs mirror many evangelical churches.
Purpose and Role of the Network Leadership Team
According to the by-laws, the Network Leadership Team leads the group of churches (p. 10). Local Network churches willingly affiliate with the Network as affirmed by each local board of overseers, allow the NLT to provide support and agree to their coaching, and agree to send 5% of the local tithes to the Network. But local church boards and pastors are not entitled to vote on Network decisions.
According to the by-laws, the Network exists to provide local churches with the following services:
Network Leadership Team Members
The Network Leader, also known as the Network President, is Steve Morgan. According to the by-laws, he appoints members of the NLT who are then ratified by the other members. The Network President can only be removed by the NLT. If the NLT is not unanimous in voting for his removal, a majority vote of the local church pastors can remove him.
In 2019, the NLT consisted of Steve Morgan, Sándor Paull, Tony Ranvestal, Luke Williams, Justin Major, and Aaron Kuhnert. But according to a recorded team meeting by Sándor Paull in 2022, Justin and Aaron are no longer members and James Chidester was added. No reasons for these changes were given. Below is information about the current NLT members.
Steve Morgan - Network President. Much has been written about Network President Steve Morgan including a page devoted to Who is Steve Morgan. Given his role on the NLT and part of his salary being sourced from Network funds, there may be a conflict of interest.
Sándor Paull - Network Vice President. He met Steve Morgan at the Student Rec Center at SIUC when Sándor was an undergraduate student and Steve was an instructor. Steve asked Sándor to join the fledgling Vineyard Community Church early on after starting the church in 1995. Sándor is currently Network Vice President and Lead Pastor at Christland Church. As the Network Vice President, he is second in command behind Steve Morgan. Church plants sent by Sándor include High Rock, Cedar Heights, Valley Springs, North Pines, Rock Hills, Rock River, and Isaiah. There’s been plenty written about Sándor but this article in the Texas A&M newspaper gives an apt description of his practices. He likely serves as regional overseer for churches in the midwest regions.
Tony Ranvestal - He met Steve Morgan at Vineyard Community Church while a graduate student at SIUC. Tony was James Chidester’s small group leader at Vine Church in the early 2000s. After graduating, Tony went to the Champaign Vineyard Church and served as a pastor intern there under Vineyard Regional DirectoLead Pastor Happy Leman. He planted River Vineyard Church in West Lafayette, IN, eventually pulling his church out of the Vineyard to join Steve Morgan’s fledgling network. River Vineyard was renamed Clear River Church. Church plants sent from Tony and Clear River include Vida Springs, Oaks, South Grove and Ascent. Tony is currently Lead Pastor at Vida Springs Church. Tony is the second most senior leader behind Sandor. He likely serves as regional overseer for churches in the south and east regions.
Luke Williams - He met Steve Morgan at Bluesky Church when he was a freshman at the University of Washington. Luke came on staff at Bluesky as a maintenance worker while an undergraduate and then was hired as a staff pastor after graduating. He is currently Lead Pastor at Vista Church in San Luis Obispo, CA. Luke has not sent any church plants. He likely serves as regional overseer for the churches on the west coast.
James Chidester - James is the least known of the NLT members, is not public facing like the pastors, and deserves a bit of background information. James met Steve Morgan at Vine Church while an undergraduate student at Southern Illinois University Carbondale. Upon graduating and at the age of 22, James was made an Overseer at Bluesky Church in 2004 by Steve. James was Luke William’s small group leader at Bluesky. In 2017 he joined Steve Morgan in planting Joshua Church in Austin, TX. He was at one time, and still may be an Overseer at Joshua. He completed a Ph.D. in clinical psychology from Seattle Pacific University. He is a licensed clinical psychologist in Washington state (WA License # PY60361570) and Texas (#37511), James currently serves as a counselor to the Network pastors and their wives. His salary and full benefits comes from the Network funds each church sends but his payroll and taxes are run out of Joshua Church so he’s technically an employee of Joshua. He also runs a private counseling service in both Texas and Washington state at three websites: http://www.providence-counseling.com/index.html, https://www.austinsportpsyc.com/, http://www.seattlesportspsychology.com/About-Dr--Chidester.html. James attends all pastor retreats and when he is gone for those meetings, the Network reimburses him for lost appointments from his private counseling business. Pastors and wives are also sent to James in Austin for counseling and he may now conduct sessions virtually. Given his role on the NLT and his salary being sourced from Network funds, there may be a conflict of interest.
These five NLT men provide leadership, oversight, and direction for all Network churches. They play an integral role in the Network as all beliefs and practices flow from this group. Any statement to the contrary is counter to both the by-laws and historical practices.
submitted by Network-Leaver to leavingthenetwork [link] [comments]
Overview of the Network
The Network by-laws provide some documentation for the Network Leadership Team (NLT) and their role. The by-laws refer to the NLT as a corporation known as the “Network”. This is interesting on two fronts. There is no evidence that the Network actually exists as an official corporation filed with a state agency and the federal Internal Revenue Service. It is believed that Network related funds and payroll are run through Joshua Church’s accounts and 501(c)(3) non profit status. According to page 10, the Network budget is overseen by the NLT and may be delegated to a local church and board.
They use the term “Network” to refer to themselves. This was their choice of words leading to the broad use of the term in public.
The first eight pages of the Network by-laws are devoted to outlining the beliefs and values of the Network culminating in the Apostles and Nicene creeds. These beliefs mirror many evangelical churches.
Purpose and Role of the Network Leadership Team
According to the by-laws, the Network Leadership Team leads the group of churches (p. 10). Local Network churches willingly affiliate with the Network as affirmed by each local board of overseers, allow the NLT to provide support and agree to their coaching, and agree to send 5% of the local tithes to the Network. But local church boards and pastors are not entitled to vote on Network decisions.
According to the by-laws, the Network exists to provide local churches with the following services:
- Coaching
- Training
- Relationship
- Support
- Accountability
- Assistance with planting new churches
Network Leadership Team Members
The Network Leader, also known as the Network President, is Steve Morgan. According to the by-laws, he appoints members of the NLT who are then ratified by the other members. The Network President can only be removed by the NLT. If the NLT is not unanimous in voting for his removal, a majority vote of the local church pastors can remove him.
In 2019, the NLT consisted of Steve Morgan, Sándor Paull, Tony Ranvestal, Luke Williams, Justin Major, and Aaron Kuhnert. But according to a recorded team meeting by Sándor Paull in 2022, Justin and Aaron are no longer members and James Chidester was added. No reasons for these changes were given. Below is information about the current NLT members.
Steve Morgan - Network President. Much has been written about Network President Steve Morgan including a page devoted to Who is Steve Morgan. Given his role on the NLT and part of his salary being sourced from Network funds, there may be a conflict of interest.
Sándor Paull - Network Vice President. He met Steve Morgan at the Student Rec Center at SIUC when Sándor was an undergraduate student and Steve was an instructor. Steve asked Sándor to join the fledgling Vineyard Community Church early on after starting the church in 1995. Sándor is currently Network Vice President and Lead Pastor at Christland Church. As the Network Vice President, he is second in command behind Steve Morgan. Church plants sent by Sándor include High Rock, Cedar Heights, Valley Springs, North Pines, Rock Hills, Rock River, and Isaiah. There’s been plenty written about Sándor but this article in the Texas A&M newspaper gives an apt description of his practices. He likely serves as regional overseer for churches in the midwest regions.
Tony Ranvestal - He met Steve Morgan at Vineyard Community Church while a graduate student at SIUC. Tony was James Chidester’s small group leader at Vine Church in the early 2000s. After graduating, Tony went to the Champaign Vineyard Church and served as a pastor intern there under Vineyard Regional DirectoLead Pastor Happy Leman. He planted River Vineyard Church in West Lafayette, IN, eventually pulling his church out of the Vineyard to join Steve Morgan’s fledgling network. River Vineyard was renamed Clear River Church. Church plants sent from Tony and Clear River include Vida Springs, Oaks, South Grove and Ascent. Tony is currently Lead Pastor at Vida Springs Church. Tony is the second most senior leader behind Sandor. He likely serves as regional overseer for churches in the south and east regions.
Luke Williams - He met Steve Morgan at Bluesky Church when he was a freshman at the University of Washington. Luke came on staff at Bluesky as a maintenance worker while an undergraduate and then was hired as a staff pastor after graduating. He is currently Lead Pastor at Vista Church in San Luis Obispo, CA. Luke has not sent any church plants. He likely serves as regional overseer for the churches on the west coast.
James Chidester - James is the least known of the NLT members, is not public facing like the pastors, and deserves a bit of background information. James met Steve Morgan at Vine Church while an undergraduate student at Southern Illinois University Carbondale. Upon graduating and at the age of 22, James was made an Overseer at Bluesky Church in 2004 by Steve. James was Luke William’s small group leader at Bluesky. In 2017 he joined Steve Morgan in planting Joshua Church in Austin, TX. He was at one time, and still may be an Overseer at Joshua. He completed a Ph.D. in clinical psychology from Seattle Pacific University. He is a licensed clinical psychologist in Washington state (WA License # PY60361570) and Texas (#37511), James currently serves as a counselor to the Network pastors and their wives. His salary and full benefits comes from the Network funds each church sends but his payroll and taxes are run out of Joshua Church so he’s technically an employee of Joshua. He also runs a private counseling service in both Texas and Washington state at three websites: http://www.providence-counseling.com/index.html, https://www.austinsportpsyc.com/, http://www.seattlesportspsychology.com/About-Dr--Chidester.html. James attends all pastor retreats and when he is gone for those meetings, the Network reimburses him for lost appointments from his private counseling business. Pastors and wives are also sent to James in Austin for counseling and he may now conduct sessions virtually. Given his role on the NLT and his salary being sourced from Network funds, there may be a conflict of interest.
These five NLT men provide leadership, oversight, and direction for all Network churches. They play an integral role in the Network as all beliefs and practices flow from this group. Any statement to the contrary is counter to both the by-laws and historical practices.
2024.05.16 17:15 theblueowlisdead I’m more surprised that people are shocked at what this kicker said.
I mean yeah I now don’t agree with pretty much everything he said but when I was growing up in the church, this is what everyone believed. My then girlfriend went to a Lutheran College with a pre-sem course and the vast majority of women’s great ambition was to either be a teacher at a Lutheran school, a pastors wife or both. These people have been saying and teaching their daughters for generations that a women’s place is in the home and now people are acting surprised. What he said was disgusting but what no one is mentioning is that he got a standing ovation. We need to stop acting surprised that these people think this way. At some point we need to realize that these people are lost to us and fight tooth and nail to make sure they can’t control policy anymore because if they ever do get a strangle hold again…hands maid tale might be the best outcome.
submitted by theblueowlisdead to exchristian [link] [comments]
2024.05.16 17:10 AtlantiumAI SUPERLIGHT Episode 8
 | SUPERLIGHT Episode 8 submitted by AtlantiumAI to u/AtlantiumAI [link] [comments] By Roc Hatfield https://preview.redd.it/a7zv50601t0d1.png?width=1456&format=png&auto=webp&s=debf7ea73c5d775284f69dcc0a8412783256fd1e Excelsior Andriel and his staff move to the debark site on the blade where they will walk in space over to the Elo Eloahim. Ambassador Lucentel is awaiting the arrival of the group from the blade. He is speaking with the commander of his vessel as they look outside at the blade sitting 100 yards away. Commander, what do you make of this vessel, the blade? Ambassador, I am aware of this design. It is manifest and therefore has many exotic accoutrements and capabilities. It has a trans-time drive system and many highly accurate weapons. The commander pauses. Does it pose a threat to the Elo Eloahim, commander? Lucent Tell asks. As long as we are in the Aetherium domain, it poses no threat. If it were to transpose into the Matterverse, it would be potentially lethal to us. The commander and Lucentel can see Excelsior Andriel and a group of Aetherians walking in space toward the Elo Eloahim. Senator, I have Jason Anderson on the phone. Line one. You want to take it? Asked his assistant. Yes, thank you, Barks the senator. Jason, have you lost your fucking mind? Why are you talking to reporters? Well, if you must know, I am concerned about the effects of the Superlight device, and I think people should be aware. Besides, Hilliard fired me, so I have no allegiance, Jason adds. Whoa, whoa, whoa. A bunch of babies. You people are so dramatic. Where the fuck is Hilliard? We have looked everywhere, and not a sign of him or his team, the senator says. I don't know senator, but I did get a call from him this morning early. Where was the call from? Did you look? Asks Senator Abramson. Yes, I looked, and it was listed as caller unknown. He has gone into hiding and is using a burner or a call blocker. Get me that phone, Jason. I can get someone at NSA to trace it back. Maybe we can get a lead. Okay, senator, I can send it down express. It will be there tomorrow. You know, Jason, if you want that device in good hands, we have to find Hilliard. The senator huffs. I understand, Senator, Jason says. Send me that phone, and I will talk to you in a couple of days. The senator hangs up. Airman Johnson has collected Brad, Nancy, and Walter, escorting them to the mess hall. As they enter, they see Captain Carpenter and two men at a table. They stand and greet. Barbara introduces everyone. Brad, Nancy, Walter, I would like you to meet Steve Ruddin and Oscar Tillman. These guys are contractors to the Space Force Deep Black Division, the same guys that developed the TR-3 Black Manta you all flew on. They work on the infamous 17th floor, the bottom floor, and safest floor in the base. An intruder would have to navigate down through 16 floors through tight security to reach this floor and its secret projects. These guys are going to help you set up your device. I have approved this as a Halo-class project, which means no spending caps. So, whatever you need, just ask, and it will be provided to you. If the New Empire is interested in this thing, then we all are interested in it. Nancy, Walter, I know you may need some briefing to get you fully up to speed. Maybe Brad can fill you in later. After lunch, I am going to have Steve and Oscar give you the 10-cent tour. Well, some of the toys they have down there cost a significant portion of the U.S. budget, off-record budget, Barbara says. We have been talking with these greys for years. The Air Force prior to us. We never see the tall greys, always the little ones. That tells you something right there. Your little black box has them freaking out, so we need to know why, and how to leverage from it. My job here is to oversee development of space technologies. The greys are so far technologically ahead of us. It would take thousands of years for us to discover half of that stuff. We have asked them to help us for years, and they have given us an old depleted ship, and some elements that are not found on Earth, but that's about it. Even their old scout ships are impossible to reverse-engineer. We have been able to take a few components and use them. Back in the 50s, many of the big tech breakthroughs were reversed grey tech. They seem to be a race of thinkers and scientists. They use some kind of black magic. I just call it that. They call it manifest. They are able to tell the quantum to build a spaceship, and the thing just 3D prints itself into existence. That's why their tech is so hard to back-engineer. There are no signs of any manufacturing, it’s like a living metallic body, no seams, rivets, nothing. Just a wholly formed organic ship. Which brings me to the whole point of this meeting. If the superlight is an economic or ideological threat to the greys and their kind, we have a currency to trade in. I am certain they could build one in a minute, that's not the issue. They don't want us to have it. It is an existential threat to their economy and how they profit from us as a species. I have been thinking, since we were on that ship with the big grey Andriel, that the human race, and most likely many others, are creations, avatars, if you will made by the beings you are seeing with the superlight. It's all mind-melting information, but we need to learn more about these things, and how they affect our planet, and what threats they pose. You now have all the resources you need at your disposal. So, let's get some answers in fast. Our very survival could depend on it. Captain Carpenter concludes. The news of the superlight has been seen around the world. The news media have been featuring non-stop coverage of the story. Reporters have probed the White House, the Russians, the Chinese, the Vatican, just about every world leader for comment and analysis. U.S. President Andrew Walton Grant has fielded calls all day from far-flung world leaders. His chief of staff Ben Chambers is hovering nearby. The president is on a video call with Russian President Nikolai Brezhnev. President Grant, I am very concerned that the U.S. has such a powerful weapon. I have conferred with the Council on International Emergency Affairs, and they are quite concerned with the idea of this powerful device being in the hands of one country. Therefore, we demand in all manner possible that the United States bring this device to the Council, that we might understand this dangerous invention better. Sir, with all due respect. Oh no, Grant thinks under his breath. When they start in with the all due respect bullshit, it means there is actually no respect. Grant mutes the call and speaks into his chief of staff's ear. Do we even know where this fucking thing is? Chambers says, no sir, not really. Just stall him so we can figure this all out. Grant takes the mute off. Nikolai, I am going to need some time to sift through this situation. As you know, this device we are talking about is owned and developed by a private tech company, and I will need their cooperation. The U.S. government can't just take it away, not without a court battle. I am sure we can find a solution that benefits all parties. Thank you, Mr. President, Brezhnev says, adding, please notify us when possible regarding the whereabouts of the device. I have been briefed on the situation and know that it is in hiding somewhere, in the southwest part of your country. Believe me, Mr. President, I will be able to tell you with high accuracy where the device is in a day or so. Thank you, Mr. Brezhnev, I look forward to our next call. Benton, get the National Security Director and a couple Joint Chiefs, and Andy Newhall, Secretary of Defense up here, ASAP. We need a plan, the whole flippin' world is pissed off at us right now. Oh, and who was that senator in those news reports you showed me? The President's asks. Senator Arthur Abramson, Democrat from Massachusetts, says the Chief of Staff. Fine, let's get them all up here so we can sort this thing out, says President Grant. The Grand Hall of the Elo Eloahim is opulent, jewel-like, rows of beautiful tables with hundreds of leaders and diplomats standing and seated. A large choir is singing on a grand stage. Thirty individuals are creating a sound so colorful and emotional that it brings intense pleasure to the listener. No rhythm, just a continuous wave of sound, like a chorus of Angels. Ambassador Lucentel walks into the ballroom, accompanied by Excelsior Andriel and his entourage. Everyone in the room stands, and the music gets louder and more state-like in texture. The group makes their way to the VIP table at the head of the room. Lucentel motions for everyone to be seated. He speaks to the gathering, be not afraid, power and glory to the one. Greetings and peace to all those who are gathered here now. I am delighted to introduce Excelsior Andriel, Commander of the Guardian and Excelsior of the New Empire. Boos and moans can be heard in the crowd. I am certain a number of you have concerns regarding the legitimacy of the New Empire, but must I remind you that it was and is the One that embraces this division in our society. We must embrace it as well. Excelsior, please a few words. Thank you, be not afraid. Power and glory unto the One. The two small greys that were sent to Earth to meet Barbara. Brad and Bill are trying different codes on an outside hatch at the bottom of the Elo Eloahim. They are using a small pad to break in. The hatch suddenly flips open, and the little greys enter the giant ship. Down on these lower levels, it is not so jewel-like, very plain, just utilitarian. They find a room with dozens of video monitors. They wave the pad in front of the video screens. Okay, let's go, one of them says. They quickly leave the way they came in. A half-mile above on the command bridge of the Elo Eloahim, an officer, sees something on his monitor. It is the two greys walking into the power room down below. Commander, take a look at this. The commander steps over and looks at the video screen. What is in that area? The commander asks. That is a distribution node for the converters. Could the converters be disabled from that location? The commander ponders. I don't think so, commander. However, the software that drives the matter converter is partially accessible from there. The commander calls out. Commander on duty to Ambassador Lucientel. Commander, this is not a good time right now. The ambassador says, speaking quietly. I am sorry, ambassador, but we have had an intrusion. Two New Empire operatives, dressed in maintenance robes, entered a very sensitive area of the ship. This could have the potential of putting us at a great disadvantage. Thank you, commander. Glory to the One. Commander, make urgent plans to return to Aetheria. Top speed. It shall be so, ambassador. The sound of the old barge, moving up to speed, can be heard in the ballroom. The choir sing louder in order to be heard above the engine noise. Excelsior Andriel leans to Ambassador Lucientel and says, so this is all an elaborate kidnapping scheme, ambassador. The ambassador chuckles, no, not at all Excelsior, but it was a real chance to collaborate. But your operatives broke into a sensitive part of the ship, and we feel it prudent to return to Aetheria. Don't worry. I will provide you and your party a shuttle to return to your vessel. It has to be before we cross the border net, as I am sure you are aware. Go now. My staff will escort you to the hangar deck, snaps Lucentel The blade is now pulled alongside the Elo Eloahim and is pacing it. Andriel and his group have boarded the shuttle and are exiting the Elo Eloahim. They can see a bright red net just ahead of them. The border net, only authorized Aetherians can cross over it into Old Dominion territory. |
2024.05.16 17:06 KIMYIGA (I THINK) Edexcel GCSE Maths Paper 1 Higher Final Question Solution (HOPEFULLY)
 | To start, draw a graph going up to 10 on all axis, positive and negative. Then, plot point P with the given co-ordinates. Next, get your compass and place the metal end on 0,0 (as the circle has a centre of 0,0) and put your pencil on point P. Draw the circle. Then, plot point Q by going to -2 on your X axis and plot Q where the circle is under -2. Draw line L by linking the points. Then, find where line L intercepts Y and that’s the value of K!!! tada!! Done!!! I think the actual answer was -6 or smth, but my drawing skills are bad. IF THIS IS WRONG LET ME KNOW, BUT THIS SEEMS RIGHT. submitted by KIMYIGA to GCSE [link] [comments] |
2024.05.16 16:55 Mountaineer0702 Enhanced BCG with .300 BLK?
So I have a 9” LMT 300 Blk barrel to pair with a CHODEWAR upper. This gun will be suppressed 100% of the time and likely only shooting subs, but it’s not impossible that I’ll be shooting supers from time to time. I’ve been waiting for in stock enhanced BCGs from LMT but missed the most recent restock, I think it was tombstone tactical or big Tex ordinance.
Anyways, I just saw someone’s comment on a post in NFA about the enhanced BCG not being made for the .300 BLK, but maybe LMT had something in R&D for 300.. not really sure but I figured I’d come here and ask.
Should I keep waiting and build this thing out with the enhanced BCG, or would I be better off securing a quality mil-spec BCG? I was hoping to keep this build brand specific, but at $500 I wouldn’t be opposed to going a different route if that $500 isn’t going to do anything advantageous to the way the gun functions.
submitted by Mountaineer0702 to LewisMachineTool [link] [comments]
Anyways, I just saw someone’s comment on a post in NFA about the enhanced BCG not being made for the .300 BLK, but maybe LMT had something in R&D for 300.. not really sure but I figured I’d come here and ask.
Should I keep waiting and build this thing out with the enhanced BCG, or would I be better off securing a quality mil-spec BCG? I was hoping to keep this build brand specific, but at $500 I wouldn’t be opposed to going a different route if that $500 isn’t going to do anything advantageous to the way the gun functions.
2024.05.16 16:21 k1ttyyy_p4ws La rue.
Salut ! Merci d'être indulgent c'est mon premier post Reddit et merci à Squeezie de m'avoir fait découvrir le LetsNotMeet ! Donc aujourd'hui je vais vous parler de la rue à côté de chez moi. Pour commencer, j'empruntais souvent cette rue quand j'allais au collège pour y entrer et y passais donc environ chaque jour. La première fois qu'il s'est passé quelque chose d'étrange dans cette rue, c'est quand un matin où j'allais au collège, j'ai croisé une femme habillée d'une robe blanche, ce que je trouvais léger comme tenue étant donné qu'on était en hiver. Puis je continue d'avancer sachant qu'elle était juste devant moi et j'entend qu'on m'appelle derrière moi, alors je me retourne : rien. J'ignore et reprends ma route mais je me rends soudain compte que la femme a disparu. C'était la première fois que quelque chose du genre m'arrivait. Ceci est le premier évènement mais aussi le moins étrange. Puis, quelque semaines après, plusieurs choses se passent dans cette rue la même semaine. La première est quand j'ai emprunté cette rue, j'ai eu un sentiment très étrange et l'impression que quelque chose d'inexplicable allait se passer mais je n'y ai pas prêté attention. Puis j'arrive chez moi et sonne à mon immeuble car je n'ai pas de double, ce qu'il faut savoir est que après cinq secondes de sonnerie (d'appel) l'écran qui montre la personne qui sonne à ton appartement s'éteint, ce qui veut dire que ce serait étrange d'ouvrir sans savoir qui sonne. Alors j'attends, et c'est bientôt la fin de la sonnerie, et là surprise, on m'ouvre. Problème, mes parents sont rentrés dix minutes plus tard en me demandant comment je suis rentrée. C'est là que je réalise que le sentiment qui m'est venu en entrant dans la rue était réel. Un autre évènement assez effrayant quand on le vit. Mais ce qui m'a fait vraiment peur dans cette rue et le deuxième évènement qui s'est déroulé dans la semaine, et par ENORME chance, j'étais avec une amie. Pendant qu'on sort du collège en empruntant cette rue, on voit un gars en moto avec une clochette (wtf) autour de son cou, tel un collier. Il passe une première fois et on l'ignore. Moi et ma pote qu'on appellera Mya nous posons sur un banc, et au bout d'environ 30 minutes, Mya me tapote l'épaule. Je lui demande ce qui ne va pas et elle me dit que c'est la cinquième fois qu'un homme en moto passe dans la rue. Je fais le lien avec l'homme à la clochette et commence à être pâle, puis dis à Mya qu'on devrait partir. On commence à s'approcher de la sortie de la rue et qui on croise? L'homme à la clochette, et cette fois il roule quand même vraiment lentement avec sa moto, et le temps de l'observer, il se met à rire. Je comprends que quelque chose ne va pas et descends mon regard sur ses mains. Des mains rouges qui semblent recouvertes de sang et qui tiennent une sorte de petit couteau. J'attrape le bras de Mya et me met à courir avec elle hors de cette rue. Et en partant, par peur que l'homme nous suive, je me retourne. Et c'est là que je l'ai vu nous sourire, en pointant le couteau dans notre direction.
Merci beaucoup d'avoir lu mon histoire! Je tiens à prévenir que je n'ai jamais revu cet homme et que je tente le plus possible d'échapper cette rue mdrr!
submitted by k1ttyyy_p4ws to LetsNotMeetFR [link] [comments]
Merci beaucoup d'avoir lu mon histoire! Je tiens à prévenir que je n'ai jamais revu cet homme et que je tente le plus possible d'échapper cette rue mdrr!
2024.05.16 16:17 Kenny_Powers669 Did you guys know…
That if you equip an Ormus Robe with (insert skill), the Act 3 Merc will actually use that skill?!
I’m currently using a Cold Merc and I dropped a Combustion Ormus Robe but I equipped him for the % cold damage. Turns out he’s blasting Combustions in between his cold attacks!
Great stuff honestly.
submitted by Kenny_Powers669 to ProjectDiablo2 [link] [comments]
I’m currently using a Cold Merc and I dropped a Combustion Ormus Robe but I equipped him for the % cold damage. Turns out he’s blasting Combustions in between his cold attacks!
Great stuff honestly.