— Posted in Always into Darkness, The Master Race, Vampire Noir

The Master Race, Chapter 30

Thought for the Day …

What doesn’t come out in the wash, comes out in the rinse.

 

Ruth emerges from the penthouse, first. Sam submissively follows. Except for the addition of sternns, Ruth looks and acts just like she did the night before. Sam looks and acts markedly different.

Sternka and sternns. Prudz too. Expressionless. Katz. Knobb. Blank. And, klaw. That most severe makeup—Shooto. Not docile. A drone. A Borg drone, but not on her own terms. Ruth’s terms. Looking and acting sexually repressed. A junkie submissive. Just the way Ruth likes ‘em.

So … Within these walls … For all intents and purposes, Ruth does own Sam. No matter the technicalities involved. Then, the unexpected happens [unexpected, if you’re not in the know, that is]. The thing that affirms that Ruth is as much Sam’s girl, as Sam is Ruth’s girl. Ruth lets her hair down into a rachel. Sam flashes a very unsubmissive grin.

And … In spite of what a mortal might think … An affirmation that is not at odds, in any way, shape, or form, with Sam’s subordinate position to Ruth’s. To digress, as aforementioned, Sam is younger than Ruth. She will always be younger than Ruth. Therefore, she will always be subordinate to Ruth. Socially and otherwise. Therefore, Ruth’s rachel is not a concession to anything or anyone.

Besides … a rachel framing a shootoed, sternned face … Severe and sexually repressed never looked better. Can you say, “Arousing”?

In kind, Sam lets her hair down [into a rachel]. And pockets her sternns. Of course, by now the damage has been done. The eyeglasses have permanently imprinted Sam with none the wiser. Permanent, because her Id wants it that way.

Hers is not the look of a serious date. Hers is the look of “serious” property. A prized possession. In this case, the coveted of a muscular, older woman. Is there a pattern here?

Ruth is nowhere near as muscular as Fats. But, she is quite a bit older. So old in fact that feeding is the only form of sex that she “officially” recognizes and routinely practices, so to speak. Confused? Sure, she initially fucked Sam conventionally [like a mortal would], and she’s beyond awesome at it – Sam was not overstating the case, one little bit, that words are truly inadequate to describe Ruth’s sexual prowess doing someone that way [conventionally aka non-sanguine intercourse] in those ways [anal, oral, vaginal]. But, she did it merely to bait the girl. Since then, all of their fucking has been exclusively feeding. And, sanguine intercourse is the only way that they will fuck from hence forth. The paradigm shift—demons fucking like demons. Sanguine intercourse—demons fucking the way they’re supposed to.

Sanguine intercourse is the way that Nosferatus native to this world have sex, and, with notable exception, sanguine intercourse is the only way that they have sex. The noticeable exception being when they are posing as mortals. For example, when The Master was posing as a mundane prostitute who was a deadringer for Lady Glenda. In such cases, said Nosferatu will pretend to enjoy the sex, when in fact, they derive no pleasure whatsoever from anal, oral, or vaginal intercourse. They will even, in such situations, convincingly fake orgasm.

The interlude—sanguine intercourse—demons fucking like demons. Sam’s newest, and last, addiction. It’s as if all her previous forays were leading up to this. In a real sense, Ruth is pusher to Sam as junkie. Ruth is part Org and thus quite mad. Sam is mad by virtue of being mad. Thus, Ruth can own Sam in a way that Fats never could. Not to mention the fact that by nature, Hags are enslavers. Then, there’s the Dragon connection to consider.

They reach the stairway and descend to the lower level. The residence [collective reference] is organized according to the Old Ways. The common area, where Sam was introduced to the other girls, is beneath the residences. The residential floor being above street level. The public area being street level. Next level down, the first sublevel, the basement, is of course the nesting. Logger where the food is kept is the first sub-basement. Food logger beneath the nesting. Catacombs and sewers beneath the logger. The catacombs and sewers that run beneath the city. Repetition and symmetry. Over and over again. Everything has a place and a purpose.

Collectively speaking, the residential floor to the food logger inclusive are referred to as the upper level. The catacombs are considered the lower level. By the time they reach the lower level, Ruth’s hair is back up [in a sternka].

 

“Innocence is little more than ignorance. It is a fragile thing, and once shown the path to knowledge it is already doomed.”—The Charismatic Enigma by Spider Ben

 

Lickh [pronounced: lick] sashays into view from the shadows—an old, withering, wretched hag with a lolling killer tongue, long serrated teeth, and rictus smile. Once a ravishing beauty, she was turned into a hideous monster. A human being turned into a lich—one of these nasty beasts.

The lich relives being the victim of a most gruesome violation and the subsequent horrors of her transformation, over and over again, without relent. A never ending recreation that has left her insane and sexually depraved. Forever twisted, she now craves reliving her change into the depraved thing that she is.

The Change … Cursed without warning, she begins an agonizing transformation. Clawing desperately at her face. Her skin cracks and withers. And her long silken hair becomes a writhing mass of poisonous snakes. Lickh’s horrific transformation is almost complete. But there is one more twist. She now must undergo the most powerful and gut-wrenching aspect of all of her curse. She must now become a person whose very sight turns the looker into stone. She has been turned into a lich. A horrible, degenerate monster with scaly skin, huge starring eyes, and it can turn you into stone by looking at you. Prune-Danish, three tits with the left one being a bifurcated moog.

In a past life, Lickh was actress Yvette Stensgard. In Hammer Horror Films “Lust For A Nosferatu”, we are treated to Swedish sex bomb Yvette Stensgard as a depraved seductress.

This woman possessed more talent than the horror genre often asked of its ladies. Just observe her work the subtle nuances of her craft as the specter of a smile creeps across her face upon hearing that she is to be taken in by yet another unsuspecting band of aristos. Also fantastic is the scene where a couple of male characters discuss the fact that the predator amongst them is a woman … “an extremely beautiful woman”. We are then treated to a quick cut-away to Ingrid sitting in a chair managing to look haughty, sexy, smug, dangerous, seductive, and powerful all at the same time – I kid you not!

In modern parlance, a lich [sometimes spelled “liche”, cognate to Dutch “lijk” and German “leiche”, both meaning “corpse”] is a type of undead creature. Often, such a creature is the result of a transformation, as a powerful magician or king or queen striving for eternal life uses spells or rituals to bind their intellect to their animated corpse and thereby achieve a form of immortality.

Although Lickh’s appearance is akin to Medusa the Gorgon … Usually, liches are clearly cadaverous, their bodies desiccated or even completely skeletal. Additionally, liches hold power over hordes of lesser undead creatures, using them as soldiers and servants.

Unlike nulls [zombies], which are oftentimes mindless, part of a hivemind and/or under the control of some magician, a lich retains independent thought and is usually at least as intelligent as it was prior to its transformation. Liches can be distinguished from other undead by their phylactery—an item of the lich’s choosing into which they imbue their soul, giving them immortality until the phylactery is destroyed.

Various works of fantasy fiction, such as Clark Ashton Smith’s “Empire of the Necromancers”, used lich as a general term for any corpse, animated or inanimate, before the term’s specific use in fantasy role-playing games. The more recent use of the term lich for a specific type of undead creature originates from the 1976 Dungeons & Dragons role-playing game booklet Eldritch Wizardry, written by Gary Gygax and Brian Blume.

In literature … The lich developed from monsters found in earlier classic sword and sorcery fiction, which is filled with powerful sorcerers who use their magic to triumph over death. Many of Clark Ashton Smith’s short stories feature powerful wizards whose magic enables them to return from the dead. Several stories by Robert E. Howard, such as the novella Skull-Face and the short story “Scarlet Tears”, feature undying sorcerers who retain a semblance of life through mystical means, their bodies reduced to shriveled husks with which they manage to maintain inhuman mobility and active thought. Gary Gygax, one of the co-creators of Dungeons & Dragons, stated that he based the description of a lich included in the game on the short story “The Sword of the Sorcerer” by Gardner Fox. The term lich, used as an archaic word for corpse [or body], is commonly used in these stories. H.P. Lovecraft also used the word in “The Thing on the Doorstep” [published 1937] where the narrator refers to the corpse of his friend which was possessed by a sorcerer. Other imagery surrounding demiliches, in particular that of a jeweled skull, is drawn from the early Fritz Leiber story “Thieves’ House”.

An earlier mention of the lich can be found in “The Death of Halpin Frayser”, a short story by Ambrose Bierce. Halpin Frayser is found dead with a poem written in the style of Myron Bayne, his maternal great-grandfather. Through investigation and flashbacks, the reader finds that Frayser becomes possessed by Myron Bayne, a distant ancestor, who senses that a lich named Catharine Larue has risen from her grave to kill Frayser. Myron Bayne takes possession in order to finish one last poem before Frayser’s death. At the end of the story, the men investigating the murder conclude that Catharine Larue was Frayser’s heartbroken mother, who had died some time before the murder. Bierce describes liches thus:

“For by death is wrought greater change than hath been shown. Whereas in general the spirit that removed cometh back upon occasion, and is sometimes seen of those in flesh [appearing in the form of the body it bore] yet it hath happened that the veritable body without the spirit hath walked. And it is attested of those encountering who have lived to speak thereon that a lich so raised up hath no natural affection, nor remembrance thereof, but only hate. Also, it is known that some spirits which in life were benign become by death evil altogether.”

In the Dungeons & Dragons game [and other works of fantasy fiction that draw upon Dungeons & Dragons, as well as reality, for inspiration], a lich is often a spellcaster or someone assisted by a spellcaster who seeks to defy death by magical means. They are necromancers who are unsatisfied with the level of power that they currently have, wish for longer lives, and seek to unburden themselves from the necessities of bodily functions [such as eating and sleeping] so that they might dedicate every moment of their existence to the attainment of knowledge and power. There have also been descriptions of highly powerful spellcasters that force the conversion on mighty creatures to wreak havoc. Liches convert themselves into undead creatures by means of black magic, storing their souls in magical receptacles called phylacteries, leaving their bodies to die and wither. With their souls bound to material foci, they can never truly die. If its body is destroyed, a lich can simply regenerate or find a new one. According to the Dungeons & Dragons mythos, the only way truly to destroy a lich is first to destroy its phylactery, thereby removing its anchor to the material world, and then to destroy its physical form. The phylactery can be an object of any kind. They can range from a simple knife to a treasure, like a jeweled goblet. The most common type of phylactery is a gem with a wide variety of colors.

Lickh is no literary creation or some imaginary character that is fodder for fantasy role-playing games. She is—flesh and blood—real. Momentarily, their [hers and Sam’s] gazes intersect. Lickh’s bloodshot eyes glow fluorescent lime green. The girl does not bulge, let alone stone [turn to stone]. Sam does cum, an orgasm that Lickh “senses”.

Surely … This is the one who will free me!

Carelessly, the overconfident Ruth misses their wordless exchange—a tragic mistake. Why? How? Because … Her back is kept to her possession. She has failed to look rear, and make regular checks of the girl’s procession.

Finally, Ruth turns round. She notices that the girl is staring at something or someone. She follows the girl’s gaze. By now, the lich’s eyes are no longer glowing.

“Oh. There you are, Lickh. Come hither and meet your new soulmate, Seven.”

Lickh obeys. She doesn’t have a choice. Ruth is in possession of her phylactery, and has hidden it. Under threat of its destruction, Lickh is enslaved to the Hag.

Sam notices the tone of Ruth’s voice as she commands the lich. As well as, Ruth’s not so subtle emphasis on the word soulmate. The use of the girl’s Borg designation is a clear giveaway.

The expected betrayal … She means to enslave me as well as own me. Being Borg and an abomination, what a prize I must be for her. Needy. Needy. Needy.

What will it be? … “I may very well be the king of disturbed genius. I wish grunge would come back.” … or … Something subtle along the lines of … “Sobering silence.” … or … More in your face … “Ah. I gotcha. Chloroform, blackjack, or a combination of the two?” Nope … I’ll bet she’ll have the lich stone me. Then come back later and have the Medusa look-alike flesh me [back to life] so that she [Ruth] can wear me. I had a hunch that Ruth was a necromancer of sorts, when I first laid eyes on her.

“Stone her. I’ll wear her later,” Ruth commands Lickh. Then, once more, the egomaniac turns her back on her newest prized possession. It’s the last time that she gets to make that fatal mistake.

What comes next is cold-bloodied murder. Sam does something that Lickh has only seen once before. Noreen, her friend and sometimes lover, the Goon of The Master the Nosferatu, did it in her presence. Afterwards, Noreen told her to never speak of it to anyone. Noreen murdered another supernatural using a Grey technique that Noreen told her that only Goons could execute. It’s a Goon fighter’s “hadouken” [finisher].

Sam kills Ruth using the identical technique, a finisher taught to her by Fats’ Frau Kuntz. The same Frau Kuntz that taught Sam The Gray, back when Sam was still mortal!

Ruth falls to the floor, dead—unresurrectable. The rabbit punch from Hell, so to speak, although the technique has nothing do with punching your fist through the back of your opponent’s head, let alone punching them through the back of their neck. It does involve severing your opponent’s spine and a broken neck, though.

Yowza!

“Yowzah!”

Skills, size, and beauty, the girl has a lot to offer any opponent, as well as being forewarned about the girl, yet Ruth refused to get it. Don’t ever let this sader’s looks or demeanor disarm you, Sam Phillips is the antithesis of the Las Vegas showgirl that she dopplegangs.  She’s gritty, cold, and vicious. A remorseless, Mob-trained killer.

Something snaps in Sam’s twisted mind. Once more, she is broken [or fixed, depending upon your point of view—a Borg would see her as fixed]. She “hears” The Voices—the voices of The Collective. Straddling Ruth’s body, Sam reverts to type—stern, severe, spinster schoolmarm. Sternka and sternns. Prudz too. Expressionless—Blank. Katz. It goes without saying, shooto. Sam seems to revel in the “pure” homicidal ecstasy of the moment. Then, she just goes completely Borg. The automaton turns her attention to the lich. At no time does Lickh make any advances on the robot—doing nothing that might be interpreted or misinterpreted as a threat, showing more smarts than Ruth.

A lunatic grin paints itself across the girl’s large, ugly mouth. A facial expression [of an otherwise expressionless face] that is Borg, nonetheless. It’s the crazed smile of a Borg Queen. Something quite unbecoming a drone.

Take advantage of the girl? Au contraire. Lickh continues to prove too smart for that. She again does nothing. Lickh was driven insane. Sam, on the other hand, was born that way. As such, Sam’s considerable skills in The Business notwithstanding, Lickh knows better than to cross this deranged junkie whore. Even crazies have a pecking order. Besides, one crazy chick to another, this crazy stalker chick [Lickh] really digs crazy stalker chicks, especially this one [Sam].

Sam reaches into one of her jacket pockets and retrieves a ruby. She casually tosses it to Lickh. It’s Lickh’s phylactery.

“How [did you get this]? Where [did you find it]?”

Sam places a finger up to her crazy lips. Lickh goes silent. It’s the lich’s turn to flash that crazed smile, and the lich does.

“We need to reach The Master before a friend does.” Sam has lapsed into the third-person plural of the Borg. A voice that’s shrew, plus cold and analytical as newly added adjectives. “Would you be so kind as to lead us to The Master, posthaste? We have it on good authority that you know the shortcut.”

“Yes … I know the shortcut. And I would be honored to facilitate you.”

“Excellent. We are grateful.”

“But first … Do we have time to … I mean … May I kiss you?”

“Yes. You may.”

“May I also have my way with you?”

“Yes, you may. Use us as you wish. We are Borg.”

Lickh walks up to the girl and kisses her. Their tongues caress each other with abandon. She squeezes the girl’s huge knockers feverishly. Having her way with the girl. The girl responds, but the girl responds like a machine, instead of a flesh-n-blood Barbie doll. It’s as if Sam is a sex toy—one of those battery-powered, mobile vaginas with boobs—a walking/talking calculator with tits and a cunt—not a real woman—the objectification of women—women as sex objects. It’s as if she’s an “it” instead of a “she”—a thing, not a person. In a word, Borg.

When they stop locking lips, and Lickh looks into Sam’s eyes, she only sees Borg. This is the girl for her. Lickh leads the way into the catacombs. The robot follows her. At some point, Lickh gestures in the air—writing in the darkness.

Their stealthy departure. She [Lickh] and the robot [Sam, Seven] fade from view. No longer bound to either Ruth or this place, Lickh is free to go as she pleases. Ruth’s corpse is left for the rats to consume.

The biggest mistake was not putting Sam’s linq in a shielded place. As long as Sam could “hear” her phone, she knew that she was in the public eye. Once they descended to the lowest levels, and Sam could no longer hear her phone, she knew that she was in a private place where no one could remotely witness her homicidal act.

Whether Ruth had proved unworthy or not—and Ruth had clearly proved herself unworthy—Sam had decided from the git go to murder the Hag. Ruth’s sexual prowess never dissuaded her from her decision to do so. All the time they were together, Sam was waiting patiently for the opportunity to kill her fellow retired librarian.

Their stealthy arrival. They fade into catacombs identical to those that they exited.

Sam’s hair comes down. Her sternka gives way to her now trademark Rachel. She pockets her sternns. Shooto gives way to her usual Max Factor. Prudz stay. Klaw, knobb, and Katz stay. No more third-person plural of the Borg. But, a shrew voice that stays cold and analytical. The sexy robot girl. Shades of Robert Cummings and Julie Newmar in “My Living Doll”.

The tunnel that they’re in opens up into the basement of some ruins. Things have come full circle indeed. These are the archeological digs where The Master murdered Jack’s wife.

Jack is fending off the combined attack of the Master’s minions, while nearby the Master watches and waits, enjoying the inevitable. He’s cornered, with no chance for victory, yet he fights nonetheless. True hero that he is.

When all is said and done, the Master will finish what its enslaved have started.

Sam moves ahead of Lickh as they enter the basement. Noreen is standing just inside the entrance, but before she can make a move on Sam, Lickh gives her the hi-sign. Noreen backs off and does nothing.

“So … Jack. Had enough? Or should I let them finish you?” Sam is smiling as she makes her pronouncement in the center of the room.

Previously, the others [the Master, its minions, and Jack] had been so focused on the altercation in hand, that they had failed to notice the arrival of Lickh and Sam on the scene.

“You stole from me!” The Master hisses angrily at Sam. But, it takes heed of the fact that its faithful Noreen has not attacked the girl.

“Yes, I stole from you. And I apologize for that. I mean to make amends for that grievous transgression. I come unarmed. If you wish it, your Noreen can beat me to death; destroy me in the process, if that is what you wish. In hand-to-hand, I would have no chance against a Goon.”

I wonder if that is true. After what I saw what you do to Ruth. The way that you so easily disposed of her. I have my doubts that you would have “no chance” against my Noreen in hand-to-hand. But, I know better than to voice my misgivings in front of you. Later, in private, I’ll warn my Noreen and The Master of your considerable prowess.

Jack starts to say something, but Sam gives him the hi-sign and he keeps his yap shut. Then, Sam just stands there. The Master walks over to Sam. Walking around the girl, visually inspecting her closely. Sniffing her even closer, even more intimately, including her crotch.

“Switch off the hygiene mode for you clothes, shoes, etc.”

Sam does as she is commanded. The Master gives her a visual and olfactory re-inspection. She passes with flying colors. The Master gives her its seal of approval.

It unbuttons the girl’s jacket and squeezes her [holstered] tits, smudging the lacy cones of her bullet bra. It coos loudly, flicking out its long, facile tongue in pure delight. It shoves its hands down her bra cups and squeezes her tits, streaking them with its filthy hand prints. It shoves its hands down her skirt into her thong and fingers her cooch. They kiss. Their tongues dance. Sam’s eyes go bloodshot and fluoresce lime green. Her hands klaw, of course. Her knobb throbs, itches, and burns!

Sam gives herself willingly and willfully to enslavement by The Master. And, The Master accepts. But, it does so, provisionally—and it signs as such. Ruth’s claim of ownership passes to The Master. Something in the Master advised against a dependency deed which could/might be misconstrued as a quit claim by the unsavory. It listens to that inner voice, hence its provisional signing. It hasn’t existed this long ignoring sage counsel, especially when said counsel comes from itself.

Sam’s rachel gives way to a krazed—honey blonde drapes that are liberally streaked with grey and white. Her rug goes geriatric—a blonde muff that goes grey and white with specks of blonde. The girl’s clothes ruin—dirty and infested just like The Master’s. Ripped seams. Ragged cuffs—in tatters, no less. The Koo’s smart black pencil skirt, now smeared with dirt, its hem torn and dangling. Her pumps rock-cut and grimy. Gloves no longer white—now dingy and grey; ruined like the rest of the girl’s attire. A razorblade smile with the requisite killer tongue.

The girl depreciates—losing fifteen pounds, but her tits don’t get any smaller, they just look much bigger, now. She’s been reduced to skin and bones, a boney blonde with huge floppy knockers. Now the girl is pleasing to the eye of the Master. Now the girl looks like The Master. Tonight it will not sleep alone in its coffin after it has released the needy called Fisher—it will sleep with this new girl Sam.

The Master sinks it teeth into the girl’s neck and feeds for a long while. When it is done, it steps back, Sam’s sweet blood painting its front. Its minions stand down, ceasing their attack of Jack. Jack, still at the ready, stands down. The Master makes an elaborate gesture, releasing forever its hold on Hawk and Fisher. Furthermore, the depreciated Fisher and Hawk become as they were physically before the Master enslaved them—youthful and vigorous.

“Now, Jack, you must take Fisher and Hawk back to your queen. I will return, shortly. Queen Mary has a task for me, and I need the aid of these two coppers.”

“Will you be okay?” Jack asks. He’s genuinely concerned.

“Of course I won’t be okay. Else I … we wouldn’t opt to stay.” Sam has again lapsed into the third-person plural of the Borg. “Lickh will take you where you need to go posthaste before the still dazed Hawk and Fisher regain their complete sense and attempt vengeance on our Master The Master.” Sam turns her attention to her Master. “Master, where is the black?”

“He died, inconveniently.”

Liar.

It is the last free thought that Sam will have for some time.

Sam does not push the point. If she voices or shows any objection to the Master’s version of the truth about the black, Jack will stay and resume his fight.

Jack, Fisher, and Hawk leave with Lickh. Once they are gone, a section of the rock wall swings open. The black man, mindless and depreciated, steps out of a hidden passageway. In another day, a mere twenty-four hours, it will be too late to save him. He will be forever The Master’s thrall.

Discreetly, with only it, Noreen, the thrall, and Sam present, it asks the question that reveals that it too knows much more that it should know.

“What is your robot name?”

“Seven.”

“Nonetheless, I think it would wiser for my continued existence if I continued to call you Sam even when you are with me alone.” It bitch-slaps the girl. “And from now on in my presence, you will only speak when you are told to.”

Sam, now Seven, shakes her head in the affirmative. This she enjoys. All of the emotion drains from her face along with all of its softness. The face of an unliving machine.

“I have not made up my mind about your gloves. Keep them on, for now, when you are out of coffin. When you sleep with me in the coffin, you will pocket them.”

This time, Seven does not even shake her head yes. Her obedience is assumed. It’s as if the drone were taking the orders of a Borg queen.

“There is one more thing. The primal thing that I like most about Lickh’s chest. A feature that Noreen will indulge when it’s her turn to play with you.”

Seven’s bra cups bulge. Her right tit goes moog and bifurcates. A center and left tit are now shoved into her left bra cup. The tits further go prune-danish. Later, a pair of mismatched severed hand pasties will be added to clutch, squeeze [milk] Seven’s left and center boobies. One of the black’s hands will provide one of Seven’s pasties. Seven will wear the pasties inside of her bra cups, and always wear them when her tits are not being used [for sucking, abuse, etc].