Rage Against the Juice: Finale
Posted by That One Guy
NOTE: This post is rated PG-13 for partial nudity and suggestive themes.
And now, the exciting conclusion of the Mighty Morass’s adventure!
The Mighty Morass, surrounded by his legions of undead minions, stood overlooking the nunnery of the Sisters of the Silent Shelton. Nunnery. Ha! That was one way to describe the abode of the Sisters of the Silent Shelton. Another way to describe it would be to call it a Den of Licentious and Conniving Harpies. The latter description suited the Mighty Morass just fine. Because, in all reality, the Sisters were conniving and licentious harpies. Harpies who used men as play-things. Humping them like rabid rabbits until they (the Sisters not the men) became pregnant. Then, the evil nuns went all praying mantis on them. Snapping their necks and tossing their corpses to the birds. So the rumors went, anyway. Did I mention the sky above the nunnery was perpetually filled with circling vultures?
Any male offspring were promptly eunuch-ized at birth and brought up as servants in the nunnery. The prettier voiced were forced into a Yuletide Caroling Boys’ Choir. Female offspring became the Daughters of the Dirgeful Daughtry. And whatever was rumored about the Sisters went 10 fold for their daughters.
Of course, the Sisters of the Silent Shelton, claimed innocence. Insisting that they didn’t kill their men, that instead, their men killed themselves because they deemed experiencing the Sisters’ erotic pleasures the pinnacle of existence. After sexxxing a Sister, there was literally nothing left to live for. And their Daughters were paragons of virtue and purity. They explained away their castration practices by claiming a problem with thieving squirrels. Morass didn’t buy it either. Which is why, in his more spry years, he attempted to woo one of the Sisters and get to the bottom of the story.
His attempt met with some success.
The encounter went something like this:
Setting: A smoky tavern, crowded with people and smelling of sweat, ale and piss. Morass and the Sister sit in a dimly lit corner.
Morass: I like your dress.
Sister: It’s a habit.
Morass: I thought nuns wore dresses.
Sister: I thought necromancers had long white beards.
Morass: Can I ask you something?
Sister: (rolls eyes and sighs) No. I will not hump you until your head explodes then snap your neck.
Morass: Yeah but—
Sister: And we have the same number of breasts as other women.
Morass: (deflates) Really? I mean…That’s cool and all, but really…that kinda sucks. Are you sure you don’t have three boobs?
Morass: Prove it.
She did. And for the first time in his life, the Mighty Morass gazed upon the boobies of a living, breathing woman. Which was as far as he got before his little necromancer gave up the ghost.
The Sister rolled her eyes again. “That was easy. Now it’s my turn.”
“Your turn for what?”
“Insensitive pig,” spat the Sister and got up from the table. She left without another word.
And here he was. Over a century later. About to storm the walls of the very nunnery he desired to explore the secrets of pleasure within. Hell, he would’ve probably even let them snap his neck if the sex was good enough. But not now. Now, the only thing on the Mighty Morass’s mind was revenge. And that poisonous emotion roiled inside him, building pressure of magically cataclysmic proportions.
Had Morass been prone to self-examination or even random moments of personal epiphany, he might have realized that all his nastiness stems from his feelings of humiliation and inadequacy. This realization could’ve led him to an existential self-awareness of growth and positive change. Alas, Morass was prone only to vengeance and death. As such, the only thing his self realized was that humiliation and inadequacy were best overshadowed by fear and violence. The Mighty Morass felt that 103 years was long enough to have suffered the Sister’s humiliation. Might as well get this show on the road.
“Attack!” he ordered his undead minions and they descended on the nunnery to do their master’s bidding.
Morass munched carrots on the hilltop above as his zombie slaves wreaked havoc on the nunnery. Every now and again, the sounds of battle were pierced with high-pitched shrieking. Whether it was coming from the eunuchs or the Sisters, Morass didn’t know. But he hoped for both. After an hour of bloody warfare, the sounds of battle died away to be replaced with the death wails of the wounded. This was Morass’s favorite part. The part where he could nonchalantly stroll among the dead and dying picking the best scraps for himself and leaving the rest to the vultures. He would stroll in, loot the place, get Raphael Esperanza’s Infernal Contract and Unsticking Juice and be on his merry way. Simple.
Only things are never simple. The Mighty Morass didn’t nonchalantly stroll through a field of corpses, instead he wandered stupefied among half cat, half human boys eating the flesh of his precious and innocent zombie minions. What’s worse, an imposing group of Sisters barred the front door to the chantry. Every last one of the ‘Nuns’ was clutching weapons and baring fangs.
“Figures,” said Morass. “Vampires. The lot of you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked a voice from the back of the nun pack.
The nuns parted reverently to allow the speaker to step forward.
“You,” breathed Morass, color dropping from his face.
“Have we met?”
Morass swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to speak. “Long ago. In a tavern. You wanted a turn at something. And then you left.”
“The necromancer. Mighty Morass.”
“You remember me?”
“How could I forget? We were a peaceful and benign order who sought our spirituality in seclusion. That is all we were guilty of. The rumors were awful, but we bore them with humility. But my ‘date’ with you was the straw that broke the camel’s back. We accepted vampirism and sought vengeance on the insensitive brutes who plagued our hearts.”
“I did something right, then. I should be revered among your order. Perhaps a shrine or a Feast Day in my honor?”
The Sisters’ eyes glowed a deep crimson and they growled low in their throats.
Morass’s brutish male instincts told him he was dangerously close to unleashing the fury of the Hells. “We’ll discuss that later.” He cleared his throat and motioned to one of the eunuch cat-boys, “You know, your pussy-boys shouldn’t be eating that meat. It’s not exactly approved by the Food Council.”
“Neither is what they had for breakfast. Enough chatter. What is it you want, Morass?”
“I come for the Infernal Contract of Raphael Esperanza and a bottle of Unsticking Juice for my barbarian.”
“Raphael sent you? Typical. It’s all a big club with you boys, isn’t it?”
“Don’t be daft. We aren’t in any clubs together. This is strictly business. Now are you going to hand over what I demanded or are things going to get ugly?”
The Sister laughed. “You are out of minions, Morass.” She whistled and her cat-boys snapped to attention, forming a formidable line in front of the sisters. “You tell Raphael Esperanza, if he wants his Contract, he better send someone that can reclaim it!”
Sweat broke out on Morass’s brow. The magic of desperation boiled inside him, but he didn’t have anywhere to direct it. He had to think of something or become vampire food. “Listen. You all seem like good women. And, being a patron saint of your order, I would hate to have to punish you for insolence. Last chance for forgiveness.”
Hell hath no fury…
“That’s it! Get him, boys!” screeched the Sister.
Morass threw up his hands as the cat-boys pounced. With nowhere to direct his magical energy, the energy was directed everywhere. A great wind rushed in, collecting the pieces and parts of the necromancer’s zombies. Snapping jaws, clawing hands and kicking feet filled the air. Morass stood in the eye of that hurricane directing his rotting projectiles into anything that moved.
The necromancer had reclaimed his power at last. He laughed maniacally, lost in the throes of magical ecstasy. Morass lost all concept of space and time and only came to when the Sister’s cry of, “Enough!” broke through his blood lust.
The hurricane died as quickly as it had been born. The nunnery’s courtyard was a disaster area. The corpses of cat-boys and mauled and mangled vampire sisters added to the litter. Only the head Sister was left standing on the steps of the chantry, her habit ripped and torn, exposing all the right sensual curves.
“I underestimated you, Mighty Morass.”
“Huh?” Morass blinked dazedly as he returned to consciousness. “Oh. Yes, well, don’t let it happen again.” He surveyed the result of his destruction. “Next time I stop by, a nice dinner and a warm bed will suffice.”
“How bout a warm bed with a cold body?” the Sister licked her fangs hungrily. “I’m Star, by the way.”
“Don’t get any ideas, Sister Star. Plenty of time for games later. Right now, give me the Contract and the Unsticking Juice. I’ve got business to finish.”
But first, he had a mess to clean up.
“It’s criminal, I tell you!” Esperanza’s bull nostrils flared and his eyes glowed crimson.
“It’s my terms,” Morass insisted. “If you want this Infernal Contract, no more Nord Juice. You’re done. I’m taking over and selling Prune Juice.”
Mac stood behind him glowering. The barbarian had been itching to smash something since his Unsticking. “Better do what the boss says, Mr. Esperanza.” He cracked his knuckles hopefully.
Raphael paced back and forth, snorting and cursing. Finally, he dug in his desk and produced a scroll. “It’s all here. The business, the lands, the contracts, everything.”
Morass reached for the scroll and Raphael snatched it back. “At the same time.”
“As you will.”
They snatched the documents from each other’s hands greedily.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have a Contract to Breach.”
“Of course. We’ve got a ship to catch anyway.” Morass and Mak left, leaving Esperanza to his own devices.
The vampire minotaur locked all the doors, lit a candle and sat at his desk. He broke the Infernal Seal with trembling hands and gingerly unrolled it.
Morass heard Esperanza’s cry of anguish and betrayal even as the ship pulled away from the docks. He spotted the minotaur raging through the streets, desperately trying to reach him.
“Bastard! I’ll kill you! Give me my contract!” reached Morass on the salty winds along with several creative curse words. The last thing Morass saw before Fileep disappeared on the horizon was the town guard swarming Esperanza. Morass laughed and returned to his cabin for a glass of wine.
Damn it felt good to be bad.