TITLE: Beyond The Grave

AUTHOR: Vyper

SERIES/SEQUEL: Follows immediately after FEAST in the YOURS IN LIFE & DEATH (M/CSM) series

PAIRING: Mulder/CSM; Mulder/Others (rape)

RATING: NC-17

SPOILERS: Any episode up to and including Requiem

SUMMARY: Old acquaintances are renewed; some welcome, some not

ARCHIVE: Yes ( after I've posted part 5) to WWOMB & CKoS, Mulder-In-Jeopardy, Slashing Mulder

WARNING: This series details an incestual sexual relationship between CSM and Mulder. Future stories deal with graphic violence and kinky sex, human sacrifice, male-pregnancy and character death. This story contains graphic scenes of horror, human sacrifice, bloodletting and m/m rape. If any of these things are likely to offend, do not read any further.

DISCLAIMER: CC &1013 own anyone you recognise. I own those you don't.

BEYOND THE GRAVE
by Vyper

Count Bakula's Estate
Logan, Ohio

"Facilis decensis Averno."

'Easy and swift is the descent into hell'. That's one translation. 'The gates of hell are open night and day; Smooth the descent, and easy is the way.' That's another.

I remember others from my studies at Oxford,(every scholar had his own interpretation) but those two stick in my memory. Virgil didn't know how accurate he was when he wrote those words just over 2000 years ago.

I wish I hadn't had the opportunity of validating his vision. The horror and brutality I've just witnessed and, to my complete and utter shame, participated in, will stay with me for all eternity. I'm certain not even death could erase the sights, sounds and smells from my senses and memory.

I thought I had seen every atrocity imaginable, every example of man's inhumanity to man during my career in the FBI, first as a profiler and then on the X-Files.

I was wrong.

I thought I couldn't be subjected to anything worse than what I've already experienced in the last couple of years.

I was wrong.

I thought I had already been to hell and back.

I was wrong.

I look down at the body that lies on the cold stone ground in front of me, drained of blood and life and spirit.

I killed him.

I slit his throat.

I drank his blood.

*&*&*&*&*&*&*&

Count Bakula's Estate

TWO HOURS EARLIER

I could feel my heart beating doubletime in my chest, hear it booming rhythmically in my ears and yet I had never felt so relaxed and at peace. Euphoric was the best description I could think of. It was like a high I never wanted to come down from.

My stomach was pleasantly filled for the first time in years, the almost constant hunger pangs fading quickly into memory. The welts on my back from Bakula's beating no longer stung.

The rings on my cock were only mildly uncomfortable despite my fully aroused state and the additional pressure of the constrictive velvet wrapped around my genitals.

'Family jewels' Father had called them earlier in the day as he supervised Justin massaging my muscles and applying richly scented oil liberally over my chest, belly and buttocks. My ass received special attention with generous amounts of lube pushed deep inside. At Father's command my keeper totally neglected my crotch, leaving me soft and aching for my lover's touch.

I couldn't help the chuckle that escaped hearing Father use that silly euphemism.

Father smiled, an infrequent and beautiful sight, that lit up his eyes and made him appear even more youthful and handsome. Dismissing Justin, he guided me into the dressing room.

"Yes, Fox. They most certainly are jewels; beautiful, rare and precious." Father had caressed my cock to full rigidity with a gentleness I had not thought him capable of. "They deserve to be on display and admired by all." Our eyes met and I felt myself being drawn into the warm hazel depths.

When I first caught sight of the outfit Father's valet had laid out for me, I put up a token protest about having to wear such revealing and skimpy clothes. Father had simply ignored me. He dressed me in the modified pants and tiny bolero jacket, then bound my erect cock and full balls tightly with long strips of soft velvet.

A glass of champagne being pushed into my hand by a servant startled me out of my musings. I took a sip and glanced at Father. He was deep in conversation with our host, seemingly unconcerned that I was drinking.

It took me some time to realize the pounding beats I was hearing was not my heart but drums, loud and primitive, that echoed throughout the massive dome. The sounds were muffled and indistinct though, like a radio slightly off tune. They quickly grew louder as drummers approached from the surrounding tropical vegetation, stirring some of the guests from stupors induced by too much food, alcohol and sex.

Everything around me was blurry and out of focus. I could see a few people struggling to stand up. Many were half naked, most were drunk, some still gorging themselves on the remains of the lavish feast. Servants attended the guests, wiping spilt food, beverages and various bodily fluids from naked flesh, assisting them back into assorted articles of clothing. Dozens of semi-conscious body slaves, ravaged as if they were just another course in the sumptuous feast, were left slumped over chairs or collapsed under tables.

Even the chair beneath me felt insubstantial. The only solid thing in the clearing, the dome, the whole world as far as I knew, was the man at my side.

My hand slid from thigh to groin. I felt my lover huge and hard beneath my fingers and, though my own cock couldn't get any harder in its tight bindings, it began to throb in time with his pulse. My heartbeat slowed down until we were in sync. His hand covered mine as I stroked him and I knew that as long as he was with me I could face whatever was to come.

Little did I know then that not even Father, the most powerful man on Earth, could protect me from the events that were to follow.

"Lord Spender? If you'll allow me to escort you and..."

Our host paused, unsure how to address me, unsure if he should even acknowledge my existence. I sure as hell didn't know my official status and, what's more, I didn't care.

"...you both to the Temple Abyss where the Ritual will take place," Bakula continued, taking the easy way out. He rose and stepped off the dais, gesturing towards the left of the clearing.

"Thank you." Father stood slowly, holding out his arm for me to rest my hand on. An almost overwhelming feeling of pride came over me as I realized he was giving me permission to walk by his side as his consort rather than behind as his slave. The gift of higher status was to last only about five minutes, but I'll forever remember and treasure it.

The few guests able to stand upright without support moved aside while servants and slaves genuflected as we made our way across the dining area.

We halted briefly at the start of a narrow path that led into the forest. Bakula directed the distribution of ceremonial robes made of lightweight black material embroidered with red stitching to some of the more sober guests. I vaguely recognized the patterns as sigils used to summon and, hopefully, control various demons and spirits. They were more than just decoration, added to enhance the menacing atmosphere Bakula undoubtedly wanted to create. They would come into play when the true purpose for the gathering, the sacrificial offering of humans, was enacted.

The robe presented to Father was as white as pure snow. Pentagrams and other ancient symbols of protection were outlined in glittering rubies, sapphires and emeralds. It was a robe fit for a king and Father filled it majestically.

I couldn't tear my gaze away from him. My heart was so infused with love for him I was sure it would burst. Tears of joy and happiness flooded my eyes and ran down my cheeks. Father wiped them away with a gentle touch of his thumb before pressing it to his own lips, tasting me, savouring my love and trust and devotion.

When a servant held out a silver platter, I didn't hesitate to take the items displayed upon it. I knew at once what was expected of me. Without breaking eye contact with Father, I fastened the ruby encrusted collar around my throat. It was tight to the point of slightly restricting my breathing and cold as ice against my flushed skin. I attached the matching leash to a ring above my Adam's apple and, dropping to my knees with head bowed and eyes downcast, offered the looped end to my Master.

"I'm proud to be the Master and owner of such a gloriously beautiful creature," Father announced, his voice dripping with pride. He petted and stroked me like I was a favoured pet. I leaned into his touch, truly content and at peace for perhaps the first time in my life.

Looking out the corner of my eye, I saw that Bakula's massive bulk had been draped in a cloak of deep crimson. He was proudly bragging that it had been dyed with the blood of only the most attractive of those he had sacrificed, young men and boys, born and bred for that very purpose.

"The blood in your boy's veins would enrich the color even further, Lord Spender."

It took all my self control not to react visibly to the Count's comment. Inside I was terrified. Was I to take a greater part in the ceremony than had been previously agreed upon by them? Was that what they had been discussing at the dinner table? Bakula had certainly seemed happy with what he had heard.

Suddenly I felt a wave of calm assurance wash over me.

*Relax, Fox. The Count knows you are denied to him.*

I perceived the words in my mind many seconds before Spender spoke them out loud. He brushed my hair off my sweaty forehead, guiding my face upwards to meet his soothing gaze.

One look from his hazel eyes, one touch of his hand upon my face was all it took to calm my fears, to strengthen my devotion to him. If he had indeed changed his mind, giving me to Bakula to be sacrificed, I would have laid myself on the altar without hesitation in order to please and obey him. I would have loved him even more- if that were possible- for granting me such an honorable opportunity to prove my absolute surrender to his will.

Strangely, I was both relieved and disappointed by his reassurance that I was not destined to be one of the Count's "chosen ones". Relieved because when I die, I want it to be by my Father's hand. He gave me life, he should be the one-the only one- to take it. Disappointed because I had wanted to prove my love and allegiance to him in whatever way he required of me and now he had denied me of that opportunity.

Or had he? There was still the upcoming ceremony in which I had the feeling I would still be playing a part.

I had attended numerous sites of occult activity and devil worship during my time in the FBI. The temples and altars, long since abandoned by Satanists and cult members, were still as creepy as hell, infused by the evil drawn there by spilt blood and charred flesh. The crime scenes were terrifying enough, even days or weeks after the event; I never wanted to be present whilst genuine human sacrifices were taking place. However, I was on my way to witness one firsthand and there was nothing I could do to avoid it.

"You have made yourself perfectly clear in that regard, M'Lord," Bakula said in a light tone, doing a piss poor job at hiding his disappointment.

I shuddered upon hearing his next words, knowing instantly who he had in mind.

"However, due to foolish overindulgence, we lack the required number to complete the Coven Circle." He gestured at the small group that surrounded us. Eleven black-cloaked figures stood silent and still as if already under some sort of spell. "Given your son's interests, he will make an excellent addition."

I gasped in shock at Bakula's audacity. Surely he was kidding. No-one spoke to Father like that and lived to brag about it.

"I've heard he is well-versed in the myths and legends of my beliefs. It would be a pity for you to have travelled all this way just to spectate."

I glanced up at my father to see his reaction. Avoiding my gaze, he barely hesitated before replying, "Fox would be honored to participate tonight."

Only then did he look at me, his eyes void of all feeling and emotion for a flash of a second before shining once more with love and affection.

It's a game to him, I realized. Just a game and he was simply being polite to his host by giving his permission. Though why he thought he had to kow-tow to a sleazy scumbag like Bakula I didn't know. Another idea then occurred to me. *He thinks I want this opportunity,* I thought. * Maybe he considers it a way of apologizing for my earlier mistreatment. He's not a believer like me. He hasn't seen the evil I've seen. He doesn't know how fine the line really is between reality and fantasy, between fact and fiction.*

I know it sounds like I was making excuses for him. I probably was. But I needed to be able to justify his actions in a way that didn't reflect badly on him. I needed to believe beyond all doubt that he wouldn't allow me to be harmed. Without that belief- that crutch- I would have collapsed to the floor in a sobbing heap, unable to move because of the terror of imagining what lay ahead.

I wanted to believe. And so I made myself believe.

I couldn't tell whether he was monitoring my thoughts, my silent pleas for him to deny our host's request. Not that it mattered anyway. He was in control, as always. Situation normal and, in a weird way, comforting as well. I could do nothing except give him my total obedience and trust. He has protected me all my life, even if that means placing me in danger temporarily. I was one hundred percent certain he wouldn't abandon or betray me.

A sharp tug on my leash made me rise to my feet and I found myself facing Bakula with Father close at my side. A servant handed Bakula another cloak. The demonic sigils were drawn in what looked liked dried blood. It was thick and crusty as if many layers had been applied, year after year, sacrifice after sacrifice. I really didn't want it touching any part of me, but could do nothing to prevent it being draped over my bare shoulders.

Bakula took his time smoothing the heavy fabric over my chest, not bothering to disguise his caresses. He lingered with his pudgy fingers at my throat as he arranged my hair so it fell in silky waves over my shoulders and down my back.

I could sense Father becoming restless while our host pawed me and was relieved when he cleared his throat in a none too subtle warning.

Bakula took a moment to step back, smugly satisfied at the liberties he had been able to take with me. More than ever, I longed to wash his touch and scent from my skin, replace it with the aroma of my Master and lover.

"He'll have to undergo initiation of course in order to be welcomed into my Master's embrace and under His protection." At my father's concerned look, he quickly added, "It's temporary, of course, only for the duration of the Ritual. We wouldn't want any harm to come to him, would we, M'Lord?"

Father didn't answer as we headed into the tropical vegetation, following a narrow winding path bordered with brightly colored flowers and exotic plants. The path sloped downwards, moss covered rocks scattered here and there. I felt as if I was floating, had to keep looking down to verify that my feet were touching the ground. I was sure that the only thing keeping me grounded was my Master's grip on my leash as I walked to heel behind him and the Count.

As we drew closer to our destination, a sense of unease came over me. I wasn't sure what caused it, a strange smell or vibration in the misty air. I had experienced something similar in Tooms' decrepit apartment, Mostow's hidden studio and countless number of other places where heinous crimes have been committed. But even adding all of them together didn't come close to the feeling of pure, unadulterated evil that seemed to emanate from somewhere up ahead. Looking around, I realised no one else in the procession seemed to be affected.

*Get a grip,* I told myself. *It's Halloween, it's supposed to be spooky and frightening.* According to the legends and myths, it's the night that the dead are free to walk the earth, to mingle with friends and loved ones left behind on the mortal coil. Some cultures even believed that it was the night that spirits could complete unfinished business, accomplish tasks interrupted by death so that they could pass over to the other side to be reborn anew.

Suddenly I was certain that I was on someone's list of unfinished tasks. What I wasn't sure of was who or how many would want to take up the opportunity. Hell, there would probably be a queue a mile long waiting to take another shot at me, planning their revenge because I had cut short their rein of terror, either directly with a bullet or indirectly with an accurate profile leading to capture and the death penalty.

We rounded a sharp curve coming upon another clearing, this one small and claustrophobic. It looked like a shallow cave, carved by hand out of the stone that formed the depression we were approaching. The trees surrounding it were ancient and gnarled, mutated and stunted by lack of sunlight and fertile soil. The feelings of danger and dread immediately grew stronger, more oppressive. It was as if we had passed through some invisible curtain, some one-way barrier that kept the deceased souls confined to the cavern that loomed like a giant open mouth up ahead.

"Father?" I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper. My courage was dissolving the closer we got to the location the ritual would take place at.

He turned and looked back at me. Reaching up, he stroked my cheek. Our bond was, once again, reinforced with a simple touch. He hadn't needed to probe my mind to know the fear I was experiencing. I'm sure it was written all over my face, in the way I shivered in the foggy grey mist that surrounded us.

"It's all right, son. What did I tell you on the night of your homecoming?" he asked gently as he caressed my face.

"That I would not be harmed unless it was your will," I replied, leaning into his touch.

"And what did you pledge to me?"

"Everything."

"Tell me again, Fox. I want to hear it and you need to be reminded, to never forget."

"I surrendered to you my body, my mind, my life and my soul." As he reminded me of what I was- his property to do with as he pleased- I felt that sense of peaceful relaxation settle over me, seep into me, once again.

He repeated the questions he had asked earlier whilst I fed at his breast. This time I was able to reply out loud.

"Who do you belong to?"

"Only you, M'Lord."

"Who do you love?"

"Only you, Master."

"Who do you trust?"

"Only you, Father."

It was a mantra, calming and soothing me into a trance-like state of complete and unconditional submission. I knew it would be spoken many times in the future, to subdue any hint of defiance I might display. I had the feeling he didn't want me totally broken. He wanted me on a short leash that he could loosen or tighten at his whim. He wanted to savour each time I fought my slavery like a fine wine. He wanted me defiant and spirited, forcing him to dominate and control me.

"That's correct, love. So there is no need to be afraid."

I had thought that was to be the end of our conversation, but Father continued.

"There are, however, forces that not even I can control, very powerful forces." So much for my earlier thoughts that he was a sceptic in regards to paranormal phenomena.

It was so unexpected that I really didn't know how to react. I was aware that he had always protected me, from convincing my parents to hand over Samantha to the Aliens instead of me, to returning Scully, to saving me from being abducted myself. But I had always thought he had ulterior motives for doing so, motives that had more to do with his own survival than any feelings, familial or otherwise, he had for me.

"You must face the consequences of your actions." I knew he was referring to the malevolence I had sensed coming from the cavern. "I won't lie to you, Fox. Suffering lies within, but pleasure is there also. A very special reward awaits should you conduct yourself satisfactorily."

A vivid image formed in my mind. Soft candlelight and romantic music. No servants, keepers or Alien Bounty Hunters. Just the two of us and an evening of slow, sensual love-making. No restraining straps of leather and chain on wrists and ankles, cock and balls. No pain delivered or received. No Master and slave, no Father and son, just the pleasure of two lovers exploring each others bodies for the very first time. Mutual seduction amid mutual declarations of love and need, desire and passion.

However, I would forsake that unrealistic dream of romantic bliss, if only he would tell me he loves me. Those three little words are all the reward I need and want.

I knew I had overstepped the bounds just fantasizing in that manner. What I wanted didn't matter. It was his pleasure and needs that were important, not mine.

"You will get all that you want, my love, and so much more."

I mentally apologized anyway and was rewarded on the spot with a passionate kiss that left me breathless and light-headed.

Before I could recover, Father, I and the eleven guests designated to serve as acolytes were being led by the Count inside the cavern.

Not wanting to dwell on who or what was waiting to renew acquaintances with me, I studied the cavern we were in. It was large in area but still claustrophobic with flaming torches along the walls. A large bonfire blazed to one side and steaming pits of water surrounded it. I recognized them as artesian wells that flooded the air with powerful odours of minerals.

Bakula showed Father around the cavern. I trailed a few paces behind, forgotten by the Count, but not by Father. I had a million and one questions buzzing around my mind, but knew I was forbidden to speak. Father sensed my need for knowledge, clues as to what I would encounter, and asked them for me.

"Does this place have any special significance?"

"Very much so," Bakula replied. "This Temple is situated on the intersection of several major ley lines, which carry currents of energy around the planet." He swept one arm in an arc, indicating the cavern we were in. "The Abyss is a gateway between two different worlds, a point where the magical worlds and the mundane worlds collide. As well as being a physical location, it also exists within the human psyche at the point where the conscious and the unconscious meet."

Father looked around, obviously searching for a sign of the gateway.

"It has yet to be created, Lord Spender. It will appear once the Ritual is underway, needing the spiritual energy that will be released to bring it into existence," he explained. "Each person has different experiences as he or she crosses the Abyss to become one with those who reside on the Other Side. Samhain or Halloween is a particularly potent time of the year. Little encouragement is needed to draw the departed from their resting places, especially those who seek revenge."

Bakula pointed out the many devices he had for sacrificing his chosen ones. Most of them looked as if they had come direct from the Dark Ages and the Spanish Inquisition. Guillotines and racks, inverted crosses large enough to crucify an adult male, stakes that stood eight feet high surrounded with kindling, ropes and chains attached to iron spikes embedded in the ground.

An unusual 13-point star design was painted on the stone floor of the cavern, a different sigil drawn at each point, one for each of the Coven members. A huge stone altar, stained crimson and maroon and splattered with scraps of pink and black flesh, stood at the centre, dominating the chamber.

There was a semi-circle of thirteen unlit red candles, made from the fat of his "chosen ones" according to our host, halfway between the altar and the entrance. At the open end was a second altar, the same length but half the height of the main sacrificial table. The top of it curved gently downwards with a narrow channel around the edge for the blood to drain into. On the floor below one corner was a crystal chalice to catch the gory offering. Positioned at the head of the altar was a small dagger. Spotlessly clean, it gleamed gold and silver in the flickering light given off by the burning torches. I could tell that it was razor sharp, crafted to slice through flesh like a knife through butter.

Sickened by what I saw, I tuned out most of Bakula's words, only catching bits and pieces of the conversation he was having with my father. I instead studied the many crystals and polished stones that made up the walls of the cave. There was the deep purple amethyst, the aptly named bloodstone in shades of red and dark green, vivid purple and black charoite.

"... very rare, M'Lord. Cost me a fortune to import it from Russia," Bakula was saying. "It's said to instill a brotherhood between the owner and the spiritual realm."

The tour over, Bakula lead Father to an expensively upholstered leather sofa that offered a perfect view of the upcoming proceedings. Servants and naked body slaves were in attendance to see to Father's every need and desire. I felt insanely jealous at the thought of strangers touching my Master, pouring him drinks and lighting his cigarettes.

Bakula was standing by my side. He held out a hand, silently demanding possession of my leash, possession of me.

I wanted to throw myself at my Master's feet, beg and plead with him not to hand me over, not to let me go.

I did nothing.

With one last long and loving look, Father relinquished his hold on my leash into the Count's pudgy grip and seated himself. He accepted a glass of Scotch and ice and drank all of it in two quick mouthfuls.

Was he preparing himself for what lay ahead, aware of what was to occur, the suffering I would experience? His earlier speech suggested he was very aware of what was to take place. Was he now regretting his decision in allowing me to participate?

I have no idea.

What I did know was what the fierce stare he directed at Bakula meant. **Hurt what is mine and you will die a death a million times more painful than any sacrifice you will perform tonight.**

If looks could kill... That saying was never so true as right there and then.

Bakula visibly flinched, taking a small step backwards before he managed to compose himself. He had decoded Father's meaning correctly. Bakula's initial fear made him tighten his grip on my leash. His hand trembled as he raised it to my throat and undid the collar which fell at my feet. He slid his hands down my chest until they rested at my waist. He gained confidence that he could do anything to me with each passing second.

"He is in safe hands, Lord Spender." His left hand travelled further, a feathery caress from belly to groin. He unwrapped the fabric binding my cock and balls, exposing my penis, purple and engorged in the dual cockrings. Pre-cum beaded at the slit. With surprising gracefulness for a man of his size, Bakula dropped to one knee and delicately caught the pearly drop of fluid with his tongue.

Undoing the button on my trousers, he slowly peeled them off my legs. Each inch of exposed flesh was moistened, worshipped almost, with languid swipes of his tongue and slobbery kisses. My boots were removed and suddenly I was naked underneath the ceremonial robe.

Still on his knees, he gestured to a servant and was handed a shallow bowl with three or four ice cubes in it. Aware of what he intended to do, I tried to brace myself for the coming shock.

I was unsuccessful, crying out as the freezing ice made contact with my erection which disappeared almost immediately.

Father sat forward hurriedly and reached out to me as I swayed. I wanted to fall into his arms and never let go. I never got that chance as two servants moved quicker, holding me upright just out of Father's reach.

Bakula quickly removed the metal bands from my now flaccid cock. "There must be no impediment to the pleasure given to and taken from the neophyte. My Lord and Master demands full and unrestricted access to all His creatures."

With help from a couple of his acolytes, Bakula stood. Grasping me gently around my upper arm, he turned us to face the center of the cavern.

He whispered in my ear as he slid a hand under my cloak and between my buttocks, "You belong to me now, Fox." He pushed two thick fingers inside me. Though my anus was slippery with lube, penetration still hurt. "Very soon you will have a new Master." A third was added, his thumb pressing hard against my perineum. "Spender can't help you now, can't save you if my Master decides He wants to keep you for Himself for all eternity."

I wanted to protest and rebel, tell him he was a liar, that Father would never let any harm come to me.

I did nothing.

I submitted to him finger fucking me without complaint. I knew in my heart that Father would protect me. Nothing that Bakula could say or do would lead me to doubt that conviction.

For the duration of the ritual, however, I would belong to another Master, temporarily another man's property and responsibility.

I snuck one last glance back at my Father, not hiding the fear and panic I was feeling. He returned my look with one of his own, full of love and pride.

Two hulking bodyguards stood behind the sofa on either side of Father. Though they didn't touch him, they were a clear warning for Father not to interfere and for me not to resist.

Bakula allowed us eye contact for only a few seconds. With lube-smeared fingers on my cheek, he turned my face away from Father.

He placed a piece of black cloth over my eyes and knotted it tightly behind my head.

I was plunged into pitch-blackness, darker than I had ever experienced before. It was more than just the total absence of light. It was like a physical pressure; heavy, suffocating and very, very cold. I shivered despite the thick cloak and burning torches.

For the second time that night, the reality of what was about to happen hit me like a sledgehammer. I knew for certain that the rituals would be totally real. Real people would die at the hands of others. This wouldn't be a game like the ones I played with Phoebe and her crowd at midnight make-out parties around Conan Doyle's grave in the English countryside. It wouldn't be like teenagers in New Hampshire reading words from borrowed library books for the solitary purpose of getting into their girlfriends' pants.

I was on the verge of all-out panic when I felt Father's loving warmth envelop me. Though I couldn't touch or see him, I relaxed into his comforting embrace that surrounded me like a second aura.

*Be brave, Fox,* accompanied by a gentle wave of pure affection and soothing protectiveness. *Remember the reward that awaits.*

*I'll try, Father,* I mentally replied. *I love you, Master.*

I wondered if the blindfold was part of my initiation. Or did he think that by severing visual contact between us he was denying me the strength and support afforded by Father's presence? I was almost certain that he was ignorant of the mental link Father and I shared and I sure as hell wasn't going to tell him about it. Not that he could have broken or interfered with it in any way. Or so I thought then.

"Welcome to the darkness, neophyte," Bakula spoke out loud as he escorted me into the centre of the chamber. Judging by the distance we had walked, I guessed we came to a stop near the smaller of the two altars.

Never had I been so grateful to possess a photographic memory, enabling me to visualize the layout of the area and the positions of the other participants. I remember telling Phoebe it was a curse, but on this night, it came in very handy.

The eleven acolytes, four women and seven men, had gathered around us. The shuffling of feet and rustling of cloaks was loud and harsh to my hyper-sensitive hearing. They were murmuring something, a chant I suppose, low and guttural and melodic. It was mildly hypnotic, slowing my pulse and heightening my awareness.

Bakula removed my cloak and guided me two steps forward. I felt something cold and waxy brush my bare leg and knew I was inside the circle of candles facing the altar where someone would be slaughtered within a matter of minutes.

Firm pressure on my shoulders forced me to my knees. The ground beneath me was smooth and eroded, shallow depressions cradling my feet and lower legs. I wondered how many others had knelt here awaiting initiation into Bakula's Coven.

Though he didn't make a sound, I knew Bakula had retreated and I was alone.

Alone, naked and terrified.

The other participants, accompanied by the drummers, continued to chant. It slowly built to a roaring crescendo that lasted for five minutes or five hours. Time had ceased to mean anything. It could have stopped completely for all I knew.

When the chant finally died down I heard soft cries and whimpers in front of me. Someone had been laid on the altar, someone awake and aware of what was going on. The apparent sacrificial victim was male, of undetermined age and just as scared as I was, maybe even more so. It was obvious he was well aware what was in store for him and that there would be no escape.

I smelled the fear that flowed from his body, heard the hopelessness and terror as he pleaded for mercy, knowing none would be granted, but pleaded anyway. He sounded young, mid-teens maybe if his high pitched voice was any guide.

"Hush, my little one," Bakula said quietly. "You will be delivered to your Master very soon. It is a great honor to personally welcome a new member into our Master's Family. To nourish others with your lifeblood is your destiny. It is why you were born a Bleeder."

His use of the term "Bleeder" brought to mind his earlier boast about using specially bred males to provide blood to dye his cloak. Using haemophiliacs made gruesome, though logical, sense. It would ensure a steady flow of blood without the possibility of clotting. The victims may have also been given blood thinning or anti-coagulant drugs prior to being sacrificed.

"Let the Rites of Initi-"

Bakula's pronouncement from my right interrupted my macabre musings. Reactive instinct told me to turn my head in that direction, even though I knew I couldn't see anything. Before reflex could transform into thought then motion, a command thundered out of the darkness- a command I was compelled to obey.

"DON'T MOVE, PET!!"

I froze, not even daring to draw breath. I couldn't tell which direction the voice came from. It seemed to come from everywhere, every point on the compass, at once. I didn't just hear it with my ears, I felt it with every exposed inch of flesh, I tasted it on every single tastebud, smelt it with every olfactory neuron.

It used Bakula's voice, his usual tenor lowered to a deep, rumbling bass, but it was not Bakula. Bakula was just the vessel. This was Pure Evil-- capital P, capital E.

I was shocked that It would make It's presence known so soon, had thought It would have to be summoned from It's hellish home, lured and coaxed by offerings of flesh and blood and innocence.

Or had It been there all along? Lurking in the body and soul of the man who had whipped and orally raped me during the banquet feast? Hiding in plain sight-- **hiding in the light,** I heard Gary Lambert whispering to me-- while I was touched and tasted?

A new and frightening thought occurred to me. What if my presence at the Count's party was all that was needed to draw It out of hiding? I had felt It's evil breath before, been warned numerous times that It knew about me, coveted me.

More voices from the past whispered to me.

**It is over, for now. But you must be careful. It knows you.**

and

**Only It can find you...Maybe... It already has.**

"Yes, I found you a long, long time ago," It whispered as It approached me. Its voice and scent was intimately familiar to me. It had been with me, inside me, urging me on every time I had lost control and struck out at those who had hurt the ones I loved or denied me things I had hunted for a lifetime.

I remained absolutely still, not saying a word though I started to breathe again, quick, shallow inhalations that didn't deliver anywhere near the amount of oxygen my body required.

"I've enjoyed the hunt, the wonderful sport you've given me over the years, but the time for play is over, my sweet one."

I knew then that I was doomed, knew It had finally captured me and would never let me go. I couldn't save myself, but maybe I could save some innocent lives from being needlessly sacrificed.

"It is time for you to take your rightful place at my feet."

"Yes, Master," I replied. "I have waited for you to come and claim me. I have longed to begin serving you in which ever way you require." The words poured out of my mouth before I was aware I had spoken them.

"I know, my pet. You need wait only a little longer." He circled me where I knelt, his breath like kisses of fire on my naked flesh. "Endure just a little pain so you can provide and receive pleasure of a kind you never dreamed existed, not even in your wildest fantasies."

If I had known then what was to come, I would have preferred to have died there and then. No amount of pleasure, sexual or otherwise, no matter its source or intensity, was worth the pain, both mental and physical, I was to experience in the coming hours. And I wasn't alone. Others suffered as much, if not more, than me. And none of them had any promises of pleasure to look forward to. Only death, of the most painful kind imaginable, awaited them.

I took a deep breath, wondering if the words I was about to speak would be my last.

"Now that you have me at your mercy, Master, I humbly beg of you to spare the lives of the others that have been promised to you." I was trembling with fear, sure that I would be killed in an instant for even thinking of such an outrageously presumptuous request, let alone voicing it out loud.

"Ahhh, but they are my main source of sustenance and power. You, my dear, are merely the icing on the cake." The demon laughed out loud, a deep throaty chuckle that sent an icy shiver up my spine and deep into my groin. It held Bakula's substantial gut between two scaly hands. Each hand had only three fingers and no thumbs, each finger ending in sharp curving talons that were at least three inches long.

"But that's what makes you so tantalizingly delicious. Your willingness to sacrifice yourself even for something as inconsequential and pitiful as your precious truth," It mocked me. "You place yourself in mortal danger to save others, many far less deserving of life than you. You have been in my grasp and escaped so many times, I wondered whether you were truly destined to be mine at all."

The demon spoke the truth. I had felt Its fingertips brush the edge of my soul too many times to count-- in various hospitals around the country where I hovered on the brink of death after some life threatening injury sustained in the line of duty or, more often than not, in my passionate-Scully called it blinding- search for my Almighty Truth; inside a submarine poking up through the ice in a remote corner of Alaska; in a buried boxcar in a quarry outside of Farmington, New Mexico; in a travel agency in Richmond, Virginia; in a cafeteria of a telemarketing company in Oak Brook, Illinois.

It bent forward, Its hideous face close to my left cheek. A forked tongue flicked out and licked me from jawbone to eyebrow, leaving a burning trail of acidic saliva in its wake. The stench of Its breath, reminiscent of rancid meat and rotten eggs but a hundred times worse, was almost overwhelming, sending a tidal wave of bile, semen and milk up my oesophagus and into my mouth.

"I have a very, very sweet tooth, not to mention an enormous appetite, and you, my lovely Fox, are very sweet and tasty indeed."

It occurred to me then that I could *see* the demon even though I was deprived of sight. It looked like a shadow, easily seen but without substance or color. Bakula's massive frame surrounded its skinny, reptilian body like a poorly tailored suit many sizes too large. I could still feel the cloth of the blindfold painfully tight against my eyes, too tight to even blink and yet the demon's tongue never lost contact with my skin. There was an unbroken line of fire the length of my face, with the blindfold no barrier at all.

Another trail of fire blazed its way in a zigzag down my chest in the wake of the demon's razor-sharp claw. Fighting fear and revulsion, I somehow managed to look down at my chest and immediately wished I hadn't. The skin sizzled and split open, charred black and crispy. Surprisingly there was little pain, just the dull throb like you'd get after a bad case of sunburn. Foul smelling pus oozed from the wound, gangrene having already set in.

The demon's tongue followed the path its claw had carved, licking away the seeping fluid. The caustic saliva cleaned and cauterized the wound, leaving behind a raised, red welt.

Was I hallucinating? A waking dream maybe? It would explain the weird, out-of-body feeling of being in two places at once, the distance between realities no more than the thickness of a few layers of skin and cloth. I'd had visions that later became reality. Perhaps I was somehow seeing a few minutes or maybe hours into the future.

"Ahhh, yes. You are a delicacy, my sweet fox, in more ways than one. I shall enjoy you very, very much." The demon's form flickered like a light bulb about to fail. It was obviously losing what little strength it had. It would have to retreat and refuel, feast on the flesh and blood of the upcoming sacrifices. Before fading completely, it managed one last gentle caress of my face, soft as a feather and sweet as a lover's kiss. "Soon, my pet, I shall return and then we will never be apart."

There was a sudden jolt as I "fell" a couple of inches back into my body. It was like that strange little jerk you experience sometimes on the verge of sleep.

"-ation and Binding commence."

I was totally blind once more as Bakula, the demon-free version, finished speaking from his position about four or five yards to my right. The hallucination, or whatever the hell it was, had taken place in the blink of eye, in the time between two syllables. My cheek and chest were still sore, but they could have been psychosomatic injuries brought on by the vivid intensity of the "encounter".

Bakula carried on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, totally unaware of being briefly possessed. The acolytes continued to chant, the boy on the altar still whimpered softly. One of the acolytes came to a halt on my right, the heavy fabric of the ceremonial cloak soft and warm against my fear chilled skin.

"I am Shabriri, Stealer of sight." Female voice, young and trembling with nervousness.

I heard metal scraping on stone as the dagger was picked up. Then an almost suppressed gasp as the first cut was made, the first blood drawn.

"I share this sacred sacrifice."

A warm, blood-slicked finger drew two intersecting lines on my right bicep.

"Lord and Master of Darkness witness us united as one with an offering of blood from brother to sister to brother."

There was the sizzle of a match being lit. I could feel the heat of the flame as it passed close by my left ear on its short journey to one of the candles behind me.

Barely had the first Coven member left than the next one took her place, this time approaching from my left.

"I am Alastor, the Executioner." Another female, this one older and more confident.

Another moan, louder and more pain-filled as a second cut was made somewhere on the boy's body.

"I share this sacred sacrifice."

Long nailed fingers drew two bloody lines on my left bicep, a mirror image of the first.

"Lord and Master of Darkness witness us united as one with an offering of blood from brother to sister to brother."

Another match struck, another candle lit and another acolyte approached from directly behind me.

"I am Adramalech, Slayer of children." Yet another female, her words slow and slightly slurred.

"I share this sacred sacrifice."

Same words, same actions. Shaky fingers left lines of blood on my back between my shoulder blades.

"Lord and Master of Darkness witness us united as one with an offering of blood from brother to sister to brother."

It was all becoming rather monotonous, but I suppose that was the point. If not for the adrenaline flooding my system, the repetition of words and actions would have put me to sleep.

A third candle was lit and I started to feel the heat of the flames on the soles of my feet. I still have a fear of fire, still hate it, still scared to death of it just like I was when I confided in Scully during Phoebe's last visit all those years ago. Against my will, my mind projected forward a few minutes. I saw myself trapped inside the ring of burning candles; yellow, orange and blue flames leaping high into the air, too high for me to step over without getting burnt.

I could feel the sweat start to bead on my forehead, my pulse begin to race, my breathing becoming faster and shallower- the classic signs of an imminent panic attack. Fear froze me in place, my heartbeat stopped by an invisible fist, as I struggled to regain control of my phobia.

*You conquered it once before,* A voice, defiant and strong, one that I hardly recognized as my own, reminded me. *You can do it again.*

*But I had children, innocent children, depending on me to save them,* I replied.

*You've done it once, you can do it again,* it repeated.

*I've done it once before, I can do it again.* I said over and over to myself. It was my own private chant, as silent as the other was loud.

The panic receded and my pulse returned to normal as the third acolyte retreated.

After the fourth Coven member and last female had come to me, had sliced, spoken and scribed, I heard the unmistakable sound of blood dripping from the altar into the crystal chalice.

Plop.

Plop.

Plop.

The sacrificial victim had started screaming in earnest by then, easily heard even over the chanting and drums.

After the ninth Coven member had come and gone, the sound of individual drops falling from altar to chalice ceased. It wasn't because the blood had stopped flowing, but because it was now a steady stream. In my mind's eye, I could see a waterfall of oxygen-rich red liquid tumbling over the side of the altar, splashing against the rim of the glass.

The design on my right arm was complete; the others, on my left arm, back and chest were three-quarters done. I figured barely five minutes had passed since the start of the ceremony. The speed of the proceedings didn't surprise me. After all, it wouldn't be right for the victim to bleed to death before the initiation could be completed.

Acolytes ten and eleven played their grisly roles and then Bakula was standing in front of me once more.

"I am Lucifer, Commander of Hell and Lord of all Eternity." I detected the demon's distinctive accent, deep and rhythmical, replace Bakula's higher pitched voice. I knew without doubt that it was meant for my ears only. It was a warning and reminder that my soon-to-be new Master was still very close-- way too close for my liking.

Eleven of the thirteen candles had been lit and I was surrounded by fire, adorned with bloody markings and inhaling smoke infused with incense and other unknown herbs. The boy's tortured screams had ceased after the tenth incision. The longer I'd had to listen to him, the younger he sounded, barely in his teens now. I hoped and prayed the poor kid had passed out and was not suffering any longer, but soon found out that was not to be. The chant had died back to a soft murmuring that I could barely hear. In perfect rhythm with the chanting was the boy's own mantra:

"Take me now, Master. I am yours. Take me now, Master. I am yours."

He sounded remarkably peaceful considering the pain he must have been feeling. He was probably in shock from blood loss, which would act as a sort of painkiller. He never missed a beat as Bakula made his own cut so he could complete the last sigil on my chest.

"I share this sacred sacrifice," Bakula intoned as he painted two lines that ran from my nipples and intersected just above my navel. He had smothered my tits in blood, fondling them until they were hard and erect. Thankfully, my cock stayed limp and uninterested. "Lord and Master of Darkness witness us united as one with an offering of blood from son to Sire to son."

Oh Shit!! Bakula was sacrificing his own son, murdering his own child, slaughtering his own flesh and blood. Even though the use of familial terms was just part of the ceremony, I knew somehow without a doubt that the boy was truly Bakula's son. This revelation hit me like a ton of bricks, freezing the blood in my veins. It was far too close to home not to have a devastating effect on me. If not for his tight grip on my shoulder I'm sure I would have collapsed to the ground. I had never felt so helpless and alone.

"Father, help me." I whispered desperately, subconsciously knowing that the mental link I had with Father was being blocked in some way. I suspected it was the "power" of the initiation rites severing the connection with my former Master whilst at the same time binding me to a new one. "I need you, Mast-"

"NO! You have but one Master. " Bakula roared, shattering the silence. "You belong to Him now and Him alone! No one can help you! No one can save you!"

With every word spoken, I was being bound by threads of evil to a demonic entity that was gaining strength and substance with every drop of shed blood. I was like a fly caught in a sticky, gossamer thin web, unable to escape or even struggle.

Bakula tore off my blindfold, ripping out strands of hair in the process. I winced at the pain but didn't protest his rough treatment. It was nothing compared to what I knew the demon could inflict. I simply bowed my head, casting my gaze submissively towards the floor. Through half open eyes, I caught sight of the ragged cut the demon had carved into my flesh and nearly threw up at the memory it invoked.

The sigil, a simple inverted pentagram finger-painted in child's blood on my chest, was broken in a couple of places where it crossed the raised scar tissue. The blood had either been repelled or absorbed, I couldn't tell which.

So the demon *was* real. Not that deep, deep down, I ever really doubted that fact. I could sense its presence, just on the edge of my awareness, waiting for me to be fully initiated and step through the ring of fire into its embrace. The very thought and inevitability of it made me sick to my stomach. It brought forth all too familiar feelings of rage and hatred and anger. Feelings that had engulfed me on the few times I had lost control and attacked a suspect or witness. Memories of violent outbursts involving Duane Barry, John Mostow and Calderon flashed through my mind as I recalled the sensation of being "pushed" out of my body by some sort of force or entity.

My musings were interrupted by Bakula's voice. "Pick up the chalice, neophyte."

I didn't resist his command- couldn't resist even if I tried- knowing such action was hopelessly futile. Besides, I wanted this whole horrific ordeal over and done as soon as possible.

The glass goblet was three-quarters full of blood, deep scarlet in colour. I did my best not to think about where it originated or where it would end up. I tried to pretend it was a vintage merlot, but the bouquet was all wrong. It was the freshly drained blood of an innocent child and I would soon have to drink it.

I held the goblet up, offering it to the Count and praying I was doing what was expected of me. I'm not the expert in cult ritual sacrifice that he thought I was. I was operating purely on instinct, picking up subtle clues from those around me and guessing the rest.

I couldn't avoid looking at the body laid out on the altar in front of me. The physical similarities between Bakula and the boy were very obvious, exact same shade of emerald green eyes and sandy blonde hair. They shared the same large, flabby build. In Bakula's case it was due to extreme overeating, in the boy's it was puppy fat. Puppy fat that would never be converted to muscle during puberty. I'd guessed his age at no older than eleven or twelve, poor little kid.

He didn't move and was barely making a sound, just those pitiful little whimpers I had first heard when he was laid upon the altar less than ten minutes before. The little bit of skin that wasn't covered in blood was white as snow. There were slashes on both arms, legs and chest, criss-crossing veins and arteries, some shallow, others deep. Even if medical treatment were available and immediately administered, I doubt he would have survived. He had simply lost too much of the life-sustaining liquid. Sluggish streams of blood- blood that would have coagulated within a couple of minutes in a non-Bleeder- still trickled from each cut into the channel around the edge of the altar. The drainage hole had been plugged, causing the channel to fill almost to the verge of overflowing down the side of the stone table. I figured the excess would be collected later to re-dye Bakula's crimson cloak.

The eleven black-cloaked acolytes stood on the other side of the burning candles, towering above me where I knelt like tall trees in a forest. Hoods covered their heads and the flickering light cast by the torches and candles wasn't enough to illuminate their faces.

A naked slave, no older than the boy being sacrificed, approached Bakula, holding a silver tray. Bakula placed the chalice and blood-stained dagger on it, speaking a few words in an unfamiliar language. The slave carried the items slowly around the circle of acolytes, stopping briefly in front of each one. Each Coven member sliced a long slash into their palm with the dagger and squeezed the resultant dripping blood into the chalice, repeating the same words Bakula had spoken.

Barely a minute later and the chalice was handed back to the Count. He dipped the dagger into it, stirring in the latest offerings, and anointed my forehead and cheeks with sticky, warm blood. To my surprise and relief, he was very careful not to cut me with the razor sharp blade. I think- no, I *know* - he wanted to, but Father's warning was obviously enough of a threat.

He raised the goblet to my lips. "Drink."

I baulked, unable to obey. It wasn't a deliberate show of defiance or even a conscious decision. I knew I didn't have any choice or say in the matter. I was simply unable to open my mouth, as if the neural pathways from my brain to my jaw muscles had been severed.

All of a sudden a gust of icy wind came out of nowhere, sweeping up my back like a blast of liquid nitrogen. Simultaneously, fire scorched the sole of my left foot from heel to toe. I screamed in agony, unable to move, unable to escape the pain. It didn't last more than a second but it felt like an eternity. As if I had eyes in the back of my head, I had seen the candle flame forced horizontal by the mysterious wind and lengthen, flicking out from the wick like a serpent's tongue. Recalling the demon's action earlier made the analogy all too accurate.

No-one around me reacted at all, no-one came to my aid. The wind didn't have any effect on anyone or anything else. Bakula's crimson cloak remained completely still, the candles I could see in my peripheral vision continued to burn normally, the flames vertical and barely disturbed. I looked for Father but he was hidden from my view behind the wall of Coven members. Not that he could have helped me anyway, but it would have been so good to be able to see him, to connect with him in any way at all.

Bakula took advantage of my predicament, brutally pushing the chalice against my slightly open mouth and tipping it upwards. I was forced to swallow the contents or risk choking to death. Blood flooded my mouth and poured down my throat in a seemingly never-ending flow. I tried to draw breath and ended up gagging and coughing. Blood and spit sprayed out of my mouth, splattering myself, Bakula and the attending slave.

Seemingly oblivious to my distress, Bakula held the goblet in place. My panic increased quickly as I used up the last of the oxygen in my lungs. I raised my hands to force away the goblet, only to have them gripped painfully behind my back.

"Breathe through your nose, child," he instructed me in a calm, soothing tone. "You must consume all the offering. Just relax and breathe slowly."

I struggled to do as he said. It seemed like an eternity before I managed to inhale enough air to satisfy my body's needs. The panic started to recede and I was eventually able to swallow the remaining blood. I was sure I was going to throw up but it didn't happen. Maybe all the milk and semen I had consumed earlier had coated my stomach, settling the gastric juices.

I had barely recovered before Bakula thrust the dagger into my left hand.

"Send this most sacred of offerings to our Lord and Master," he commanded me. "Only in His glorious embrace will his suffering cease and he can begin to truly serve his Master."

I looked down at the object in my hand as if I had never seen it before and had no idea of its purpose. Time seemed to slow to a crawl, seconds stretching into minutes, minutes into hours.

I felt Bakula grasp my wrist and position the dagger over the boy's throat.

The air around me rippled, every colour of the spectrum flashing before my eyes. My surroundings morphed seamlessly into another scene, another time and place but instantly recognizable.

The Temple Abyss cavern became the First Sovereign Bank in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania; the blood on my face became a rubbery Dracula mask; the dagger, an automatic rifle; the boy bleeding to death on the altar transforming into a teller with an abdominal gunshot wound.

I couldn't murder the teller back in '98 and I couldn't euthanise the boy now, despite the obvious fact that I would be putting him out of excruciating misery.

The decision was taken out of my control as I felt an enormously heavy weight on my left hand.

"I am..." I hesitated, knowing I had a script to follow but not knowing what my lines were. I had no name, no function. I was like a newborn creature without identity or self awareness.

The same force took over my mind, making me speak words not of my own choosing.

"I offer this sacred sacrifice." The voice did not sound like my own, as if I was using my vocal cords for the very first time.

My hand was forced down towards the boy's vulnerable throat, closer and closer to his jugular. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop the dagger from pressing against the pasty white skin.

"Lord and Master of Darkness witness us united as one with an offering of blood from brother to brother to Supreme and Eternal Master."

I felt like a ventriloquist's dummy with someone, or something, else supplying the words and controlling my actions.

Just before the skin was broken, I managed to glance at the boy's face. Although it was absolutely, positively against my will, I was about to take the kid's life. The least I could do was look him in the eye as I did it.

His lips moved, barely perceptible, but they moved. As the knife sunk into flesh and muscle and was drawn from left to right, severing veins and arteries and vocal cords, he mouthed four words. He made no sound, but his final words were as loud as thunder and are permanently imprinted on my brain.

"My name is Alex."

Lip reading those four words was the final blow to my already traumatized psyche. I didn't see a pre-pubescent boy laid out on a stone altar, his lifeblood draining quickly from his chubby body. I saw a slender, long limbed adult. I saw his namesake, my ex-lover, my sweet Alexander. He hated me calling him that as much, if not more, than I hated him calling me by my given name.

I collapsed to the rough stone ground, not caring what happened to me, not caring if I lived or died. I didn't cry out for my father whom I was so sure not only knew what would take place but had orchestrated the whole horrible affair. I didn't scream curses at the evil, sadistic entity that would demand the life of a child. I didn't feel the ground underneath me, nor the heat of the candle flames singeing my hair and searing my skin. I was totally void of all feeling and emotion as if pumped full of some powerful sedative.

I don't know how long I lay there nor what was happening around me. One second I was lying on the cold floor of the ritual cavern, surrounded by fire and blood and death, the next I was standing upright in the centre of a tight group, cloistered by my new Brothers and Sisters, being welcomed into my new Family.

I have a vague, dreamy recollection of rising to my feet, lighting the thirteenth and last candle and passing through the ring of fire, totally unafraid, totally confident that I would be protected against harm by the supreme power and love of my new Master. I'm not sure if that really happened or whether I was simply transported? beamed? the tiny distance away from the low, blood drenched altar and ring of fire.

I was caressed by twenty-two bloody hands; male and female; large and small, rough and soft. Eleven pairs of blood-smeared lips smothered every part of my body with sensual fragrant kisses. The continual touching was electric and very, very arousing. I was hard and leaking pre-cum within seconds.

Alex's blood adorned my flesh and filled my stomach. His uniquely boyish aroma coated my nasal passages and flooded my tastebuds. It tasted sweet and thick and dangerous, just as Kristen told me many years ago.

One by one, each of my Coven siblings knelt before me. One by one they took my engorged cock in their mouth, worshipped me with tongue, teeth and lips and drank of my essence. The other ten continued stroking and touching me. It was the most erotic experience of my life, surpassed only by my first coupling with our Master. I orgasmed over and over and over, (eleven times in all) never feeling as if I would run dry, my cock never going the slightest bit soft. As each one stood, they kissed Bakula deeply, sharing the taste of me with our Coven Sire. Then Bakula took me in his arms and we French-kissed for what seemed like hours, never running out of breath, never wanting to let each other go.

When we finally did part, I was still as hard as ever and twice as horny. I knew of only one being that could drain me completely, one lover that could satisfy my insatiable sexual cravings.

"Fuck me now, Master. I am yours. Fuck me now, Master. I am yours," I cried out both mentally and vocally. It's only now that I realize how similar my words were to those spoken by Alex in the minutes before his death.

Sire Bakula took two steps backwards, transforming before my eyes into my demon Master, my beautiful, cruel Master. He emerged from Bakula's already lifeless body like a stunningly beautiful butterfly breaking free from the cocoon of an ugly, hairy caterpillar. Giant iridescent wings unfurled from behind him reaching fifteen feet into the air. I longed to be enveloped in them, knowing they would be as soft as the finest kidskin leather. No longer just an insubstantial shadow trapped inside a mortal body, Master was as solid and real as I, perhaps more so.

A magnificent gold plated, gem encrusted throne materialized out of thin air. He collapsed back into it, but it was a movement of exquisite control and fluidity. His wings lifted gracefully so they wouldn't be crushed against the back of the throne.

"I am here, my sweet child. Here to claim what has been, and what always will be, mine for all eternity." His voice was a low rumbling growl, like honey coated gravel. It was the most sexually arousing thing I had ever heard. My body felt like one giant penis, the millions of nerves like prostates being stimulated all at the same time.

I gazed in awe at His glorious naked body covered with glistening scales that caught the candlelight, reflecting back every color of the rainbow. His face was chiselled and angular with a striking nose and lusciously plump lips. Two long, thick horns sprouted from the top of His head which was covered in a thick mane of coal black hair that fell to his waist. They curved and draped over his pectoral muscles, ending in sensitive looking tentacles that teased His prominent nipples. I at once imagined my cock trapped between His lips whilst He fucked me into oblivion with one, or both, of those flexible appendages.

Every muscle, tendon and ligament was perfectly formed and defined, like a fresh cadaver minus its skin. He was at least eight feet tall, with broad shoulders and chest tapering down to a slender waist. My eyes were quickly drawn lower, past His flat belly before stopping, fixed on the most wondrous sight I had ever seen.

A massive cock, eighteen inches long and a minimum six inches thick, stood proudly at attention above two perfectly round balls the size of large grapefruit.

I moved to kneel at His feet, but, in the blink on an eye, Master was surrounded by the Coven acolytes. I was confused and deeply hurt at being denied the opportunity to display my subservience. I struck out at the closest of my new siblings, but was pushed back firmly.

I surged forward once more, determined to force my way through the barrier separating me from my Master, determined to kill with my bare hands any that stood in my way if that's what it took. Before I completed the first step, there was a loud bang like an explosion and a huge crack appeared in the stone floor just in front of my bare feet. It rapidly spread, growing too wide for me to step or even jump over.

My forward momentum almost carried me to my death. Balanced precariously on the edge, my arms flailing uselessly, I knew couldn't prevent myself falling forwards. I also couldn't avoid looking down into the deep dark crevice that would soon be my grave. It was bottomless as far as I could tell and I knew without a doubt I was looking at the Gates of Hell. Thick black smoke, tinged red by the fires of Hades and hotter than the sun, billowed upwards, carrying the stench of death and decay along with the anguish-filled screams of millions of tormented souls.

Time froze as I hung over the chasm. Just as my toes lost their grip on the edge and I began to fall, a strong and familiar gust of icy wind erupted from the far side of the crevice. It caught and cradled me, lifting me up and carrying me backwards to the safety of the stone floor.

Even though we were separated by a dozen or so feet, there was no doubt in my mind that it was my Master who had saved my life. He truly held my life in the palm of His hand. Just as he had punished me earlier for baulking at drinking the boy's blood, he proved to me just then that he could and would protect me. He was able to deliver pain or pleasure at whim, able to sustain or snuff out life as He so desired.

And yet, He had pushed me further away rather than bringing me closer. I was heartbroken. Master obviously didn't consider me attractive enough to want me anywhere near Him. He didn't even want to look upon me. What had I done- or not done- to displease Him so badly?

I sunk to my knees, silent tears coursing down my cheeks, not knowing what else to do, but wanting to stay as close as He would allow.

I was so distraught, I nearly didn't hear the oldest of my Brothers solemnly explain why I had been banished.

"A newborn must first cross the Abyss before being deemed worthy to kneel at our Master's feet."

Only then did I recall Sire Bakula's earlier words to Father: "...needs energy... different experiences of those who cross the Abyss... join those who reside on The Other Side... meet those who seek revenge."

*Mulder.* I thought I heard my name in a barely audible whisper.

*Mulder.* Again, slightly louder. It didn't sound like Master's deep voice, didn't make sense that He would call me by that name, but I couldn't think who else it might be.

*You're going to listen to me.*

I finally noticed that the persistent tingle that had taken up residence in my mind was the source of the voice. It was so gentle and different from what I experienced when Spender thrust his thoughts into my brain, that I was at a lost to explain it. My confusion didn't last long.

*I am Ronin and you are going to listen to me.*

Pusher. "Get the fuck outa my head, Modell," I muttered under my breath.

*You're going to listen to me, Mulder.*

"Like hell I am, you bastard." I was growling now, hoping that vocalizing my response out loud would help me resist his commands, help me fight the whammy he was trying to put on me.

Modell's words wove like tentacles through my mind, gradually getting tighter and tighter. It was like being caught in quicksand. The more I struggled and fought, the harder he pushed his will into me. I knew I couldn't fight him, knew I had no choice but to surrender completely and immediately.

*Listen and obey, Mulder.*

Obey? I almost laughed out loud. There was only one Master that I'd ever obey and it sure as hell wasn´t Bob Modell. I'd play his game if only because I had to in order to be accepted by my Master.

"Obey who?" I asked, even though I wasn't really all that interested in finding out what he had in store for me this time. He was just a stepping stone on my journey back to my Master's side.

The last time we had met, in the hospital, he hadn't revealed his plans until all the pieces were in place, until Scully arrived in the room. Even after making her watch me pull the trigger twice, he kept his intentions hidden til the last possible second, til he forced me to turn the loaded gun on my partner, my friend, the only person I had ever trusted back then.

Confident that he had me well and truly under his control, Modell spoke out loud for the first time, "Whoever wants to play. Play their games and it will all be over before you know it."

Modell's voice came from behind me, just over my left shoulder. A hand was placed lightly on my right shoulder as I bowed my head in submission. I closed my eyes, just wanting it all to be over and done with. My Master waited for me across the Abyss and that was all I thought about.

"Very good, Fox. Let's get this show on the road."

With those words, my journey began.

Something stroked my cheek and I opened my eyes to see a hideously deformed hand holding a choke collar made of heavy chain and black leather leash. The hand was pinky, yellowish in colour and translucent with pronounced blue veins covering the surface. The middle two fingers were fused together in one misshapen mass. I recognized it immediately as belonging to John Barnett, my first case out of the academy, my first case with the Violent crimes unit and, years after it should have happened, my first kill.

My words to Scully after we watched him die came back to haunt me: "I feel like we haven't heard the last from John Barnett."

He slipped the collar over my head and jerked on the leash, yanking me to my feet. "Looks like I've snared myself a fox."

I brazenly met his gaze, looking into pale blue eyes that were every bit as devoid of life as their owner.

"Man, I'm everywhere you are. Everywhere," he said in his trademark slow, breathy voice. He had spoken those exact words the first time he phoned me to brag about the crime he had committed, the person he had murdered, in order to leave me a note.

So, it would seem that he would get his revenge from beyond the grave, after all. We never did find Ridley's anti-aging and cell regeneration research he had stashed away in some obscure, safe location.

"I told you I'd get you, Fox." He wrapped the leash around his good left hand, drawing me close. "I own you." He winked at me, repeating his actions in the courthouse all those years ago. He puckered his lips and pressed them to mine, his salamander hand cold and dry against the back of my neck.

I stood passively as he kissed me, neither responding to nor resisting the invasion of his tongue inside my mouth. Finally he released me and it took all my will power not to raise my hand to wipe away the foul tasting saliva he left behind. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how vile his touch was to me.

I never questioned the extreme implausibility of what was happening. That a ghost, a man I had shot and killed some eight years before, had just French-kissed me. He was flesh and blood, as real as Samantha had been when I held her for the very last time in a field bathed in starlight and filled with children playing and laughing and singing.

"What do you want, Barnett?" I had my suspicions by the way he was groping me, his deformed hand tracing a path between my neck and groin. Thick, lumpy fingers grabbed my cock, eradicating my erection in less than a second, much to my relief. I even felt my balls try to draw up into my body to get away from the freak's icy cold touch.

"I'm going to fuck you, Mulder. You fucked up my hand and my life, so that's how I'm going to fuck you."

I shuddered involuntarily at the implications of his words, barely noticing as he pulled me over towards the main altar in the middle of the cavern. Invisible hands lifted me, positioning me face down on the rough stone surface. I could feel and taste and smell the sweat and blood and fear of everyone who had lain here before me. The fact that I knew I would survive and be reunited with my Master helped calm the gut wrenching terror that was struggling to wrestle control away from Modell.

Pusher's will alone held me down as securely as if I been bound hand and foot. I swear, though, I could feel cold iron shackles around my wrists and ankles, hear the chains rattle and clink as they were attached to thick steel rings embedded in the rock beneath me. My limbs were pulled uncomfortably taut by invisible restraints to the four corners of the altar, leaving me helpless and open to Barnett's wandering hands. My genitals were crushed underneath me, but the pain didn't register at all.

To my relief, Modell seemed to have his full concentration focussed on restraining me. I tried, unsuccessfully as it turned out, to disassociate myself from what Barnett was doing to my ass. Something cold and wet was smeared along the crack and pushed inside, didn't want to imagine what I was being lubed with- probably blood, god knows there was plenty of it available. I felt my butt cheeks forced apart by a cold, solid mass and tried my best to relax and accept the intruder. It still hurt like hell though as the outer ring of muscle was breached and I gasped in pain.

"That's it, Fox. Open up wide and let me in," Barnett breathed into my ear as he withdrew briefly only to quickly thrust his malformed middle "finger" back inside. A half dozen jabs later, Barnett considered me loosened up enough to insert his whole fist into my ass. I had never been stretched so much, not even by Spender. The pain was indescribable. Sure, I had been fisted before by clients, but never as brutally as this or with as little preparation.

My hips were lifted inches off the altar by the force of Barnett's thrusts and punches as he buried his arm deep up my rectum and into my bowels. Even after I stopped screaming, from exhaustion rather than any lessening of pain, the sounds still echoed around me. They bounced off the stone floor, walls and ceiling of the cavern, doubling and tripling in volume and intensity instead of quickly fading away.

Barnett settled into a slow but punishing rhythm that soon had me hard despite the pain. I came within minutes, much to his delight and my horror.

"Guess it's your funeral now, Fox."

Without missing a beat, he pulled hard on the leash. Rather than administering an erotic strangulation designed to arouse and heighten the excitement of orgasm, Barnett's only intention was to kill me.

His position between my legs gave him good leverage to tighten the choke chain with his good hand while continuing to fist me with his mutant one. Within seconds I was on the verge of passing out. I was light-headed and dizzy, but there was none of the euphoria I had felt during previous erotic asphyxiations. There was only terror and abject despair at my impending death; not of death itself though, but the fact that I would die without ever having been claimed by my Master. I didn't want to die without Him having been buried deeply inside me, deeper even than Barnett was capable of going with his arm. Master could strangle me, bleed me, cut me into a thousand pieces and I would die happy.

He kept up the tension on the leash and my world grayed and then blackened. I was weak and pathetic. No wonder He didn't want me.

My last conscious thought was that of profound shame at having failed my Master.

I came to an unknown time later when Barnett shoved his skinny cock into my mouth. He didn't expect me to participate, fucking my face as viciously as he had fisted my ass. He came in minutes, shooting bitter-tasting cum down my throat. He withdrew and faded into the smoky ether, the collar and leash vanishing with him, like the ghost he was.

Praying my ordeal was over, I searched immediately for my Master. I wanted- needed- him to touch me, to hold me, to wash away the decaying stench of Barnett's touch.

I turned my head to the left but he was still hidden out of sight, seated on his throne behind the wall of Coven acolytes. The air around them shimmered, colors of a million different hues sparkling in the torchlight. Even though the Abyss had been created, the path to my Master remained tantalizingly just out of my reach. I could swear the opening had narrowed slightly, though it was still too wide to be traversed. Or was that just the wishful thinking of a slave desperate to be in his Master's embrace? If it was true, it meant I was moving closer to my Master, if only by a few inches. I would suffer a thousand Barnetts fucking me if that was the price Master demanded of me to kneel at His feet.

Either Modell was tiring or he was permitting me this very limited movement. I quickly ruled out the former, figuring that spirits had an infinite supply of energy at their disposal, which left the latter explanation, though I had no idea of his motives.

I was just about to lay my head back down when I saw a dark, shapeless shadow rising up from the Abyss, shrouded in smoke and flames. It emerged from the thick fog, gaining form and features as it drew closer to the altar where I was held captive by Pusher's will.

"Mulder. Long time no see."

It was another familiar face, another felon I had killed with a single shot to the forehead. I detected a very distinct pattern forming and racked my memory for others who fit the cause of death and revenge-seeking formulas.

"It's been a long time. A very long, very lonely, time." John Lee Roche stared down at me with undisguised lust. His hand was caressing the bulge in his trousers, but he never took his brown eyes off me.

"What a pity then that I'm not your type," I said. "Guess you'll have to get your rocks off all by yourself."

"What makes you think you're not my type? Only kids believe in UFOs and little green men." He made a circular motion with one finger and that weird whistling noise that he had taunted me with in my Dad's house on the Vineyard. "You're just a little boy in a man's body."

He slowly circled the altar, revelling in his freedom and my captivity. Trailing a bony hand down my left thigh, he moved out of my line of sight. When I saw him a few seconds later, he held something that glinted in the firelight, but I couldn't work out what is was. He ran it lightly along my other leg, from ankle to hip. It was cold and hard and slightly rounded. I finally identified it as the handle of the dagger used to sacrifice the boy.

"Since when have you liked little boys, Roche? You only get turned on by young girls in frilly nightgowns and pretty ribbons in their hair."

I don't know why I was baiting him. Force of habit, I suppose. He had all the advantage, all the power, just like any rapist, corporeal or otherwise. I was as helpless as any of his sixteen previous victims.

"I'm realistic, like I told you. Take what I can get. Not a lot of sweet little girls in a federal prison. But plenty of pussy-boys willing to please a man anyway they can."

He did another slow circuit around me, the dagger handle never losing contact with my skin. I would have been well carved up had he been using the blade.

"If you're gonna fuck me, Roche, just get it over and done with."

"That is such a vulgar term, Fox. I'm going to make love to you like I do with all my boys."

"Sure, fine, whatever." I lay my head back down, already resigned to the fact that I was totally defenceless against this sexual predator.

"Turn over. I want you on your back."

I didn't move a muscle even though I felt Modell ease his "hold" on me enough to obey Roche's command.

"I'll be gentle, I promise." He had twisted the dagger in his hand and was running the top edge of the blade along my spine.

"Sorry, but your promises aren't worth shit, Roche."

"You didn't meet my conditions so I was under no obligation to keep my end of the deal."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I asked, totally confounded by his reasoning. I figured that as long as I kept him talking he wouldn't fuck me. But as dersirable as that concept was, it was also a cruel catch-22. The Abyss wouldn't get any narrower and, therefore, I wouldn't get any closer to being claimed by my Master until Roche had taken his turn up my backside.

A stinging slap landed on my ass, quickly followed by a soft caress and still I didn't move.

"Turn over, Fox. I want to see your face as we make love," he ordered, ignoring my question.

*Do as he says, Mulder.*

I still resisted. The last thing I wanted was to look my rapist in the eye as he fucked me.

"Do it, Mulder. Don't bother resisting. You know you can't." Modell pushed as hard as he could, forcing his will onto me, forcing me to submit and obey.

The pressure in my brain was so bad I was sure my head would explode. The pain was a hundred times worse than any migraine I had ever experienced.

"I thought you wanted a worthy adversary, Modell," I snarled, slowly rolling over, but far from defeated.

"And you were. You've already proven yourself to be a true warrior. No need to fight any longer."

As soon as my back was flat against the smooth stone, Modell immediately relaxed his vice-like grip on my brain and immobilized me again, pulling the invisible chains binding my wrists and ankles tight once more.

Much to my surprise, Roche kept his promise. He was as gentle as a lover. After placing the dagger on my sternum, an unusually erotic action in a very long night of sensual sensory overload, he caressed and stroked me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. He didn't leave a single patch of skin untouched as he explored erogenous zones I never knew I had.

My mouth received prolonged attention with long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that thankfully lasted nowhere near three minutes, let alone three days.

My nipples were next on Roche's agenda. They were teased and toyed with, licked and nibbled until they were erect and ultrasensitive to even the tiniest breath exhaled over them.

He then moved down to my crotch, leaving a trail of feather soft kisses down my abdomen and belly. Considering the extraordinary number of orgasms I'd had in a very short space of time, my penis should have been completely lifeless, my balls totally depleted of semen. But it sprung to life, purple and engorged and already leaking pre-cum, the second he swept his thumb over the head.

He spent many minutes stroking and squeezing my cock, always gentle, always careful not to inflict even the slightest bit of pain. He used plenty of lube, his hands easily gliding over the head and up and down the shaft. I was left weak and shuddering, trembling with desire even as I burned with hatred for my abuser.

Given the amount of stimulation my cock had received, it should have been red raw and very, very tender, but it wasn't. What Roche was doing felt good, it felt damn good and I couldn't help but respond. Almost involuntarily, my hips thrust upwards, pushing my cock into his hand. I was silently hoping he would wrap his long fingers tighter around me and jerk me off properly instead of taking me to the verge of release and then keeping me there.

After what seemed like hours, I felt one of his fingers circle around my anus. More teasing followed, driving me crazy, driving me to scream out, "Fuck me already!"

"All in good time, Fox. You need to experience all the pleasure I can give you. Anything less and you won't be fully satisfied."

He stopped any further protest by covering my mouth with his and kissing me til I nearly passed out from oxygen deprivation.

He slipped one finger inside me while I was catching my breath, quickly adding a second when he realised I was a fair bit looser than his usual fuck-buddies. Even so, he still took his time stretching me, but I'm sure it was designed more to piss the hell out of me than any genuine concern for my welfare.

"You've always taken things between us so personally. I guess we can't get more personal than this, can we, Fox?" Roche said when he eventually slid his long cock slowly inside me.

In many ways, Roche's lengthy preparation and careful penetration was more of a rape than Barnett's brutal assault had been. His cruelness came not from pain, but from pleasure. He did everything in his power to assure that I experienced maximum arousal and sexual satisfaction.

After he was fully imbedded in my ass, all pretence of kindness and social niceties vanished and he fucked me with the desperation of a man just released from years of imposed celibacy. The dagger slid off my chest as my whole body was violently rocked by the force of his thrusts. I felt the welts on my back tear open and begin to bleed from being scraped back and forth on the rough surface of the altar.

The fucking, though brutal, was blessedly brief with both of us coming explosively after only a few minutes. Roche pulled out with a loud satisfied grunt and a final squeeze of my limp cock. He adjusted his clothing and turned away from me without uttering a word.

Straight away, I looked to see if I was any closer to my Master. Relief flooded me at the site of him sitting regally on his throne, flanked by my Brothers and Sisters. He seemed so close that I was sure I could reach out and touch him. I longed to do just that but was prevented from doing so by the mental control Modell still had over me.

The formally wide crevice in the ground had shrunk to just a couple of feet. My Master waited for me just on the other side, so close and yet still so far away.

Roche took a couple of steps towards it, losing focus and solidity the further he moved away from me. I was expecting Modell to "free" me and for them both to fade away into nothing just as Barnett had done, when Roche stopped and turned to face me, the dagger firmly in his grasp.

"Nearly forgot," he said as he approached me again. "Can't leave without taking a trophy, a little something to remember our time by."

I knew at once what his intention was and started struggling immediately, though I was well aware that I wouldn't be able to escape.

"Get away from me, you bastard!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, all to no avail.

Roche never broke stride as he stalked the few yards between us with a predatory look on his thin face.

"Touch me again and you'll wish you were dead!" Only thing wrong with the threat was that he was dead already, but that tiny detail didn't stop me issuing it anyway. I knew that he would face a fate far worse than hell if he carried through with his plan.

He placed one hand around my throat, squeezing hard enough to severely interfere with my breathing. The other hovered over my chest, the tip of the dagger scraping my sweaty skin. Without hesitating, he pushed the blade into the flesh covering my heart and swiftly cut out a small patch of skin. He only went a few layers deep, but it felt like the dagger sliced all the way through to my back.

I screamed again, the pain of having a finger broken twice feeling like a stubbed toe compared to the agony I was in at that moment.

It was over within seconds and, barely conscious, I watched Roche through tear-filled eyes as he stood there, admiring his trophy. His grip on my throat loosened, becoming an affectionate caress that totally belied the torture he had just inflicted.

"Master!" I cried out for the one being, the only being, that could comfort me and take away the pain.

Before the word had fully left my lips, the space between us crackled with static electricity, bolts of red and blue, yellow and green fire shooting through the air like lightning. They struck and surrounded Roche where he stood. He crumpled to the floor, disintegrating into a smoky cloud as he collapsed.

When the air cleared, I saw something float towards the ground in front of Master's throne like an autumn leaf. I blinked away my tears, not realising that I could have used my hand, and saw that it was a piece of skin- my skin- in the shape of a heart.

Master bent forward, catching it before it could reach the floor. He pressed it to his lips and, with a tiny movement of one taloned finger, beckoned me to rise and go to him.

I sunk to my knees in front of the throne where He reclined. The pain in my chest all but subsided in His presence. Besides, what was a little discomfort compared to the ecstasy he could bestow on me with just a touch or a look.

"Welcome at last, my sweet Fox," Master said as he tilted my chin up with his razor sharp claw. I felt myself drowning in the glowing pools of deep red that were his eyes.

I still couldn't quite comprehend how amazingly beautiful He was. He had an aura of sophisticated malevolence; dark, evil and sinister yet tinged with sultry sexiness, oozing power and sensuality the way us mere mortals excreted sweat.

His long, thick shaft bobbed invitingly in front of my lips. I knew I would never be able to accommodate such a large organ, but I was very willing to do my best and swallow as much of it as I could manage.

Knowing what was expected of me, I flicked out my tongue, tasting Him for the very first time. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before. He tasted of violence and depravity, domination and control. It was intoxicating and instantly addictive.

As I started to pleasure my Master, He wrapped His giant wings around me. My earlier suspicions were correct; they were as soft as the finest kidskin leather. They blocked out light, sound and air, and I didn't mind one bit. Everything I needed was contained within the sanctuary those appendages created. I would be nourished by his semen alone, would breathe the heady pheromones He secreted.

Kneeling between his powerful thighs, I could barely get half of his cock in my mouth to begin with, so brought my hands into play to give him as much pleasure as I could. I used every technique I knew as I licked and nibbled, and sucked and stroked him. I paid extra attention to his massive balls, felt them pulsing beneath my tongue and fingertips, alive and bursting with the liquid manna I was so desperate to feast on.

Master wasn't brutal or violent, though He did force me to take in more than I initially thought I could handle. The discomfort, however, only lasted briefly and I soon learnt to relax my throat and jaw muscles to accommodate most of His extraordinary length. I don't think there was any human alive that could deep-throat Him completely and hoped He would be pleased with the effort I was making.

But no matter how much I stimulated Him, He didn't give up even a single drop of His precious essence. I feared I wasn't pleasing Him sufficiently and that I never would.

It was like being thrust into a toxic, vile smelling atmosphere when, without warning, Master retracted His wings and pushed me roughly away from Him.

I was devastated yet again. His rejection of me hurt more than everything that had happened in the last few hours combined and multiplied a thousandfold.

"Master, please I can do better, I can handle more. I know I can." I was openly begging and wasn't at all embarrassed to do so.

"You will get more than you can handle, little one, for I fully intend to make maximum use of you." Master smiled at me and, if I wasn't already totally entranced by Him, I was now. He had weaved His spell around me as securely as any spider's web. I didn't fight or struggle as He tightened His hold. He had done it so covertly that I wasn't really aware I was trapped until it was too late to put up even a token resistance. I wanted to be consumed by Him, devoured until there was nothing left of me, until we were truly one being, one entity.

He clicked His fingers and, without thinking, I immediately positioned myself on all fours, presenting my ass for Him to use as He pleased.

"Stand, sweet Fox. You may be my pet, but I won't take you like a common animal." He gestured for me to rise and I complied at once, curious as to what He had in mind.

Eight of my Brothers and Sisters lined up, four on each side of me. They joined hands, forming a fleshy sling to cradle me as I laid back into their outstretched arms. I didn't hesitate, knowing without a doubt they would not let me fall. One of my Brothers supported my head and shoulders. He positioned me so that I could see down along my body to where Master stood between my legs. The last two took hold of my ankles, raising my legs and spreading them wide apart.

I was totally open and exposed, eagerly awaiting my Master's attentions. I was so sure I would explode as soon as He even breathed on me.

He didn't keep me waiting long.

I thought I had been stretched to my limit by Barnett's mutated fist, but that was like being fucked with a couple of fingers compared to the workout Master gave my ass. It was like a jackhammer set on maximum speed had been inserted inside me, but there was absolutely no pain, only the most sensational ecstasy that I had ever experienced. Master was right. Nothing in my wildest fantasies had ever come close to the unbelievably erotic pleasure His actions were creating.

I visualised millions of tiny tentacles spreading out from his cock, running along every single nerve, invading every single cell, millions of tiny cocks all pumping and throbbing, fucking me from my very core to the outermost layer of my skin.

I know I was screaming for more, certain that Master was still holding something in reserve. I wanted everything He could give me -- and so much more -- and I wanted it right there and then.

Master pounded my ass relentlessly and, with no sign that He was even remotely close to orgasm, I knew I was in for a marathon session. My ankles were laid over his shoulders and released. His long flexible horns wrapped around my wrists as my Siblings released their supportive hold on me. I fell a couple of inches before Master took up the slack. It was like I was freefalling and Master was my parachute. And then it was just the two of us, joined in the most intimate way possible. The rest of the world, and everyone and everything in it, had ceased to exist.

He didn't just fuck me, He made love to me like no-one had ever done before. His slender hands, with their long taloned fingers, explored every part of my body. Unlike our first encounter prior to my initiation, he was as gentle as a mother with a newborn child. His saliva was no longer acidic, designed to burn and sizzle, but a sweet, cooling nectar that I knew I couldn't ever overdose on.

He lifted me off his massive shaft with only the rocking motion of His hips and the strength of His magnificent tentacle-like horns, then let gravity push me back down. I gripped Him with my rectal muscles as if I could hold Him inside me forever. The emptiness was far more painful than being impaled on eighteen inches of smooth, rigid flesh.

After a dozen or so penetrations, He embedded His cock in me for the last time. The head expanded to an enormous sized knot and, for the first time, I felt real pain that quickly became excruciating. I was sure I would be split in two. I tried my best to remain silent but failed miserably.

"Master! Please!" I yelled with as much energy as I could muster which wasn't much at all by that stage. "No more... hurts... so bad."

"Hush, little one. Remember just a little pain before the pleasure." He soothed me, placing His arms beneath my back and drawing me close to His chest. This altered angle allowed Him to go even deeper inside me, something I thought was physically impossible. I was sure his cock had entered my stomach by now.

"I know it hurts, pet, but you need it to hurt, you want me to hurt you. Don't you?"

He rubbed my back and stroked my sweat-drenched hair. He kissed me passionately, His forked tongue fucking my mouth and throat as if it was another cock. I was impaled and filled at both ends.

"Yes, Master," I sobbed, knowing it was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

"You will kill for me, pet." It was a statement, rather than a question but I knew he required an answer regardless.

"Yes, Master."

"You will die for me."

"Yes, Master."

Each statement and reply was punctuated by a powerful thrust of his cock. I felt as if my intestines being ripped to shreds, blood flooding my abdomen, tender organs like kidneys, liver and spleen being battered and bruised.

Then Master spasmed once, twice, three times before releasing his essence into my body. It was forced through my inside passages all the way to my mouth by the power of his orgasm. Father's modified semen, even at its hottest, was like iced water compared to Master's seed which was literally molten fire, thick and gluggy like lava fresh from a volcano.

He collapsed back onto His throne, shuddering violently with me shaking in His grip like a rag doll. I was a quickly discarded rag doll as He pushed me off His lap. I fell to the floor with a thud but didn't care one iota. I was His, now and forever. His seed ran out of my ass and dribbled down my chin. I was covered in bites from His sharp fangs and scratches from His long claws.

With a booming clap of His hands, Master announced, "I wish to feed." And so began the sacrifices, the true reason for the gathering.

They were more shocking and bloodthirsty than anything I could have imagined. A long line of naked men and women, their hands bound behind their backs with heavy iron shackles, heads covered with black hoods, were escorted into the cavern by servants. They walked slowly and without rhythym, more than a few of them stumbling, and I was sure they had been drugged into complete and total submission.

I lost count after the first dozen or so, only concerned with which ones Master would allow me to kill for Him. It thrilled me that so many were needed to take my place, to fill my shoes so to speak. Now it makes me sick to my stomach to think of how much horror could be inflicted on so many by so few and in such a short amount of time.

At the rear of the procession two pairs of heavily muscled men carried a boxy crate or cage suspended on thick poles. It swung wildly to and fro as if it contained a wild animal fighting to escape. Due to a heavy black covering, I couldn't tell whether it was in fact an animal or not. Even the loud growls and unintelligible sounds that could have been curses muffled by a gag defied identification as either man or beast.

It was set down next to the inverted wooden cross and secured in place with heavy chains. Despite this, the cage still shook violently. On a table beside the cross lay a shiny new hammer and a bag of large nails.

My attention was drawn back to the centre of the cavern as my siblings literally fought each other to get their hands on the captives, even though there were more than enough to go around. In groups of three or four, they pounced on each victim, throwing them to the stone floor. They raped and ravaged, mutilated and murdered with bare hands and teeth. The dead and dying were then dragged over and laid at our Master's feet.

I knelt proudly by His side, His chosen one, His prize possession. He had one tentacle wrapped firmly around my throat, the other gripping my cock and he fondled me continuously. Although I was basking in the glory of my position so close to Master, I also itched to slip my organic leash and join my Brothers and Sisters in the debauchery. I strained forward, Master's tentacle tightening around my throat until I felt light-headed and dizzy.

"Patience, pet. You'll get your turn soon."

I purred loudly with contentment, rubbing my face up and down his scaly leg, inhaling his rich, earthy scent.

Other victims were dragged over to the many torture devices scattered around the killing chamber. They were lashed to stretching racks where limbs were torn from sockets; bound to the stakes and set alight; forced to kneel, heads secured under the gleaming blade of the guillotine.

Within minutes, the air was filled with the agony filled screams of the damned, the metallic aroma of fresh blood mingling with the smoky odours of charred and burning flesh.

It was as if I had stepped into the pages of Marquis De Sade's "The One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom".

It was a frenzied orgy of bloody mayhem, revelry and slaughter that lasted maybe ten minutes. Corpses littered the floor of the cavern. Some were still pink and twitching with life, the flesh stripped to the bone in places, whilst others were blackened, dismembered and disembowelled. The choicest pieces of meat had been hacked off, hearts ripped from bodies whilst still warm and beating. These delicacies were presented to Master as the most sacred of offerings. He hand-fed me tasty morsels and I was in heaven as I licked His fingers clean of blood and offal.

When the supply of sacrificial victims was depleted, my siblings turned on each other. The younger, weaker ones were quickly overpowered by the stronger ones.

I was like a sick child kept inside on the day of the first real snowfalls, watching all my friends having snowball fights and being snowmen. I was more restless than before to join in and, this time, Master didn't hold me back.

"Go and play, pet," He said with a flick of His hand.

I thanked Him with a quick kiss on His cheek and hurried to join my brothers and sisters in a sexual free-for-all

My first coupling was with Shabriri, the first acolyte to mark me during my initiation. She looked even more youthful than her voice had previously suggested. She couldn't have been a day over eighteen, with gorgeous honey-blonde hair that fell in waves down her back and sapphire blue eyes. After positioning her on all fours, I took her roughly from behind, my rigid cock sliding into her like a hand into a well fitted glove.

My last was with my two eldest Brothers, both easily in their sixties but with the stamina of teenagers and flexibility of Olympic gymnasts. They did things to me I never even knew were physically possible.

In between were positions and combinations too numerous to remember. I was treated like a God, worshipped and made love to with a tenderness that was completely at odds with the carnage that surrounded us. I know it was fear of harming Master's pet that saved me from being torn to shreds like a couple of my less fortunate siblings.

I was also something more than a mere pet, though how I knew this I have no idea. With Sire Bakula's body annihilated by Master's entry into this world, He would need a new vessel to occupy once the power drawn by the Ritual had dissipated. Just the same as I knew my own name and birthdate, I knew I was to be that vessel. Even though I knew it would be total and irreversible Possession and that nothing of me would survive, I would have willingly given up my body and offered up my soul so that Master could prosper. I was His Heir, so to speak. All my Brothers and Sisters knew it and treated me accordingly.

Those of my siblings who had survived the gang-bang, slumped around Master's throne, exhausted from an overabundance of sex and multiple orgasms, bloated from feeding on Master's left-over scraps and each other.

With a click of His fingers, Master summoned me and I crawled over to His throne. My body was alive and tingling with sexual energy that was almost electric and just this side of painful.

Master looked down at me, an unreadable expression on His reptilian face. "It's yours. Do with it as you wish." His whole being glowed with a luminescence that was nearly blinding.

I was at a loss as to what he was referring to when I noticed he was pointing over my shoulder at something behind me. I twisted my head around and saw the cage, still guarded by the four solidly built men who had carried it into the cavern. It took me a few seconds to realize that the thick chains and black shroud-like covering had been removed and I could see the occupant imprisoned behind bars as thick as my arm.

"Master?" I turned back to face my demon lover, still unsure if I had really heard what I thought I had.

"The creature in there." He made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "I have no use of it, so you may as well have it. A pet of your own."

I didn't want to turn around again, didn't want to look and find out that my eyes had deceived me.

I didn't want to look, but I had to. I had to know whether the bound person restrained within was a wonderful fantasy come true or the cruelest of nightmares.

I slowly rose to my feet, turning in a half-circle. What greeted my sight looked as real as any of the ghosts and spirits that I had interacted with that night.

The cage he was in was tiny, just big enough to hold his nude, crouching body. Spreader bars separated wrists and ankles, which were secured to the top and floor bars with tight metal cuffs that dug into his flesh. He briefly held his head as high as he could, considering the cramped conditions, but dirty, matted hair covered his face. Under the thick, greasy locks I could see black cloth covering his eyes and the black leather of a large ball gag wedged between cracked, bleeding lips. But I didn't need to see brilliant jade eyes, elfin nose and perfectly formed mouth to know who my new pet was.

And yet deep, deep down there was still a tiny bit of doubt that I was really looking at my gorgeous, spirited former lover for the first time in almost two years. I thought back to the numerous clones of my sister that Spender had paraded before me over the years. He had access to cloning technology and the authority to use it to his own devious ends.

There was only one way to determine whether the caged man really was my Alex. I stepped forward a few paces, one hand held out in a gesture of peace, even though the intended recipient couldn't see it.

"Alex..." My voice failed me before I could speak his full name. His head jerked upwards at the sound and my hopes rose then plummeted when it slumped lower than it was previously. It was probably just a reflex action to a familiar name, rather than a familiar voice. For all I knew he thought I was the clone and imposter.

I continued to move closer, whispering his name once more, this time with more success. "Alexander. It's me. Fox."

His head shot up again and, to my relief, stayed up. A low growl escaped the gag that I easily translated as: "I've told you a fucking thousand times not to call me that."

I nearly jumped for joy. It was Alex, my Alex, my one and only beautiful Alexander. I rushed forward the last few steps, putting my hand between the bars so I could stroke his cheek.

He leaned into my caress and I nearly broke down in tears. We were together once more and this time we would never be parted, not by Spender, not by death. Not even the most powerful of demons could extinguish my love for Alex. He would sit by Master's side, His eternal companion. He would be the only part of me that would survive once Master consumed my soul and claimed my body as His own.

"Free him now," I commanded one of the guards in my most forceful tone, even though I was shaking inside. He made the error of looking at Master for permission. It was an insult to me of the highest magnitude, and I slapped him hard across the face. "He belongs to me and I order you to release him at once."

The thrill I got from knowing that muscle-boy didn't dare retaliate was almost orgasmic. I could have beaten him senseless and he wouldn't have lifted a finger in self-defence. His fellow servants wouldn't have come to his aid, either.

Within seconds, keys were produced and the handcuffs around his wrists released. Alex thrashed about madly, nearly crushing the arm of the guard trying to unlock his ankle cuff from inside the cage. I did my best to calm him with next to no success. He was literally out of control and I knew the sooner he was out of the cage and restraints, the better.

Before I could stop them, two of the guards had shoved the cage onto its side. Alex landed on his back, his head hitting the thick bars with a sickening thud.

If I hadn't been so concerned about Alex, I would have beaten the crap out of them for causing him harm. Instead I demanded the key and told them to get the fuck away from us both.

Soon, I had his ankles freed. But the enclosure was too small and confining to remove the spreader bars with him still inside. He would have to crawl out after I righted the cage.

He had obviously exhausted the little energy he had and he just lay there, trembling in shock or fear or both. The door to his cage was now situated above him and I reached inside to remove his blindfold. I talked to him constantly in low, soothing whispers.

"Alex, it's me. It's going to be okay. I'm not going to let anyone else hurt you." I almost said I wasn't going to hurt him, but I knew that wasn't the case and I couldn't bring myself to lie to him. Just as I had to endure the Abyss to kneel at Master's feet, so Alex would also have to endure some pain, perhaps even death, so he could take his place at Master's side.

"I'm going to take off your blindfold so you can see me, okay?"

He gave a tiny nod which I presumed was permission. He turned his head so that I could reach the velcro at the back that held it in place. I removed the cloth and held my breath, not knowing what his reaction would be.

Almost a minute passed before he slowly turned his face back towards me. I pushed his long, dishevelled hair out of his eyes, only to find they were closed, the lids sticky with sleep and tears. Licking my thumb, I wiped the crust from his eyelids.

I had forgotten how smooth and youthful his skin had been. It was still as soft as a baby's bottom, even after all the abuse and neglect he had obviously suffered.

Alex opened his eyes and looked up at me, his expression one of ingrained distrust warring with hope.

"Yes, Alexander. It's really me." I stroked his cheek again, longing to hold him in my arms and wash away all the grime and dried blood with my kisses alone.

He leaned into my caress for a second time before pulling away, though he continued to look at me or, rather, at my bare chest that was covered in scars and scratches and bloody demonic sigils. He stared in particular at the heart shaped wound near my left nipple.

I realized the sight I must have made with my own long hair and scarred body.

I knew I had to get things moving so I ignored his silent plea for an explanation. "I'm going to shift the cage so you can crawl out. Then we can get rid of those," I said, pointing to the rigid rod between his wrists.

He braced himself by grabbing onto the bars above his head and I lifted the cage back to its upright position as gently as I could. It wasn't easy, as its weight combined with Alex's was considerable, but I didn't want Bakula's thugs anywhere near Alex unless it was absolutely necessary.

He quickly crawled out the opening and tried to stand, anxious to stretch cramped muscles.

I helped him with a hand under his left arm then knelt down to release the cuffs of the spreader bar between his ankles. All of a sudden, his right foot connected with my jaw and I went flying backwards. Before I could recover, two of the guards had grabbed Alex, dragging him towards the cross which was being lowered and tilted into a horizontal position by the other two.

Alex fought them with everything he had, but he was too weak to break free. He could do nothing but struggle feebly as he was bound to the cross.

Jumping to my feet, I yelled for them to let him go, but they ignored me. I figured they thought he was a danger to me, one that I was unable to control. I knew that Alex would never intentionally harm me. He was just frightened and had lashed out at the closest available target.

His arms were pulled above his head and stretched to either end of the crossbeam with the spreader bar still in place. Only when he was firmly secured, his feet tied with thick rope, did the guards retreat. They had accomplished with brute strength what I wanted to do with love and kindness and passion.

Alex's wild green eyes zeroed in on me as I stepped into his line of sight. There was no love in them, only anger and betrayal. Did he know what was going to happen? Was he told that he was to be the final sacrifice to a demonic entity?

If so, then I was just following a script I had no prior knowledge of, just like the final minutes of my initiation. Yet, this time I didn't mind playing the part of the puppet. I wanted what Master wanted, wanted to kill for Him, to die for Him, just as He told me. We were both chosen to serve Master, destined to die so that He would live and grow stronger.

I moved closer and unbuckled the strap that held the ball gag in place. Alex all but spat it out at me.

"What the..." he said before stopping to lick dry lips and clear his throat. His voice was croaky, much rougher than its usual huskiness, as if he hadn't used it in a long time. "What the fuck has he done to you?"

"He's my Master. He's chosen me as His host-"

"I'm not talking about LizardMan," Alex interrupted me.

I slapped his cheek, outraged at his insolence and disrespect. "He is your Master as well and you will address Him as that and only that." I leaned in to kiss away the sting, to soothe the red imprint my palm had left. Just one taste of his warm flesh, just one sniff of his musky scent, and I wanted to devour him whole.

"I meant the black-lunged bastard who kidnapped you."

I didn't want to talk about my Father, didn't even want to think about him. My lips travelled to Alex's mouth without losing contact and I kissed him hard and long, until I had to let him go, my lungs screaming for oxygen.

"God, Alex, I've missed you so fucking much. I always knew we would be together at the end." Only it wouldn't really be the end, just the beginning of a new existence.

I laid my body over his, rubbing my hands over him, grinding my crotch into his, feeling him grow hard beneath me. We fitted together perfectly, like two jigsaw puzzle pieces.

"What do you mean, the end?" he asked me as we broke apart to breathe.

"Just a little pain, Alex, in return for a pleasure you could never imagine." I was parroting Master's words without realizing it. I slid down his body and straddled his legs. Bending forward, I took his cock in my mouth in one smooth movement till his balls touched my chin. What he lacked in thickness, he more than made up in length.

On the first upstroke, I quickly coated two fingers with saliva and thrust them up his ass. He moaned and bucked under me, his cock stiffening almost immediately. I finger fucked him with as much force as I could manage while at the same time sucking him so hard that I swear his balls were being drawn into his dick.

He cried out and began to shudder, the classic signs of impending orgasm. I didn't let him come, pinching him hard just under the head of his penis and totally withdrawing my mouth and fingers. I was being cruel in order to be kind. The human body tolerates more pain before orgasm than afterward. I know only too well from personal experience as I'd had too many sadists as clients to count.

"Mulder! Please... don't leave me like this," he begged me, his voice rising in pitch as his distress increased.

"I won´t keep you waiting long, Alex. I promise." I climbed off him, keeping one hand on his cock, stroking and squeezing, keeping him on the edge, but never allowing him to go over it. I picked up the hammer and a couple of nails and positioned myself next to the left end of the crossbeam. Only at the last moment did I release his purple, engorged cock.

Alex looked up at me, saw what I held and put two and two together. I saw fear flash across his eyes, before he turned his face away from me. He didn't scream or struggle, didn't curse me or beg me.

"Alex?" His dismissal of me- of us- hurt more than I could have possibly imagined.

When he looked at me again, his face was blank of all emotion, all feeling. "I've been invaded and controlled by fucking aliens, faced a long slow death from suffocation and starvation, had my arm hacked off with a blunt, rusty blade and no anaesthesia. You think the pin-prick of a nail though my wrist is gonna have me in tears and begging for mercy?"

"Alex, I love you. I want us to be together forever. Isn't that worth just a little pain?"

"Looks like Spender fucked your mind as well as your ass."

"I'm not doing this for my father. I'm doing this for my-for OUR- Master and for us. He wants us both, needs us both."

"I risked my life trying to rescue you, to get you out of Smokey's dirty fuckin' bed. And now you're gonna kill me, just to get a pat on the head and LizardMan's cock up your ass?"

I had no reply to his accusations, had no choice but to do what I had to in order to please Master. He was my number one priority, obeying Him my only purpose. It was an immense honor to deliver the final sacrifice, and the fact that it was to be Alex, further proof that I was my Master's favorite and Chosen One. Alex would understand, even thank me for it afterwards, I was sure.

"You can't possibly understand or appreciate what serving Him means." I held the nail in place over his left wrist, the hammer just an couple of inches above it. Without hesitating, I swung the hammer down, driving the iron through flesh and muscle, deep into the wood below. Blood spurted out before the nail plugged the hole, stopping the flow almost instantly.

Alex screamed, long and loud. It was like music to my ears, it was beautiful, so full of pain and anguish and terror.

I covered his mouth with mine, tasting his fear. It transmuted into ecstasy, sweeter than honey, more potent than the most pure synthetic opiate. I moved quickly to his other side, wanting his suffering to be as short as possible.

"Just a little more, my love. And then it will be all over."

I repeated my actions, nailing his other wrist to the crossbeam. More blood spurted upwards, more screams filled the air and then it was all over.

Alex whimpered softly, on the verge of unconsciousness but in too much pain to pass out. His hands were twitching, his breathing shallow and fast.

I cradled his tear-streaked face in my hands, brushed his long hair away so I could look into his beautiful eyes.

"Alex, my sweet, precious Alexander." I smothered his cheeks and lips and throat in kisses as I ran one hand down his chest. I teased his dusky nipples till they were hard peaks, then nuzzled them with my tongue.

"Fox?" he whispered in an almost inaudible voice. It was the voice of a hurt little boy, not that of a grown man. "Why?"

I grasped his cock lightly, pleased to find he was still half erect. "I told you why, baby." I pumped him once, twice, three times, running my thumb over the sensitive head, spreading the pearly liquid that oozed from the slit.

I sensed movement behind me, but didn't need to turn around to see that Master had joined us. I would know His scent, the way the air around Him shifted and vibrated, anywhere.

He put His powerful arms around me, drawing me against His rough skin. I bowed my head submissively, baring my nape for Him. He licked me and scraped His sharp teeth along my skin. I longed for Him to bite down, to feast on my flesh, to suckle my blood.

"What a magnificent looking beast. I can well understand your attraction to him, pet," Master said in His deep, rumbling voice. He reached out and stroked Alex from chin to groin as I continued to jerk him off.

I had never been more content than at that precise moment.

Master handed me the dagger, its blade covered in my blood as well as Alex's, the first sacrificial victim. It was fitting that my Alex's blood would soon be on it as well.

"I am hungry. Feed me."

"Yes, Master."

I took the dagger in my left hand whilst my right still grasped Alex's weeping cock. I sped up my movements, bringing Alex closer and closer to the brink of climaxing. At the exact same moment as he came, I plunged the blade into his heart, severing veins and arteries. I prayed that the pleasure would overshadow the pain, that the last thing he experienced would be the overwhelming power of my love for him. I knew I would be the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes after his "rebirth".

Alex gasped, his eyes flying open in shock. He struggled to focus on me, the life quickly draining out of his tortured body. Somehow, he managed to draw a shallow breath and I leaned in close to hear his final words.

"I.. I love you, Fox. And I..." Another short breath, this one certain to be his last. "And I for... forgive... you."

Blood flowed down his chest and dribbled out of his mouth. I licked it up, savouring it like the rarest of fine vintage wine. It tasted different than the boy's; richer, sweeter with an underlying trace of peppery sharpness.

"I love you, too, Alex. I'll come for you soon and then we will be as one for all eternity."

And then he was gone. My beautiful, brave Alexander was dead.

Master pulled me upright, turning me around so He could kiss me passionately. We shared the taste and essence of Alex, then He licked Alex's semen off my fingers.

"It's time for you to give up to me that which has always been mine."

"Yes, Master," I replied, relieved that it was soon to be all over. It seemed I had been awaiting this moment my whole life, but didn't know it until right then.

I dropped to my knees, holding the bloody dagger up to Master, my final offering. I exposed the tender flesh of my forearms for Him to slash.

He didn't move, just looked down at me. "No, Fox. I can't take your life. You have to give it to me of your own free will."

"It is my own free will, Master."

"Then do it."

Before I could make the first incision, the cavern was bathed in impossibly bright, white light. I couldn't tell what the source or direction was; it seemed to come from everywhere at once- just like Master's voice, the first time I heard it.

I felt a gentle breeze behind me. It whispered my name and I cried. I knew that voice. It had haunted my nightmares for almost three decades and filled my dreams for the last couple of years.

"Samantha?"

"Yes, Fox. It's me."

Master grew restless and suddenly it felt as if I had been doused in acid.

"DO IT!" He screamed. So much for it having to be my choice to die.

Samantha spoke again and I felt the burning sensation that had engulfed me diminish a little. "It's not real, Fox. He's not real, Fox."

"But Alex.. he's gone... I killed him... he needs me."

The dagger hovered over my left forearm, the blade mere millimetres above the long blue vein that runs from wrist to elbow. There was no heavy weight pressing my right hand down, but none the less, the tip pierced my skin. I needed to do this, even wanted to do it. I couldn't desert Alex, just when he needed me most.

"He'll be okay, Fox. You don't need to die to save him." Samantha appeared in front of me, looking just the same as the last time I saw her.

Master stood behind her, His huge, reptilian body aflame with anger and hate and lust. Lust for a sweet, innocent girl who had already suffered so much.

For the first time I hated Him, despised Him with every fibre of my being. I struggled in vain to pull the blade out of my arm, but it just cut deeper, slicing through my flesh, dissecting the main vein. Blood gushed out, quickly coating my arm and pooling on the ground in front of me.

"He most certainly must die. He is mine and I will not be denied," Master roared.

I finally managed to drop the dagger, cradling my arm to my chest in a useless attempt to stem the flow of blood. The pain was bad, but bearable.

Samantha had turned her back on me, shielding me from Master's wrath, bathing me with her love and gentle spirit. She was totally focussed on the demon before her. Defiantly, she gestured at my remaining siblings who had gathered around us.

"Any of those fawning sycophants would be suitable. You don't have to take Fox."

"It's not a case of having to, my sweet." He reached out and touched Samantha's cheek. She didn't flinch or react in anyway. "It's wanting what I have been promised, what I have hunted and wanting it now!"

"Well, we can't always have what we want," she replied.

Way to go, Sam! I cheered silently.

Master was still for a moment, like a chess player evaluating their opponent's strengths and weaknesses before deciding on their next move. "What would you offer in trade for your brother's life, little girl?"

Samantha didn't hesitate. "A kiss."

"Sam! No!" I cried out in horror.

"SILENCE!"

Master's voice hit me like a shockwave from a massive bomb blast. I tumbled backwards a few feet, landing on my ass. I tried to get up but found myself paralyzed, unable to move.

Master chuckled. "A kiss, you say?" He walked slowly around my sister. She turned in time with His steps, always keeping her eyes fixed on His.

Samantha nodded.

"Surely your brother's life, your brother's soul, is worth more than a simple kiss."

"A kiss is what I'm offering and a kiss is all you'll receive." She presented him with her sweetest, most angelic smile, one which never failed to melt my heart and get her exactly what she wanted when we were kids.

"Very well. Let me kiss you and your brother shall go free." He leant over her, His scaly hands ready to paw and grope.

I wanted to throw up, but even my internal muscles were frozen. I couldn't even close my eyes. Not that I would have even if I could. I owed it to her to witness what my weakness had lead to. It was my fault she was here, about to be molested by a demon, instead of playing and laughing with all the other children in a field bathed in starlight.

She raised a finger to His lips, stopping Him. "Let Fox go and *then* you'll get your kiss."

Master clicked His fingers and the paralysis disappeared. I was free to go, but I didn't move. I couldn't abandon Samantha as I had abandoned Alex.

"Sam, you don't have to do this," I pleaded with her. "I should die, I deserve to die."

"No, Fox. Get away from here." She looked at me, her eyes filled with love- pure, beautiful and innocent. "You saved me. Let me save you, let me set you free."

She turned back to face Master, determined and brave and I saw the teenager who had written a diary describing her hopes, her dreams, her memories of a brother with brown hair who teased her, her torture; who had managed to escape the tests and the doctors, preferring a life on the run rather than life as a lab-rat.

Before I could do anything, she rose up on tip-toe and planted a kiss on Master's cheek. There was a bright flash of light and I stumbled backwards, shielding my eyes. I tripped over the low altar, knocking the boy's lifeless body to the floor.

I couldn't see anything but white, the light so dazzling it brought tears to my eyes. When they cleared many minutes later, the light having faded to its previous level, I looked for Samantha but she was nowhere to be found. Neither was Mast... the demon.

Suddenly it all seemed like a terrible nightmare, one I wasn't sure I would ever wake up from. I looked down at my arm, still cradled against my chest and was amazed at what I saw, or, rather, didn't see.

The deep gash I had carved into my forearm was gone. There was no blood, no sign that it had ever been injured. I looked at my chest and it was also unmarked. The ragged scar where the demon had cut me with his claw was completely gone, as was Roche's heart shaped wound. The only mark remaining was the demonic sigil that had been painted with the blood of the child that now lay at my feet.

I collapsed to the stone floor of the cavern, utterly exhausted, drained of energy and the will to move, to even breathe. The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was the wooden cross. Somehow, some when, it had been raised back into its vertical position, but now it was the right way up, rather than inverted. Alex hung from it, his muscular arms stretched to the ends of the crossbeam, blood drenched nails pinning his wrists, his head slumped over his right collarbone. Long, dark lashes lay on pale cheeks, perfect bowed lips slightly parted as if ready to accept a lover's kiss.

I reached out to him but he was too far away, both in body and in spirit.

"Alex, my sweet Alexander. I love you and I'm sorry, so very, very sorry."

EPILOGUE

November 1, 2002 12:35AM

"Facilis decensis Averno."

'Easy and swift is the descent into hell'. That's one translation. 'The gates of hell are open night and day; Smooth the descent, and easy is the way.' That's another.

I remember others from my studies at Oxford,(every scholar had his own interpretation) but those two stick in my memory. Virgil didn't know how accurate he was when he wrote those words just over 2000 years ago.

I wish I hadn't had the opportunity of validating his vision. The horror and brutality I've just witnessed and, to my complete and utter shame, participated in, will stay with me for all eternity. I'm certain not even death could erase the sights, sounds and smells from my senses and memory.

I thought I had seen every atrocity imaginable, every example of man's inhumanity to man during my career in the FBI, first as a profiler and then on the X-Files.

I was wrong.

I thought I couldn't be subjected to anything worse than what I've already experienced in the last couple of years.

I was wrong.

I thought I had already been to hell and back.

I was wrong.

I look down at the body that lies on the cold stone ground in front of me, drained of blood and life and spirit.

I killed him.

I slit his throat.

I drank his blood.

I look up at the body that is suspended above me, held aloft with iron and wood, also drained of blood and life and spirit.

I loved him.

I betrayed him.

I abandoned him.

I'm kneeling subserviently at my Master's feet, flanked by the two muscle bound thugs who had previously been guarding my Father. Without their hands under my armpits, fingers digging painfully into my flesh, I wouldn't be able to stay upright. I'm faint, nauseous and shivering from shock.

I admit defeat. I'm ready to ask-to beg and plead- for my sanity; for the memories, the terrible, sickening memories to be erased, eradicated, obliterated. I'd demand but demanding suggests I have rights and am entitled to expect them to be observed. I have no rights. I gave them up along with everything else I once held precious.

Now, more than ever, I'm at the mercy of my Master, Father and lover. Will he grant my request or will he choose to prolong my suffering as punishment for declining his offer?

Father doesn't look at me as he issues his orders. "Take my son to the limousine. I will be along shortly."

I'm hauled to my feet and half-carried, half-dragged out of the ritual cavern and into the man-made tropical forest.

THE END