http://bitingnightmare.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
bitingnightmare.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
tampered2006-11-20 05:35 pm
bitingnightmare.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-11-20 05:35 pm
Log; Complete
When; Nov. 19 (during sleep)
Rating; R (language, violence, mild sex)
Characters; Vincent (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snarky_padre_v), the Corinthian (bitingnightmare)
Summary; after Scarab's punishment Vincent takes a walk through nightmare
Log;
Vincent WAS sorry, but of course who'd know? moreover, who'd believe him? he'd done what he was told to do. he remembered an article he'd had to read back in Pleasant River U about an experiment done by a Prof.Milgrams. it seemed ironic that he'd fallen into that bracket of those who took orders without question.
for so long he'd assumed himself smarter than that.
he wasn't eating-couldn't,. really, he was still feeling sick (altho the pretentious idea of a religious hunger strike would appeal to him) but
he certainly WAS drinking. she had taken him out shopping not but a day or so ago! to say he was tippling this one for his fallen homie would be poignant but not that far from the truth.
he kneeled and prayed for as long as his shaky knees could hold him up, and at last fatigue began to take it's toll, and he laid on the floor, head cradled on one of the books. he could only hope he wouldn't have THAT dream again...
---
What dream would that be, and should it rear its ugly head would it be his own doing or the work of outside forces? All dreams were borne of a seed that the dreamer himself plants, but it was true that the Dream King and all his creations could conduct the movements of its branches. A single drop of alcohol seeped through the very bottom of Vince's glass till it filled a new cup with wine, with blood. The walls stretched till it formed the vaults of a church, altar and pulpit rising from the floor as if a weaver shaped them from the wood and stone. Faces filled the pews but they were only extensions of the man's past, they came to service because he wanted them to, and they waited for his sermon like the flock of lambs.
---
Vincent recognized the scenery- this was the church of the Order in the past. at this time he had been able to do as he wanted. Claudia's father was obsessed with other things, and the woman herself, well! who'd listen to a zealous kook like her?
Vincent relaxed. straightened his collar and brushed off his sleeves. as soon as they all had settled, he would deliver them the truth..in his own way, of course.
only one thing was marring this little scene...there were words on one of the paintings he could not make out from here...
---
And just what could those words be? Wasn't it true that in order to be in a dream one could not read? Else they read only what they wanted to see. The people waited silently, eager to drink the wisdom from the priest's tongue. It must have felt good to be wanted, to be needed, they needed Vincent to guide their way home. Women kept their stockinged knees close together, men were dressed in their pressed Sunday suits, children clasped their hands neatly on their laps. They were lambs and sheep, weak-willed and easily misled because they lacked the power to be otherwise. To live vicariously through the priest was rapture, they were inviting his penetration, all of them.
"Speak to me," said a single voice in the choir, a girl of twelve years with chestnut brown curls that fell across her shoulders. "Speak to me, father," she walked down the aisle in her virgin-white dress.
---
and Vincent had missed this so so much. his smile was devoid of its usual leer,as he looked in something akin to proprietory bliss upon them.
the little girl in the aisle delighted. he was not the sort to lust over innocence- one of his few virtues, really- but to marvel that a child had such wonder and that he could be the one to teach her...of course.he aimed that million dollar smile at her a moment, and looked again at the crowd.
there was...something he was forgetting tho, wasn't there? something oh so important...
---
Wonder and awe, a desire to learn and a desire to be. She stood at the head of the aisle, between the first row of pews, glossy white mary janes set shoulder width apart. The innocence shined in her sky blue eyes. She raised her hands and pressed her palms together, then prayed. The congregation was silent, so silent it intimidated the cricket-whispers to oblivion, even the candle flames did not dare flicker as she pleaded for this priest to guide her with quiet in her mouth.
Slowly... slowly, warm blood began to drip down her thighs, towards her knees at an aching crawl. The virgin blossomed into a woman at his altar, for his altar.
---
Vincent's smile was wavering. it was not that blood was out of place here- the Order of the Halo of the Sun WAS a blood cult- but why...how was this happening?
was anyone else seeing this? it would draw attention away from him. "sister," he said as quietly as he could, "take your seat please."
that writing was maddening. to be unable to make it out....it was almost like....ticking somewhere.
---
The congregation did not react to her blood, too enthralled and too expectant were they of the man's words, to share the power in them. The child raised her gaze to Vincent and smiled as nails tore her maidenhood, as fingers pushed and pressed past the soft lips between her thighs. An arm coated in blood and other womanly fluids reached out from under the white dress, then a second as her shoulder forced its way through. Golden hair greased by the womb dangled just above the floor, then curled on it in ropes as the familiar woman crawled out from the girl's loins. The child bared it and prayed.
"I think not...." purred the nighthag's voice, "I think.... not."
---
"Claudia?" Vincent had been rooted watching this, horrified. but now? it was as tho the blowoff had just been a bad joke, cheesily executed.
Vincent had no fear of Claudia. after all, he may not have been a zealot as she was, but he had something better...his own sense of self awareness. "still out there combing the hills and dales for Alessa? you won't find her. she..." he stopped, puzzled. something about Alessa, something important...he could almost see her face superimposed over the other, that look of disapproval on her face...pray for me, he'd written her, and he ~almost~ blurted it out. "pr-"
---
Her body dropped to the floor, bloodied with no chain of flesh between the child and herself, unbound. Her tongues licked away the taste of placenta.
*Pray, little priest, pray.*
Hrrrrssschhh.
Claudia's teeth eyes rasped as the walls began to twist, birthing children of all grotesque deformities. The girl's flesh grew teeth and the teeth gnawed her inside out, raw, staining her white dress with blood and bile. The night children keened, keened for mother's milk. Then they bit. One by one the flock were taken to the slaughter by bare hands and fangs. Eat them all and eat them well, eat them alive.
---
Vincent watched in horror,only now realizing he had seen this before, knew this was coming. Her followers become monsters, intent to devour his own. As he had been powerless to save them then, so he was now. Wincing and ducking as blood spattered his suit, the pulpit, his glasses.
That would not do. In spite of his horror he took them off and wiped them. HAD to look anyway.
Holding his bloodstained glasses and realizing that Claudia had eyeteeth made him realize the nature of this dream.
The seer was awake, or at least semi-lucid in his own skull now. "Corinthian." he said.
---
"Paper tigers, boy," the woman's voice purred, low and husky, almost sensuous. As with all dreams time was of no consequence, one second she was on the floor, the next she was on her knees with her hands at his belt, clawing, begging as the children eviscerated the sheep, left the wool in scraps that splattered against the altar. The screams played like music, the most heavenly of chamber songs.
Quando corpus, morietur...
---
Vincent backed up, almost knocking himself over in his revulsion at the creature's touch. "what are you doing? is this some kind of a sick joke? what kind of game are you playing here?" he growled. He wanted, no needed to feel that ice that had echoed through him last night. if that meant his remorse was something of a sham so be it, but he was sure this was his means of purging this creature from the face of the earth. "paper tigers, huh? I'll show you who's gained claws since last we met..."
---
Wants and needs, a creature of Desire, and the dark mirror knew his Lord's brother-sister so very well.
"Claw me," Claudia begged in her sadistically sultry way. The Corinthian, as Vincent knew him, did not speak. This was an act of function. "Come with me," begged the man's voice as golden hair fell to the floor in clumps to be replaced by short brown locks, her sharp features receding to grow the texture of the serpent's jaw. Masculine hands reached for Vince's belt again, eager to undo the buckle.
The flock was being chewed, ripped, destroyed, flayed, punished. They sang together in their rapture, needing the course correction, reflecting his desire to deal it out in spades under the warm mouth of his comrade in red arms.
Quando corpus morietur,
fac, ut animae donetur
paradisi gloria.
---
well! that was different! when Vincent realized it was Henry there in his dream, suddenly the bloodbath they were in the midst of hardly mattered. still he looked around as though worried someone would take him to task; all you care about is your own selfish needs! he heard someone saying as though she was right there...suddenly Vincent couldn't bring himself to care. He looked down at Henry and was well pleased to see that face at crotch level gazing at him for once with admiration and not pity.
---
Dark desire, so dark it surpassed the need to avenge his flock, rich in the night nutrients of blood that flicked across their cheeks. Henry worked Vince's belt off quickly, hungry for the priest's bread and wine on his tongue. Suckle the milk, boy, lap it up like a good servant. His willingness to please was evident in the way his lips wrapped around Vince's member tightly.
The children began to rape the flock in ecstasy. The lambs cried out not for their salvation but to appease the desires of their captors. The tigers wanted to know they were in that seat of power, needed to be reassured.
---
Vincent was as oblivious to all else as though none of it had ever happened. This wasn't everything he had ever wanted on a silver platter no, but it was certainly closer than Heaven. He took a few awkward steps forward to move closer and allow for Henry's 'worship' of him to occur, closing his eyes and thrusting forward a little roughly. Something told him the man was probably not so experienced in the things two men could do together, but if he expected some kind of mercy or gentleness, it wasn't coming from this font of wisdom, anyway....
---
Awkward was the appropriate term for it, but was it not his desire for Henry that conducted the skill with which he employed on Vince's hard cock? His tongue licked away the drops of milky white, an animal nursing on his alpha. His throat sounded protest from the thrust, not accustomed to taking all of it into his mouth from base to tip, but his teeth grazed along the sensitive veins. Dangerous, never biting, wanting to taste his seed against the altar.
The bloodletting began to subside, fading into a din of sinful pleasures, but the creatures remained as they were wont to do with such voyeuristic tendencies.
---
in spite of his wholehearted approval of debauchery, Vincent's actual experiences were somewhat limited; the Red God, in fact, had been the most utter and extreme thing that had ever happened to him. he had been molested, as many of the children of the orphange had been and then, as an adult, he had used the church's funds to pay for hookers.
he did not know how to talk sweetly to a woman. nor did he know how to comport himself with another man.
at this point he was so excited that his self control was nonexistant. this could have been Henry, or anyone. the rest of them did not matter; he was fucking a mouth. he grabbed hard either side of the head and, approaching some sort of extreme climax, was about to shoot off when he began to notice some odd auditory hallucinations...
---
Fingers in his hair, hands commanding that his mouth be fucked and he take it like a fucking man. Funny, it was only second or third base, depending on how one looked at it. And how quickly the priest peaked, spreading his warmth across Henry's tongue, coating the insides of his cheeks. His lips slicked over the tip of his cock, trailing a string of semen till it stretched and fell away. The man gripped Vince's wrist with firm strength, pulled it aside so that he might stand and deliver to the priest a kiss of salt and seed. Drink of himself if he so pleased.
The tigers and lambs were congregating again, mumbling to themselves, perhaps chanting as they watched this scene unfold with a reverence most holy to the shredders and the shred alike.
---
Vincent certainly didn't shrink back from the kiss, although when it came to kissing he wasn't entirely all that skilled so much at knowing how to lead as knowing how to follow.his heart was still hammering like mad. this, had he still remembered he was dreaming, was a GOOD dream.
---
Then assuredly while some of that snowball rolled down his throat a little smeared out the corner of his lips? How unimmaculate. Henry raised a thumb to wipe the stain away from Vince's face, ever adoring. Swallow like a good boy.
"Happy abortions," said the man in Henry's skin with a casual salute, his mouth twisted in a most malicious smirk, sharp teeth shining. The creatures behind him, the herd and the cullers, they waited for the miscarriage as if it heralded the birth of god. Empathy was the enemy, and if Vince's dark desires were true, he too would feel the blood begin to dribble down his thighs from the orifices only a man could offer.
---
Vincent shuddered. the edges of this reality were starting to wear just a little thin for him. "what did you say? what the fuck are you talking about?'
he looked and saw blood.
and, in spite of his having spilled it in his day, he was scared. "what...what's happening here?" panic was beginning to kick in. well. at least his heart hadn't had to slow down.
---
Pain in a dream was no different from pain in the waking world if the dreamer believed in it. There was no surgeon to slip the catheter into his body, no nurse to handle the forceps as they forced the child to awake prematurely, his own consumed semen corroding away his false womb. The pain was immense and hardly the dealings of his sweet Red God. Henry took another step back, the true leader of this congregation, the real conductor. The seer might even see the white hair and toothy face imposed upon the object of his affections.
The nightmare turned to leave, web meticulously spun by Vince's own seed, and the fly now trapped in it. The creatures parted away from his step, never daring to look into his eyes as the white horror made his exit. They turned their attentions to Vince then, so... eager... so... hungry for the child in his belly. Eat it.
They went to descend upon the priest.
---
"oh shit!" Vincent exclaimed as he fell over from the bloodloss. "I KNEW it!" then he could only watch in horror as the monsters closed in on him...perhaps it was coincidence, but the one dream seemed to loop back into the other, the one that always woke him screaming. "OH GOD!" he sat bolt upright, wide awake now "THERE'S NO PLACE LEFT TO RUN!"
Rating; R (language, violence, mild sex)
Characters; Vincent (
snarky_padre_v), the Corinthian (bitingnightmare)Summary; after Scarab's punishment Vincent takes a walk through nightmare
Log;
Vincent WAS sorry, but of course who'd know? moreover, who'd believe him? he'd done what he was told to do. he remembered an article he'd had to read back in Pleasant River U about an experiment done by a Prof.Milgrams. it seemed ironic that he'd fallen into that bracket of those who took orders without question.
for so long he'd assumed himself smarter than that.
he wasn't eating-couldn't,. really, he was still feeling sick (altho the pretentious idea of a religious hunger strike would appeal to him) but
he certainly WAS drinking. she had taken him out shopping not but a day or so ago! to say he was tippling this one for his fallen homie would be poignant but not that far from the truth.
he kneeled and prayed for as long as his shaky knees could hold him up, and at last fatigue began to take it's toll, and he laid on the floor, head cradled on one of the books. he could only hope he wouldn't have THAT dream again...
---
What dream would that be, and should it rear its ugly head would it be his own doing or the work of outside forces? All dreams were borne of a seed that the dreamer himself plants, but it was true that the Dream King and all his creations could conduct the movements of its branches. A single drop of alcohol seeped through the very bottom of Vince's glass till it filled a new cup with wine, with blood. The walls stretched till it formed the vaults of a church, altar and pulpit rising from the floor as if a weaver shaped them from the wood and stone. Faces filled the pews but they were only extensions of the man's past, they came to service because he wanted them to, and they waited for his sermon like the flock of lambs.
---
Vincent recognized the scenery- this was the church of the Order in the past. at this time he had been able to do as he wanted. Claudia's father was obsessed with other things, and the woman herself, well! who'd listen to a zealous kook like her?
Vincent relaxed. straightened his collar and brushed off his sleeves. as soon as they all had settled, he would deliver them the truth..in his own way, of course.
only one thing was marring this little scene...there were words on one of the paintings he could not make out from here...
---
And just what could those words be? Wasn't it true that in order to be in a dream one could not read? Else they read only what they wanted to see. The people waited silently, eager to drink the wisdom from the priest's tongue. It must have felt good to be wanted, to be needed, they needed Vincent to guide their way home. Women kept their stockinged knees close together, men were dressed in their pressed Sunday suits, children clasped their hands neatly on their laps. They were lambs and sheep, weak-willed and easily misled because they lacked the power to be otherwise. To live vicariously through the priest was rapture, they were inviting his penetration, all of them.
"Speak to me," said a single voice in the choir, a girl of twelve years with chestnut brown curls that fell across her shoulders. "Speak to me, father," she walked down the aisle in her virgin-white dress.
---
and Vincent had missed this so so much. his smile was devoid of its usual leer,as he looked in something akin to proprietory bliss upon them.
the little girl in the aisle delighted. he was not the sort to lust over innocence- one of his few virtues, really- but to marvel that a child had such wonder and that he could be the one to teach her...of course.he aimed that million dollar smile at her a moment, and looked again at the crowd.
there was...something he was forgetting tho, wasn't there? something oh so important...
---
Wonder and awe, a desire to learn and a desire to be. She stood at the head of the aisle, between the first row of pews, glossy white mary janes set shoulder width apart. The innocence shined in her sky blue eyes. She raised her hands and pressed her palms together, then prayed. The congregation was silent, so silent it intimidated the cricket-whispers to oblivion, even the candle flames did not dare flicker as she pleaded for this priest to guide her with quiet in her mouth.
Slowly... slowly, warm blood began to drip down her thighs, towards her knees at an aching crawl. The virgin blossomed into a woman at his altar, for his altar.
---
Vincent's smile was wavering. it was not that blood was out of place here- the Order of the Halo of the Sun WAS a blood cult- but why...how was this happening?
was anyone else seeing this? it would draw attention away from him. "sister," he said as quietly as he could, "take your seat please."
that writing was maddening. to be unable to make it out....it was almost like....ticking somewhere.
---
The congregation did not react to her blood, too enthralled and too expectant were they of the man's words, to share the power in them. The child raised her gaze to Vincent and smiled as nails tore her maidenhood, as fingers pushed and pressed past the soft lips between her thighs. An arm coated in blood and other womanly fluids reached out from under the white dress, then a second as her shoulder forced its way through. Golden hair greased by the womb dangled just above the floor, then curled on it in ropes as the familiar woman crawled out from the girl's loins. The child bared it and prayed.
"I think not...." purred the nighthag's voice, "I think.... not."
---
"Claudia?" Vincent had been rooted watching this, horrified. but now? it was as tho the blowoff had just been a bad joke, cheesily executed.
Vincent had no fear of Claudia. after all, he may not have been a zealot as she was, but he had something better...his own sense of self awareness. "still out there combing the hills and dales for Alessa? you won't find her. she..." he stopped, puzzled. something about Alessa, something important...he could almost see her face superimposed over the other, that look of disapproval on her face...pray for me, he'd written her, and he ~almost~ blurted it out. "pr-"
---
Her body dropped to the floor, bloodied with no chain of flesh between the child and herself, unbound. Her tongues licked away the taste of placenta.
*Pray, little priest, pray.*
Hrrrrssschhh.
Claudia's teeth eyes rasped as the walls began to twist, birthing children of all grotesque deformities. The girl's flesh grew teeth and the teeth gnawed her inside out, raw, staining her white dress with blood and bile. The night children keened, keened for mother's milk. Then they bit. One by one the flock were taken to the slaughter by bare hands and fangs. Eat them all and eat them well, eat them alive.
---
Vincent watched in horror,only now realizing he had seen this before, knew this was coming. Her followers become monsters, intent to devour his own. As he had been powerless to save them then, so he was now. Wincing and ducking as blood spattered his suit, the pulpit, his glasses.
That would not do. In spite of his horror he took them off and wiped them. HAD to look anyway.
Holding his bloodstained glasses and realizing that Claudia had eyeteeth made him realize the nature of this dream.
The seer was awake, or at least semi-lucid in his own skull now. "Corinthian." he said.
---
"Paper tigers, boy," the woman's voice purred, low and husky, almost sensuous. As with all dreams time was of no consequence, one second she was on the floor, the next she was on her knees with her hands at his belt, clawing, begging as the children eviscerated the sheep, left the wool in scraps that splattered against the altar. The screams played like music, the most heavenly of chamber songs.
Quando corpus, morietur...
---
Vincent backed up, almost knocking himself over in his revulsion at the creature's touch. "what are you doing? is this some kind of a sick joke? what kind of game are you playing here?" he growled. He wanted, no needed to feel that ice that had echoed through him last night. if that meant his remorse was something of a sham so be it, but he was sure this was his means of purging this creature from the face of the earth. "paper tigers, huh? I'll show you who's gained claws since last we met..."
---
Wants and needs, a creature of Desire, and the dark mirror knew his Lord's brother-sister so very well.
"Claw me," Claudia begged in her sadistically sultry way. The Corinthian, as Vincent knew him, did not speak. This was an act of function. "Come with me," begged the man's voice as golden hair fell to the floor in clumps to be replaced by short brown locks, her sharp features receding to grow the texture of the serpent's jaw. Masculine hands reached for Vince's belt again, eager to undo the buckle.
The flock was being chewed, ripped, destroyed, flayed, punished. They sang together in their rapture, needing the course correction, reflecting his desire to deal it out in spades under the warm mouth of his comrade in red arms.
Quando corpus morietur,
fac, ut animae donetur
paradisi gloria.
---
well! that was different! when Vincent realized it was Henry there in his dream, suddenly the bloodbath they were in the midst of hardly mattered. still he looked around as though worried someone would take him to task; all you care about is your own selfish needs! he heard someone saying as though she was right there...suddenly Vincent couldn't bring himself to care. He looked down at Henry and was well pleased to see that face at crotch level gazing at him for once with admiration and not pity.
---
Dark desire, so dark it surpassed the need to avenge his flock, rich in the night nutrients of blood that flicked across their cheeks. Henry worked Vince's belt off quickly, hungry for the priest's bread and wine on his tongue. Suckle the milk, boy, lap it up like a good servant. His willingness to please was evident in the way his lips wrapped around Vince's member tightly.
The children began to rape the flock in ecstasy. The lambs cried out not for their salvation but to appease the desires of their captors. The tigers wanted to know they were in that seat of power, needed to be reassured.
---
Vincent was as oblivious to all else as though none of it had ever happened. This wasn't everything he had ever wanted on a silver platter no, but it was certainly closer than Heaven. He took a few awkward steps forward to move closer and allow for Henry's 'worship' of him to occur, closing his eyes and thrusting forward a little roughly. Something told him the man was probably not so experienced in the things two men could do together, but if he expected some kind of mercy or gentleness, it wasn't coming from this font of wisdom, anyway....
---
Awkward was the appropriate term for it, but was it not his desire for Henry that conducted the skill with which he employed on Vince's hard cock? His tongue licked away the drops of milky white, an animal nursing on his alpha. His throat sounded protest from the thrust, not accustomed to taking all of it into his mouth from base to tip, but his teeth grazed along the sensitive veins. Dangerous, never biting, wanting to taste his seed against the altar.
The bloodletting began to subside, fading into a din of sinful pleasures, but the creatures remained as they were wont to do with such voyeuristic tendencies.
---
in spite of his wholehearted approval of debauchery, Vincent's actual experiences were somewhat limited; the Red God, in fact, had been the most utter and extreme thing that had ever happened to him. he had been molested, as many of the children of the orphange had been and then, as an adult, he had used the church's funds to pay for hookers.
he did not know how to talk sweetly to a woman. nor did he know how to comport himself with another man.
at this point he was so excited that his self control was nonexistant. this could have been Henry, or anyone. the rest of them did not matter; he was fucking a mouth. he grabbed hard either side of the head and, approaching some sort of extreme climax, was about to shoot off when he began to notice some odd auditory hallucinations...
---
Fingers in his hair, hands commanding that his mouth be fucked and he take it like a fucking man. Funny, it was only second or third base, depending on how one looked at it. And how quickly the priest peaked, spreading his warmth across Henry's tongue, coating the insides of his cheeks. His lips slicked over the tip of his cock, trailing a string of semen till it stretched and fell away. The man gripped Vince's wrist with firm strength, pulled it aside so that he might stand and deliver to the priest a kiss of salt and seed. Drink of himself if he so pleased.
The tigers and lambs were congregating again, mumbling to themselves, perhaps chanting as they watched this scene unfold with a reverence most holy to the shredders and the shred alike.
---
Vincent certainly didn't shrink back from the kiss, although when it came to kissing he wasn't entirely all that skilled so much at knowing how to lead as knowing how to follow.his heart was still hammering like mad. this, had he still remembered he was dreaming, was a GOOD dream.
---
Then assuredly while some of that snowball rolled down his throat a little smeared out the corner of his lips? How unimmaculate. Henry raised a thumb to wipe the stain away from Vince's face, ever adoring. Swallow like a good boy.
"Happy abortions," said the man in Henry's skin with a casual salute, his mouth twisted in a most malicious smirk, sharp teeth shining. The creatures behind him, the herd and the cullers, they waited for the miscarriage as if it heralded the birth of god. Empathy was the enemy, and if Vince's dark desires were true, he too would feel the blood begin to dribble down his thighs from the orifices only a man could offer.
---
Vincent shuddered. the edges of this reality were starting to wear just a little thin for him. "what did you say? what the fuck are you talking about?'
he looked and saw blood.
and, in spite of his having spilled it in his day, he was scared. "what...what's happening here?" panic was beginning to kick in. well. at least his heart hadn't had to slow down.
---
Pain in a dream was no different from pain in the waking world if the dreamer believed in it. There was no surgeon to slip the catheter into his body, no nurse to handle the forceps as they forced the child to awake prematurely, his own consumed semen corroding away his false womb. The pain was immense and hardly the dealings of his sweet Red God. Henry took another step back, the true leader of this congregation, the real conductor. The seer might even see the white hair and toothy face imposed upon the object of his affections.
The nightmare turned to leave, web meticulously spun by Vince's own seed, and the fly now trapped in it. The creatures parted away from his step, never daring to look into his eyes as the white horror made his exit. They turned their attentions to Vince then, so... eager... so... hungry for the child in his belly. Eat it.
They went to descend upon the priest.
---
"oh shit!" Vincent exclaimed as he fell over from the bloodloss. "I KNEW it!" then he could only watch in horror as the monsters closed in on him...perhaps it was coincidence, but the one dream seemed to loop back into the other, the one that always woke him screaming. "OH GOD!" he sat bolt upright, wide awake now "THERE'S NO PLACE LEFT TO RUN!"