The Justiceers - Part Four: Chapter Fifteen
the next chapter in my forthcoming novel
The Justiceers
by Daphne Garrido
Part Three: The Will to Choose
Part Four: Prefinished Business
4.15
The Feasting Pit had been sated most fully this evening.
Miriam Lightfoot’s drudges had known better than to be anywhere near as she’d carved her path towards the bowels of The Valkyrie, little ‘gossiping cunts’ weren’t supposed to be talking at all, they’d clearly broken their vows and spread the word about her ways. She’d see they paid for it later.
In poorest replacement she’d ordered some young Legionnaires to join her. Though they’d known exactly what was coming, and ruined all the fun.
Miriam had been feeling out of sorts lately.
She had needed that, yet the time wasn’t found to convince anyone they’d won some special place in her heart, and it’d been completely boring.
Admanium had spoken after the sacrifices — she’d thought him most pleased.
She asked how it was she might bring down ‘that bitch’, and what was needed from her to cast her will effectively into the galaxy, calling on his power to aid her malevolent cause as he’d so felt willing to do.
The plan had been spoken then, in plain; a right bestowed only upon Miriam Lightfoot. No one else was in such divine harmony with his wrath to hear it all — or so she’d thought.
I’m going to just tell you straight up; that dude was fucking with her.
Yet what Miriam had heard in those foulest tones registered within her inner mind, the voices of thought she’d felt so steered by a higher force of evil, were in fact just herself — her own sick fucking ass.
She’d not remembered to how to listen, instead speaking what she wished to hear into that space, almost never uncovering truth from Admanium’s ‘words’. The only time she’d hear honest reflection from beyond, would be the things she’d ignore, which told of how she asked the wrong questions. How questions themselves were born of attachment, and that his ways were of trusting yourself.
Miriam had lost all contact with that person, and her soul.
Except in those fleeting visions as of late she’d so tried to burn from her mind and heart. That man she could see again. His face doing such things inside. Not at all what she’d made him out to be, in fact, quite the opposite. Arthur Katrinus had been an angel, and in all her hurt of loss, she’d made a lie in her mind. Telling of his cowardice, a reflection of her own, projected with a blindest callousness to the truth of his most difficult path.
She’d not realize all this however, instead taking leave through most stringent application of hallucinogens born from The Valkyrie’s exhaust fumes, blurring the reality of her feelings into that of a dream and waking states alike. Wandering the corridors and forgetting the truth of those feelings she’d uncovered the night before, over and over.
Time was coming for all-out warfare.
The space had been set, a place she’d not remembered in the moment it was spoken by name, having lived this most immolated life, her mind and soul so scorched in the darkness she’d become; Miriam Lightfoot was going back to Yemi at its great time of transformation.
She’d no idea, but there she would find Arthur Katrinus and that planet called Grammaton she so long ago had that time of a life — where she’d found more depth in love and spirit, connection to her heart and soul, and passion for every moment than had come before it — nor that Miriam Halafax had never left at all.
They would travel for great periods of time, this ‘bitch-ass’ Miriam sleeping for much, remerging forward again and again; a darkest slumber without dream, was that time spent at rest upon The Valkyrie.
Awaking once more to find that time-space upon her; the arrival to this system quite imminent, beside an armada of evil far larger than she’d ever realized, proving herself and The Valkyrie only one small part.
She had hurt in her ego for the ruler she’d seen herself to be.
Until they’d called her name — there was a man who’d been head of this force killed in action, proving his consciousness unsuitable for the task, no matter how easily to reproduce that may have been — it would be her who led this legion of hatred into Yemi.
What was to come beyond a purest destruction imaginable was not known, Admanium had only told her that much.
It would be done for his honor; for evil itself.
Taking station in her command bridge upon The Valkyrie, the newfound flagship of hell, she’d received a call on the long range comms. Miriam Lightfoot hadn’t really believed what she was seeing, her gut dropping in embarrassment at the immediate remembrance of this six-thousand year old shame.
It had all come back then, surely — Yemi and Grammaton — what this time was she found herself returned to, and it wouldn’t be something she’d know how to process. She just felt angry, and really, really embarrassed.
Miriam Halafax was squeezing her tits into the lens of the camera, then proceeded to slur their army as if they’d been a bunch of schoolchildren who’d needed admonishment with an added spice of highest-vulgarity, before removing her shirt entirely and proceeding to dance quite erotically.
The bitch was dancing.
