The Justiceers - Part Four: Chapter Nineteen
the next chapter from my forthcoming novel
The Justiceers
by Daphne Garrido
Part Three: The Will to Choose
Part Four: Prefinished Business
4.19
Business as usual had been suspended on The Valkyrie, along with the entire armada of evil now led by Miriam Lightfoot upon its Command Bridge, this was ‘go time’. Or at least, that’s how the ‘slut-donkey’ reading her electronics monitors had spoken as if it would illicit some kind of comradery from her.
He took one more breath after that foolishness before discovering himself quite mistaken; oh, how very mistaken indeed.
Miriam had been kind of a sad lately, most especially because she’d finally run out of drudges, and that boy just giving her such a wonderful opportunity to let it all out had helped a fair bit.
This battle was already won, and she’d known it; Admanium had told her so many times now, over and over. ‘That bitch’ would fall at last, and this galaxy would be rid of her pesky perfection in a most final sort of way.
Admanium had told her much of the woman, but never enough, only that she’d speak to him the same and he’d been fooling her blind, that she trusted him and he didn’t respect that at all, the only thing he respected was ruthlessness like that of his own will.
That was the story she’d cooked up — which I will admit, can be quite easy to believe from some perspectives — this universe hurts like a mother fucker, and it twists people up inside.
A blast from space-time was felt in the belly of Miriam, something big had happened. Demanding another young Legionnaire fill the empty seat before her immediately, she’d commanded a clearest answer on what this had meant most promptly, she was God and deserved nothing but compliance from this reality.
The ‘little dork-nugget’ who replaced the dead man, and would soon be lying beside him, had told her through his chattering teeth of the newly arrived battleship within their defense perimeter.
Once she’d dispensed with that coward, wiping the blood off her only real lover — Sabine, the scorch-saber — she’d ordered another who’d been trying to hide in the shadows at the back of the room to sound a general alarm.
He’d ran to the security station down the hall after barking a response of compliance, and quite intentionally before she’d been able to command him to do it at the control panel in front of her.
‘Bitch-ass',’ she’d thought, before centering in on the deep-probe scan technician who’d been so absorbed in his work, wearing the headset required to hear those faintest frequencies of reverberation through space, storming up behind him.
Throwing off his headset, dragging him on his anti-gravity console chair by the throat, she’d placed the man before her main control terminal and demanded he open a comm line to this craft.
After she’d released her grasp on his throat, realizing the continued strength of it had been encouraging him to fail his task so thoroughly, Miriam was patched through at last. The man she saw on her display wall wore a face she’d take some time to register, having not seen it for so dreadfully long, it being a man who’s eyes her soul would never forget.
Miriam Lightfoot knew exactly what she had to do.
“Prepare my shuttle!” she’d shouted to The Valkyrie itself after snapping that technician’s neck with most stringent emphasis, a tingle pleasure bubbling from her belly, even letting out a moan quite reminiscent of the kind she now felt so near in her future.
She’d fucked him as hard as he’d fucked her.
The man’s cabin was a darkest place, so twisted and cruel, full of energy beyond that of blackness. Miriam loved how it made her lose all feeling in her heart, those plaguing notions of the man who’d once been hers so burnt in this back and forth of sexual frustration with a darkest visage sent through time.
This man had been in her arms when she’d been that girl here on Grammaton so long ago, a time of most impactful and traumatic energetic release, throwing him back in time to follow his own craft of horrid destruction and finally rejoin her now.
He tasted like ass, his smell was disgusting, but Miriam wouldn’t know what to do without it after this. She’d become his twisted bride of evil, this was always how it’d been meant to be for that; this is what the dumb bitch was saying to herself.
His kisses slobbered all over the outside of her mouth, just mashing.
There was no grace to it, not an ounce of talent, the worst lover of all fucking time this man had most surely been. It wouldn’t even be a comparison within the same galaxy to the next least disgraceful abomination of lovemaking; things literally couldn’t get worse for Miriam Lightfoot.
She was fucking Carrigan Marks.
