“That’s how your students felt, wondering when you would snap and take out your irrational rage on them. You see, that’s the difference between us. Your sadism goes hand in hand with your temper and thin skin. Speaking of thin skin…” Olivia whimpered as several drops hit her face, peppering her like freckles. One had hit her eyelid and she was blinking to try and cool it. “Oh, yeah, the face hurts the most. The skin is really thin and filled with nerve endings. It’s why face tattoos are so rare, even amongst the most devoted ink enthusiasts.”
She screamed as drop hit her left labia lip, hurting her even more than the ones across her face.
“While me, I’m always in control. People aren’t my victims; they are my toys. But you…” He swirled his fingers, causing all of the candles to overturn. A sheet of melted wax poured on her, scalding the front of her body. Her breasts and pussy felt like they were being burned off and her clitoris felt like it was being jabbed with a car lighter. “You’re my punching bag.”
Blood was pouring onto the floor, with Olivia wondering how much she would have to lose before she died. She was hanging from the ceiling with shackles around her wrists. Xavier was using his powers to restore her blood reserves, keeping her alive and conscious. Dangling from his fingertips were wires, formed from his own body. He swung one hand and whiplashed her with the wires, controlling their movements and increasing their weight. She cried out as five cuts opened across her breasts, as if he had just slashed her with box cutters.
“A strange feeling, isn’t it? The feel of a blade cutting your flesh? It stings, like when you drag your fingernail across a sunburn.” He slashed her again, this time across the thighs. Her legs were completely painted with blood. “Can you feel the weight of your skin pulling at the cuts? Spreading them apart?”
He delivered several deep cuts on her wrists, severing every vein. Grinning, he used his powers to not only restore her blood as it was lost, but produce more and raise her blood pressure. The crimson fluid was spraying from her wrists, drenching her in a shower. She tried to see through it all, feeling it turning her hair into sticky rope. She could feel the pressure in her veins, in her brain. Her heart didn’t know what to do with all the blood, whether to slow down or speed up.
“Then there is the next layer of pain. It comes from your own body, the sting of the salt in your blood and sweat. Ironic, isn’t it?”
Letting himself become drenched, Xavier leaned in and began slurping up the blood off her tits like it was melted ice cream, indulging his demonic thirst. He then crouched down, letting the blood run down his throat as he licked her pussy. “Ah, delicious. The taste of a virgin woman.”
In his hand appeared a wineglass, which his used to collect the blood pouring from her wounds. He took a few steps away, drinking from the glass gluttonously and then pouring it on his face. “To people like you, blood is repulsive. That salty, iron taste. But to people like me… well, I don’t think “people” is the right word… blood is delicious. It’s sweet as sugar, like tea almost.”
Turning back around, he threw the glass at the statue of Jesus at the back of the church and struck it in the face. Once he had had his fill, he stood back up and swung both of his arms. Obeying his will, the wires wrapped around Sister Olivia’s body in the tortoiseshell formation.
“Watch out, folks! Rows 1 through 4 are a splash zone!”
He pulled on the wires in a sudden, violent jerk. The binds sheered through her skin and the walls of the church became splattered with gore.
Sister Olivia wandered back and forth in her bedroom, muttering prayers to herself to try and stay awake. It was three in the morning but she refused to let herself fall asleep. If she didn’t sleep, she couldn’t dream, and if she couldn’t dream, that man couldn’t get her. She didn’t care how long she had to stay awake; she couldn’t handle another night of torture. She rubbed her eyes, trying to ease the stinging dryness. She pulled her hands away and found herself no longer in her room. She had been transported into the church. She immediately screamed and fell to her knees, beating herself to try and wake up from this “dream”.
Xavier stood over, chuckling in amusement at her fear. “Oh, don’t tell me you still think this is a dream.” Her sobbing stopped and she looked up at him with wide eyes. “That’s right, you heard me. All this time, you thought that it was your conscience torturing you, projecting my image as the one who defied you and punished you in ways that you never thought possible. But I am real, this is all happening. It’s time for you to learn who your master is.”
Leaning down, he pressed his tongue to her neck, making her scream as she was branded. He pulled away, leaving her flesh smoldering. She covered the wound with her hand and gasped as she felt the three sixes. “No… it can’t be… the mark of the Beast… Then that means you are…”
“The one and only. The bible says that in Armageddon, I will be defeated and Christ shall bring about a thousand years of peace, but is that true? I stand unopposed, with no God above me, no nemesis before me, and all of mankind below me. It is time for humanity to learn its place. It is time for a new world order. Soon, you and every other human will bow before me and the earth will become mine.” He then reached into his pants and pulled out his cock. “But until then, I think I’ll settle with raping you until you bleed.”
Helena sat in Father Hauser’s hospital room, clutching his hand and listening to the sound of his heart monitor. She visited him every day, every time she had the chance. She needed him to wake up, but a part of her hoped he wouldn’t, because then it would mean Xavier had done something kind and had kept his word. But why did she feel that way? What was it that was twisting her emotions this way?
She opened her mouth, feeling the need to say something, but unsure of what. “Everyone misses you at the school. Especially me.” The comatose priest did not reply. A minute passed by. She did not know why she said it, but she uttered the words. “Xavier is the Antichrist and he’s holding me captive.”
For once, her collar didn’t act up and her throat didn’t close. It seemed that since she was confessing to someone who couldn’t actually hear her, it didn’t count as revealing his secret. Either way, she shuddered in relief, as if a neck massager was pressed right to a knot in her back. Words failed to describe how good it felt to at last say what the problem was, even if Father Hauser couldn’t help her.
“He’s a horrible, deceitful man. He says he wants to take over the world and make me his queen.” She let out a bitter laugh, feeling the fermented tension melting from her soul. “He thinks that he can win me over. Again and again, I’ve watched him rape my roommate while I was paralyzed in my bed. Once or twice, he even molested me. He would do this thing with his fingers and… ugh, you don’t want to hear about that.”