Future Winds by Kevin Laymon Page B

crown of thorns upon her head. Her feet and hands were nailed into the wooden crucifix. Her head hung down and hair obscured her face, but there was no denying that the motionless girl was dead and had been for some time: days, perhaps even weeks. In any event, far longer than human beings had been on this planet. So Abram had to wonder who she was and how she got here.
    A creature similar to a tall, lengthy, nude man and equally as pale as the girl, was off to the side of her. He approached from the shadows with his grey, leathery skin and no actual genitalia. As Abram made out more of the man, he began to breathe heavy in panic. It had bits of bone sticking from open sores all over his skinny, frail body. His noseless face was warped and twisted about. “Oh my fucking God,” Abram muttered in shock.
    “Ah, a man of God I see?” the creature bellowed out in both pitches of high and low frequency, perforating Abram’s stomach.
    “You,” Abram paused. His blood ran cold and sank far into his feet, “You speak English?”
    “I am fluent in all of the tongues of man, even the ones time has long since forgotten.”
    Shock overtook Abram’s face, “Who are you?”
    “My name is Naberius. I am the utmost ambassador of God.”
    “God is dead,” Abram spat.
    “Indeed he is, or shall I say he was, for many eons. But like his son who rose to new life once more, so has our lord risen back from the dead.” Naberius turned around to ponder and hide a twisted smile. In doing so he exposed his back where bits of spine broke through skin and excreted a black, gooey mixture of pus and blood.
    Abram’s nostrils flared in anger. “Why have you brought me here?!” He roared with vigor.
    “My, my, what brutality. I am sure you fought with equally as much. Why, if I still had genitals, I would almost consider fucking your skull just to watch and see you muster your might while I penetrate your eye sockets.” Naberius’ cheeks raised in amusement and blood began to drip from one of many open sores upon his face.
    “I instructed the Vai-Zik to bring me one of the most mighty of warriors mankind had to offer and they determined, amidst the chaos, that you were just that. Be grateful my boy. It should be an honor to be considered as such among a race so prideful in the art of combat as the Vai-Zik,” Naberius let out with a sense of sharpness about his voice.
    “What are you talking about?” Abram sulked. His wrists stung as they bore all of his body weight.
    “Our lord is weak from undergoing a recreation of self and he has instructed me to find and craft three generals to lead his armies to glory in the pursuit of regaining his seat on the throne.”
    “Why would God choose such a weak, disgusting creature to entrust with his armies?!” Abram snickered.
    “I like you, boy,” The beast’s voice was sharp, piercing the room. “Such is the rest of your sick species, I too am a sinner and I bear the heavy weight of my sins within and upon myself, but I have a gift. It is much useful in commanding and mustering vast legions to fight for the almighty.” 
    Abram had heard enough. “A gift?! To what, bleed from your fucking face!?”
    He pressed his wrist against the vine of thorns that restrained him. They dug deep into his skin and forced blood to trickle down. He had cut himself right down to the bone. Letting out a scream he did not stop, not until the creature began to laugh, but this particular chuckle was one that Abram had never heard before. Though brief, the various pitches emitted from the cackle cut through the room like a blade through soft flesh. The sound pierced through Abram’s armor as if he were wearing none at all. The lower portion of his spine twisted and turned and he closed his eyes wincing in pain and fear.
    In those seconds, he saw himself cast upon a long, wooden skewer. The vision was so vivid. He had no hands or feet, no legs or arms. He was merely a torso with a head--stuck on a spike that