Red's CD Project Story 2: Part 9 – Hatala Del Aram

Note: I wrote this all in one sitting last week and have edited it and added to it here or there. I think this piece is probably better suited placed somewhere else, maybe closer to the front, but it's what came to mind with this lyric. I am trying to stay true somewhat to whatever inspires about a song, lyric or band. A large scale edit afterward may rearrange things a bit.

Disc 1
Track 9: I’m Seeing Robots – Kool Keith

“Body movement, metal metallic, unpure”

“Where do you hail?”

His voice was hollow, his words hissed with a forked tongue. Inside his throat and lungs were aflame. The fires of the underworld burned his bowels and darkened his heart. Boiling streams of fluid coursed through vessels, the one’s near the surface of his dark skin bulked out. His skin had solidified some, nearing the transformation back into this form. His followers called it living form, but he was not alive. His soul burned still in the pits of the underworld, the eternal payment for the black sword at his waist. His mind was returned to this body to consume life from this old world till it was extinguished. That was the want of the Great Master, whose name he would never speak. The Great Master thrived on sucking the life out of everything. The marrow of life fueled the fires of the underworld.

He, who once was Salama and now was again, was a soldier (a high-ranking one at that) siring the Great Master with an army for the final battle while emptying this world of any strong enough to oppose. There was one man he was sent for in particular. One man, who was prophesized to stand tall in the great battle. Salama had hoped it was his old nemesis, Tarek Grandar, but time had caught up to that hero of old and his days of walking in this world were long gone. This was another man, one strong and special.

“I hail from Stra that was in the old kingdom of Isa,” The girl replied. He had almost forgotten that he had asked. The girl had the pale, freckled complexion of her ancestors and bright red hair that spilled out in curls. She was on her back, presented to him like so many others with her curious green eyes staring longingly up into his face. Green eyes, he thought, an omen to be sure.

“From so far away, so soon?” Salama brought her knees to his scorching hot skin. She recoiled as her pale flesh melted and bonded to him. Her agony filled him with a new joy. He yearned for her. He expected most men of this world felt the same when she entered a room or walked down a busy street.

“I felt your call from deep inside me,” she purred adjusting to her legs forming to his body. Soon he would rip them off in a sudden jerk that would send blinding shocks up to her hips, but that pain would be lost when he burst into her middles, pillaging everything inside. “I came on horseback, never stopping, needing you, feeling that pull. No other woman in Isa felt it, only I.”

“Oh, they’ll all feel the call,” Salama said. The time for his siring was drawing to a close, he was ready to pass that duty onto some of his offspring. They were wild brutes that would mangle each woman they touched to the point of death, but they’d still get one strong offspring from each woman before she was dispatched to the underworld. Once the army was large enough, the spoils of war would provide enough chances for growth that he worried very little about the women in Isa or Besa or any other kingdom for that matter. Not that the call would stop. That was one thing he could not turn off. Women were drawn to him. It was a power that he adored.

“You sense many things that other women do not,” he finally ripped her legs off of him. She screamed in surprise. “You know when it’s going to rain, for instance, or when trouble is looming over the next hill.”

“Master, I do, I do,” tears were streaming down her face. He did not know if the tears were from shame or pain. He did not really care either.

“What a dirty girl, maybe too dirty for my seed,” he grinned down at the small bush of hair between her legs. “Have all the boys been at you? Have you let them in when they like? Are you the whore of Stra? Is that what I, the Master of the Sorna, eternal King of Rion, deserve?”

“Nay Master, I am pure as when I was born, I swear it,” She pleaded for his affection. “I am saved for you alone.”

“Then what are ye bitch,” Salma spit on her, the dark liquid landed with a sizzle under her right eye, leaving a dark red blotch.

“I am nothing,” the woman cried. “Some call me a witch, but I’ve mastered no magic. I can do things others can’t, but I don’t know how or when. They just happen when I am angry or thinking hard about one idea or another. It’s a curse great one. One I never asked for. No man comes near me because of the rumors, the terrible rumors the townsfolk spread. I think they’d burn me if my father were not an elder. He’s ashamed of me, but deep down I believe he still loves me.”

“He doesn’t,” Salama hissed. She wailed as if this were the greatest pain he had delivered to her thus far. “Do you believe your Master?”

“Yes,” she sniffled.

“He doesn’t love you. He despises you. If his will were not so soft, he would have smothered you when you were in your cradle or carved you out of your mother’s womb. Your putrid stain sickens him, but he’s too weak to handle it himself. Do you believe your Master?”

“Yes.” This time her green eyes glowed back into his burning orbs. He could feel a surge of power, still small, but with the promise of much more with the proper coaxing and training, swell up in her skin.

“He hopes all those townsfolk in Stra would burn you. He’d watch your skin boil and he’d cheer at your agony. They all hate you. They’d kill you in a second because they fear you. If you ever had children, they’d trap them when you let them out to play and stake them in pieces to your door. Do you believe your Master?”

She did not respond, but the rage filling her eyes was answer enough. She was his fully now. A tool, a useful tool, to be used hard at the bend of his will.

“What is your name, whore of Stra?”

“Hatala Del Aram.”

He removed the veil over her eyes that saw him as the perfect male specimen. His true self was exposed then. The dark ashen skin, the rotting smell, the four arms, the eyes that burned hot and the forked tongue, all of it as Nestor had seen but that had remained hidden to every other woman. He preferred the illusion to keep the women orderly, but this girl had to take him as is for his plan to truly work. Hatala recoiled and tried to squirrel away.

“Hatala Del Aram, see me as I am,” his voice hissed as he grabbed her wrist. Her skin sizzled and smoldered in his grasp. She was past reacting to every small injury now.

“They all hate you, Hatala Del Aram,” he hissed. “They’ll rape you and burn you and drain their bladders and bowels on your grave every day till the end of time.”

Her eyes were hot. Her heartbeat raced looking back at him. One final tear found its way from her left eye.

“I love you, Hatala Del Aram. I will care for you. I will provide you the army to make them all pay.”

She stopped struggling.

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to be my Queen. You shall be the vessel that will bare the ultimate retribution for you in this world and beyond. You shall be at my side, on bended knee of course, but at my side all the same. Do you understand?”

Her forehead creased for a moment, then she eased back down on her back. A great rush of joy went through his ancient being. I will make you scream again my dear, sweet screams that will cut through the heavens. He could not help from smiling.

“I will, my King.” She opened her arms.

“Together, we shall bring down the heavens my dear, starting in this world and then onto every other.”

He came to her then. Plunging deep into her virginal crease (her anguish ringing in his ears as he did), then he sealed her mouth with his cracked lips and let her breathe in the fires of the underworld. He smoked out her insides and boiled her blood. She was strong for a mere woman, but he was raising her beyond that, beyond any other woman in this world or any other world, for that matter. He would leave his seed in her, but its fruit would not bear soon. He had use for her womb in another matter. A plan he hoped would put him on the Great Master’s throne.

When they were finished, the Dinar came to his seat in the old coliseum and removed her. He stood then facing the line of women that still circled around the old building.

“I am through with you bunch. I release you to the will of my sons and daughters.”
A clattering came from the massive pile of corpses as the beasts, some now quite grown and some that resembled normal men and women except for their many arms and various other deformities, emerged with their tongues wagging behind sharp teeth. He left then to shrieks that split the air.