The Ghost Opera: Curtain Call

[Gunneh]

The music faded as the applause ripped across the Roman sky like the prelude to a Summer thundershower. A murder of crows leapt from the perches amongst the crevices and buttresses as the Pope took the pulpit once again. The old man's arms floated above his head as if they were attached to invisible strings controlled by some unseen puppeteer. The silence in St. Peter's Square was absolutely deafening, with each and every eye focused towards the pulpit. "We have come together on this most holiest of days to celebrate the birth of our Lord," the old man rasped. "Still, it is most important to remember that-"

A slow clap rang out from the audience and broke the solitude of the early morning air. Every eye darted to the source of the sound to find the culprit to be a rather large man with what appeared to be a human skull dangling from a chain around his neck. The man was without a shirt or shoes, but he seemed to be unphased by the glances he received from the other members of the crowd. A grin crossed his stern features as he raised a hand to inspect the gauntlet that covered his knuckles.

"You know," a deep voice boomed, "I always did love the speeches that you rodents make. Such power, such charisma and it's all for nothing. The only thing that you lot have to look forward to is death."

A couple of men stepped through the crowd that looked like some form of security and the grin vanished from the big man's face. In a flash, both men were cut in half at the waist, their blood spurting out onto the stone floor of the Square in every direction. The crowd began to scream and went into a frenzy, but the big man was nowhere to be found. The Pope's eyes scrambled in every direction, several more security guards closing in around him at the same time. A flash of bright light caused the old man to cover his eyes only to find himself standing in a pool of blood with the large man standing before him.

"Wh-wh-who are you," the old man asked, backing away from the man slowly. The large man laughed and the grin flooded back to him all at once.

"I'm the end of you and all of this peaceful existence you seem to have made for yourself, old man," the man replied. "You've done an extremely wonderful thing for us, your Holiness. I can only hope that I can make you as happy as you've made me today."

He raised his hands and gripped either side of the old man's head, laughing as he fought against the attack. The large man pressed as hard as he could without completely crushing the man's face, reveling in the site of the blood pouring from the old man's eyes and mouth. The fight left the old man and his last breath escaped his frail body, and the large man threw the man down into the crowd. The screams grew and the crowd became even more frenzied. The large man looked into the crowd and sighed as a thin female appeared beside him followed by a red headed man in very ornate clothes

"Aosoth," he said plainly to the female. "Burn it. I don't even want this horrible excuse for a country on the map anymore." His gaze fell on the man, his eyes full of question.

"I apologize, Azuriel," the red head replied. "Someone got to the Opera before before you could get ahold of it."

"I figured as much, Rubo," Azuriel replied. "I guess we'll just have to find it then, won't we?"

**************
FIVE MONTHS LATER

"Olin," the dark haired man called out, "stay close to me at all times!" He grumbled something under his breath and shook his head slowly. Piles of rubble lined the streets, the smoke still rising from a few of them. He'd been to Paris only just a few months prior to the Second Opera and he never thought that he'd miss the lights as much as he did right at that moment. A free hand dipped into his pocket and pulled a cigarette and lighter from his jacket.

The wind rustled a few specks of debris along the road in front of him and his gaze drifted to every nook and cranny that he could see. The cancer stick hung loosely from his mouth, his free hand drifting down to wrap around the handle of his rapier, pulling the blade from the scabbard ever so slightly. The wind gusted just a bit more and he settled down, letting the blade fall back into its resting spot.

The flame flicked to life and he pulled in a deep drag from the cigarette and let the feeling of the nicotine spread throughout his body. A sigh escaped him as he took a seat on a rather large bit of rubble. Fours days in this God foresaken city and they'd not seen a bit of life anywhere other than the occasional weed sprouting up between cracks.

Cheer up, Nicolae, he thought to himself. There's got to be someone here.

He sure as hell hoped so, but you could never be so entirely sure. Not after the Second Opera. "Olin," he screamed, letting the smoke drift up and away from him in swirling arcs, "get your ass over here!!"

[IRLGoat]

The small, blinking mess of a boy came tearing around the corner behind Nicolae, the last person in the whole of Europe he felt he could trust anymore. Bec de Corbin in hand, he slowed his pace once he reached his friends side, scratching his head, peering at the cigarette which was wafting its deadly aroma around him. He had never cared for smoking. He knew what it did to the body... and now it was even more important to be in tip-top shape. What with harpies and vampires crawling through the streets of gay Paris. Not so gay anymore, huh?

"Ja, ja. No need to yell," he growled, a sense of fear vibrated in his throat. It wasn't bad enough that he was scared of such things before in movies and comic books; now they existed for real! Such stories had to originate from somewhere. The Swede just never thought about it in detail.

Olin tugged at the collar of his dodger blue and thin black striped sweater, producing a silver cross necklace from within its warm grip. Dull gray jeans and a pair of simple brown shoes covered the rest of him. A dirty old back-pack containing various good was slung over his shoulder lazily. Oh if his mother could see him now. She would never allow him to wear such grubbing clothing! Then again... she also wouldn't have him fighting off demons. He shivered, feeling the cold embrace of Paris' death encircling them. It was a sickening feeling, almost like something was perishing. Ah, right. The human race.

Adjusting his knap-sack and gazed down the nearest alley, the disgusting feeling of vomiting came over him. The dark was always scary to him. God knows what lurks in the night, right? He tore his gray eyes away from the shadows and back towards Nicolae, "Are you even sure where we're going? We should find somewhere safe to stay." The young boy was unaware his colleague had probably already considered such matters. Sometimes it seemed like all this was too much for him... his sanity was slowly leaving him. It started with his parents... time could only tell whether his mind would deteriorate or adapt and allow him to survive in this Hell on Earth.

[Bird of Hermes]

13 years ago.

“I hope ye not believin’ any ‘o that rubbish.”

A young girl looked over the old scroll through too big glasses, her long black hair shifting over her eyes.

“HA! Nothin’ but ole wives' tales and pagan myths”, the old man said in his thick accent, staring down at the child. She couldn’t have been more than seven years old.

“But, what if there was some fact to it, Father?” A meek looking monk said, putting his hand on the table where the young lass was sitting. The monk, who was about twenty and still in his prime, looked down at the graceful ink on the page, taking it from the girl.

“Yer be but a fool if you would even entertain the idea, kid. Monsters?! Ye must be jokin’ me!”

The Father sighed and left the study. It was almost time for the morning services.

The monk looked misty-eyed out the window, and seeing that the first light of day was just dawning, put the scroll down and straightened his collar.

“Don’t worry over that tale, Miss Lightshear. With God and His Holiness around, you have nothing to fear but sin.” The monk patted the girl on the head and started out.

As he stood in the doorway, the man paused and shook his head against his thoughts.

But the words escaped his lips anyway.

“What if there was more to this holy fight… something more fearsome than the atheists and heretics.”

-----

Today.

“Dust to dust. Ash to ash… Unpure spirits of the damned; meet your Maker by my hand. Amen!”

A young woman’s pale hands grasped the grim blade and plunged it through the demon’s heart.

Blood spilled everywhere… to the four corners of the Earth, if she had to.

The woman looked over large round spectacles. The demon that lay prostrated before her was nothing but a lower demon, some servant of a greater evil… Something she must kill.

Nevertheless, the woman walked over the decaying body and passed through the blood, leaving footprints in her wake.

The night air blew past her black and white nun’s robes and mingled with her dark hair.

Readjusting her headdress, the young woman looked up to the moon.

“I should have believed it! Every word of that children’s story, every word of it I should have embraced.”

Azume Lightshear sheathed her blade and grasped her silver crucifix in a blood-stained hand.

“Demons and monsters!” She laughed. "And I thought back then that the enemy was man."

"So much more than atheists and heretics."

[Inerio]

Mindless walking sex drives, each and every one of them. All of the sinning damned had gathered in the catacombs. Music blasted through speakers, upbeat in contrast to the hopeless mood of those whom had inhabited the parties. Dominique being one of them. How she'd gotten to France she didn't know, let alone made it into a catacomb situated club. She could only blame it on Samon, who's voice rang clearly in her otherwise muddled mind.

She couldn't speak French, in fact, she was inept at any language aside from English. Nevertheless she'd taken whatever pill or drink was passed her way and promptly laughed at the end of every joke. A minute ago a man had offered her a pill. Samon had translated the man's promise, that the pill would help her believe in God. She didn't doubt it. Anything that could get her mind further away from the reality at hand was truly a gift from the heavens.

In the humid damp heat of the club screams and sighs arose into the air, congregating in the high ceiling where their presence would forever stay. Human and demon alike mingled and writhed on the dance floor. The demons all had one thing in mind, entertainment. Humans on the other hand were almost always looking for death, if not some other form of release from the harsh reality that had enveloped them. Dominique had nothing to fear from other demons. She's lived with them all her life. Or, at least she almost always had Samon.

Long ago Dominique had been marked by Samon, which allowed her degree of safety in the strange new world. Creatures weren't looking to rub a demon the wrong way, however intangible the force may be. A monster, or at least a smart one, would go for easier prey.

The demon hadn't been completely sealed away from the human world during the. . . Sonata? . . . The Opera? Dominique couldn't recall in her current state of being. Whatever it was, he wasn't properly put away. Though, being a demon he still wasn't let completely free to roam and do as he wished. With the Second Opera played it was just a matter of time before Samon could slip past his barricades and into the human world. He just needed to draw energy from Dominique, who proved to be a steadfast provider.

Arms warped themselves around her waist as Dominique's head raised towards the sky and her arms outreached to a being she couldn't grasp onto. The shapes around her could have been angels, if she was more easily fooled. Dominique didn't allow herself to get too high, for if she did Samon almost always pulled her back down. More than one set of hands caressed Domi's skin in what was turning into a drug induced orgy as she attempted to keep her mind just out of her keeper's notice. Somewhere on her left a blonde, who looked no older than nineteen, screamed out in pain. A part of her arm had gone missing, and the patron next to her was taking on a ghastly appearance.

Some of the crowd didn't notice, others didn't care. A few attempted to vacate the area near the creature, but otherwise the girl was left to be eaten alive. Such was life. Dominique had always believed that in allowing herself to succumb to Samon, to listen to him whisper the sweetest nothings to her and go along while still being perfectly aware of the lie, that she was going to go to Hell. However, she was beginning to think Hell had come to her. Arching her back and grabbing the necklace of a man in her grip she slurred out the name of the pill she was sure she'd need at least three more of.

"Gnosis."

[Eternity]

She gasped, writhed, body trembling. It was uncontrollable, but expected. Her fingers curled and shook, forming fists as her knuckles turned white. Her eyes squeezed shut and her knees buckled, binding together as her thighs crushed against each other. Her lips parted to let out some sound, but nothing came but a soft groan, rasped as though she were unable to do more. She was beautiful, with locks of black hair and a pale face, lips painted a smooth violet color. Her eyes- when they opened- were a sweet green, and filled with tears.

Red hair trailed around her body as a head raised up from her stomach. Blood dripped from the lips of this man as his eyes- a matching crimson- locked with hers. She wanted to scream, but could not. His hand latched onto her thigh as he returned, licking the flesh of her smooth abdomen, until it came over the very wound he had caused. A deep gasp, one that oddly looked like someone had taken a bite out of her. To Rubicante, she was the tastiest fruit of all God's creations. His tongue danced over the inside of the wound, lapping up the delicious red fluid as it poured forth for him. His lips parted and a sharp-fanged smile bore its way into an agape expression, as he set his teeth to her skin once more. Closing his jaw, his teeth sliced through the flesh and tore away another bite of the woman's stomach. She gasped again, but could not scream. Why? Well, the man had his nails pushed into her throat, and had stabbed her there in the dead center, and carved an "R", having hit her voice box and eliminated her ability to even scream. He'd even made a cut in her actual throat, causing her to gulp down blood without knowing it that well. Her stomach would soon flood with blood, if her mind did not shut down from the pain of this demon's tasting of her flesh.

His hand gripped her again as he leaned up and smiled, the gorgeous man staring down at her with rich red eyes.

"You should not cry, daughter of Eve. You are the tastiest apple on God's golden tree." He then laughed, digging his claws into her throat and laughing louder. White threads rolled from his fingers over her, like a thin web that swallowed her. These threads devoured her, and her body began to instantly rot while she was alive. And within minutes, she was but a disgusting cocoon lacking a life.

Rubo wiped the blood from his lips and chuckled darkly.

"Now that I've had dinner, it is time to wander this wasteland."

-x.x.x-

The car rode through the wider streets, the headlights piercing through the darkness ahead. It was one of the few cars left riding along these streets. A pitch black and sleek BMW with a custom silver decoration on the hood in the shape of a nude woman with her arms stretched past her sides. The windows were tinted; the black glass reflecting the sight of destruction all around as the car zoomed down the streets.

In the front seat was a man, wearing the usual driver uniform. A black suit with a small poppy at his pocket and a black hat on. His eyes were shrouded beneath the brim of his hat as his leather-gloved hands gripped the wheel tighter.

In the back seat was the passenger; and the owner of the car. Elaine Morrison, one of the richest young women in the city. She wore a black dress that fit her elegant curves and halted at her knees, with tan panty-hose and black high heels with red bottoms and insides. Her top was covered in a long fur coat of a rich salt-and-pepper color, her hands covered in black leather gloves with silver bangles over her wrists, and one ruby and white gold ring over her left middle finger. Her neck adorned pearls, her lips bearing brilliant pitch red lipstick. Her face was flawless, powdered and smooth, with eyes of a tender blue. The eyes that would bear innocence, though they were flecked with guilt and sin that made this woman so much more interesting. Her hair would fall in long small cocoa waves, if it were down. But it was tied up in a bun beneath a black top-hat, with a bright red ribbon around the top, and a pair of pearls tied around it as well- her signature hat. Settled in her lap was her rapier- tucked in the blue and gold sheath- and beneath the skirt of her dress was a pistol, nestled against her thigh.

"This is far enough Hugo." Elaine said, her words like velvet as they dripped from her lips.

The car stopped, and Hugo the driver stepped out and to the back. He opened the door, and welcomed her out. Elaine stood and fashioned the rapier to her side and drew her fur coat over her arms and chest, before moving towards the building before her. It was abandoned and old; for this was the demon's part of town. She had a date with Death, and Death's name was Rubicante ; the Ruby Demon, known for his lustful ways and horrible killings. She stared up at the building from beneath the rim of her hat and smiled, tapping her long french-tipped nails against the handle of her rapier.

"Come out and play, danger boy."

[Deadpan]

Willhelm swung his leg over the horse, whom he had named Schnell, and walked into the city. He had spotted it on the horizon a few days earlier, but had taken his time to get there. Although it was true that he needed to restock on food and water, he also knew that the Otherworldlies, as he called them, preferred to hunt in the more densely populated cities than the sparse countryside. As such, he had been on his guard since entering the eastern suburbs of Paris, but had encountered very little OW activity thus far. A managgal here and there, and one forlorn looking harpy looking for her flock, but he had avoided them easily. When it came down to it, Will would always choose the better part of valor.

The horse sagged its head in exhaustion after carrying both him, his chainsaw, four gallon jugs of water, and army rations that Will had stolen from an abandoned French base, long after the riots had ended and the OWs had driven them out. They had been walking for a week or so since the French/German border, with solid 16 hours of walking a day. They had seen people here and there, mostly peering out from behind boarded up windows, but their trip had been mostly eventless, except for one flock of harpies that had circled above their refuge of an abandoned barn for an hour or so before looking for other prey.

Will had never really known where he was going, he was just traveling. He figured that if you kept on moving around, like the OWs did, you'd have just as good a chance at surviving, if not better, if the OWs knew that you were just hiding in your house all day. So why not see the world, before it ended for good?

As the towering man walked, he played with the chainsaw that hung like a shotgun from his shoulder. He had had a steady supply of gasoline; even had a liter can of it on the horse. Still, that was the only thing the worried him. Food and water were easy. Commodities like gasoline, though. That would be difficult, eventually. If he lived that long.

Driving his mind away from thoughts of his fate, he began to pay more attention to his surroundings. It was the only thing that would prevent fate, in any case. A sharp eye, and a quick mind. As the sun disappeared behind the western plains, and the stars appeared with Mother Moon, Will began to look for shelter. He would not be able to sleep under the stars tonight, if he wanted to live. So, alone with his thoughts and the steady clip clopping of hooves on pavement echoing down the streets, Will looking for a safe bed.

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