Updated: Apr 29, 2020
Created by Jeffrey Arce
This story features mature content and disturbing artwork not suitable for all ages. Read at your own risk!
What is coming:
A young man and his arrogant friend indulge in a night of wicked delicacies to feed their carnal desires. They soon find themselves in a place with a nasty secret that wants to feed on them instead.
Somewhere on the edge of dreams, at the threshold of nightmares, there is a forsaken city beneath the belly of a rich peninsula. She is a blemish on the face of Neuterra, with an atrocious, exhausting name purloined from the indigenous tribe that was massacred there, but most only knew her as ParaVice: The City of Antipathy. First Street, a dangerous destination.
It was a place teeming with thugs, addicts, and beggars. It ran along a neglected beach with gaudy lights beaming and pulsating. Moldering city billboards along the rotting, tangled roads promised a treasure trove of lascivious delicacies burgeoning within. There were signs ablaze in bar windows with electric azure buzzing in bright, big, bold letters: BEER, LIQUOR, AND CIGARS! Their neighbors were papered with banners that read: XXX MAGZ AND MOVIES. Caught between a narrow crevice of the city alleys, like the ubiquitous black spots of rotting gum dotting the concrete, one would find strung-out junkies, drunkards, and thugs hustling illegal contraband; usual suspects in a place like this.
Amongst it all there was an imposing edifice that shined like a great beckon of perversion. A watering hole for the lowest breed of human civilization. Weathered palm trees swayed mournfully before it like two gnarled pillars awash in its flashing red and yellow lights, channeling the liquid flow of fire. The gothic era structure stood with a façade outwardly dressed like a cartoon sanctuary for degenerates. Pink display lights showed the silhouettes of nimble seductresses dancing over the arch of a greatly aged stone entryway, sardonically mirroring the gates of a despoiled cathedral. Carved into the mahogany panels with spectacular craftsmanship were reliefs that illustrated a sickly-detailed sculpture of entangled women’s bodies engaged in a busy orgy. It was like a fresco dreamed up by a salacious renaissance artist, jacked up on dick-pills and drug store-brand 8-hour energy drinks.
The windows were blotted out. A time ago they contained stained glass paintings immortalizing pious men and their holy deeds. Now they were black, enticing those with desires just as dark. A group of reveling young men had come there to find out what forbidden fruits were waiting for them on the other side. They spilled clumsily onto the cracked walkway from the drafty beach behind them, laughing and hooting. The ocean crashed in the distance under a forlorn swollen moon, burning gloomily in the black banner of the night’s sky.
A saline tang was potent on the air from the churning seawater, saturating everything. A haunting sigh on the wind rolled through the beaten, splintered evergreen fronds causing them to stir over their heads so sinisterly. The youngest in the group regarded the creaking branches with apprehension. The elements presaged bad things ahead. He had just turned twenty-one and had bright, intelligent eyes, a cleanly shaven face, and combed-back hair. He appeared beside his friends dressed in khakis and a tucked-in black polo, with his nervous hands buried deep into his pockets. He was like a model for a milquetoast clothing line company, staring wide-eyed at the ostentatious lightshow before them with a child’s terrible wonder. Like a rite of passage into douche- baggery, he followed this lascivious pack of first-world wolves who fancied their selves as his superiors. However, they were only just three dull-witted bachelors with more hormones than enough good sense to know what a horrible place they had just stumbled upon. The leader, a haughty cretin who was once a popular high school football player, an obdurate showboat struggling to come down from the high from his heyday. Now he was an accountant, an aspired realtor with no more notoriety in the world than the next ego-inflamed fool, but no one could convince him of that truth. He boisterously took the head of the group, making critical note of the pointed nipples he had to heave against in order to shoulder open the ornate door.
The bouncers greeted the newcomers with practiced equanimity, though they patted the big one down with hard hands. They let him through and did the same to the others, but more gently. Their arrogant ringleader, Tyler, scoffed at the doormen as he moved onward. Tyler still had the broad neck of a bull, but there was hardly a spine in the world strong enough to hold up the weight of the ego inside his empty head. His shoulders were wide, but his paunchy stomach was much bigger than it might be in the narcissistic image he had long painted for himself. A heavy beer drinker and eater, with an insatiable taste for sex, drugs, and self-destruction. Still, his bright young friend Chase somehow enjoyed his company, or tolerated it rather. They were friends all throughout their school years in a crude and often times frustrating relationship, but a friendship, nevertheless. Tyler brought his boys to party with him, to fawn over his bullshit like he was some Rockstar amongst a company of sycophants, but the twenty-one-year- old answered to his overbearingly fierce charisma with a more opprobrious edge. Perhaps that is why he always kept him around. Chase anchored him to reality, and at times, he needed the back-push. The threat of prison was always close at hand for him without a mediator. Chase was in a sense the designated driver, the adult in the room, the babysitter. And Tyler was the imminent catastrophe, the human tornado.
“Come on Chase,” Tyler clapped his buddy hard on the shoulder. “Let’s get your birthday-ass some action!” He leered through the haze of smoke descending on them as two bars of blue light whipped and lashed about wildly.
When they stepped into the mist, Chase wondered briefly if Tyler’s over-empowering self-entitlement would one day dissipate peacefully, or if it would take him to dark places might he ever learn the truth that he was actually nothing to the world. A strange epidemic was sweeping the nation, provoking damaged egos and psychopaths alike to take their vengeance upon innocent, unsuspecting souls. Chase sometimes worried that his friend might be susceptible to such extremist ideology. Chase wondered if that was a normal thought regular people had about their friends or was it all a part of the sickness that burrowed deep in the mind and exasperated the issue in the first place. Vagaries of an intellectual mind are so easily moved by the troubles of the world. He put a pin in that grim reverie and tried to allow ecstasy to eclipse his more nihilistic thoughts. By nature, Chase was an anxious person. An over-active brain helped him to excel in his class, but it also plagued his sleep. His over-thinking was a blessing and a curse. That night however, he was determined to have some fun, may caution be damned. It will be a mistake he’ll live with until the day he dies.
Music thundered, assaulting Chase’s ears with base that seemed to come down upon them from all sides. Like a heartbeat from hell, his teeth chattered from the reverberation. There were words somewhere beneath the cacophony of sounds, he knew, but the relentless woofers that came punching out the drum and base distorted them, bursting from speakers he had to imagine were bigger than his house.
The BOOM BOOM BOOM hurt his molecules. It was distracting, but something materializing in the mist caught his eye and stole his thoughts away from the tumult. At first glance, the spectral shadow before them appeared like a black serpent thrashing this way and that. But when the light struck it, he saw at last what the figure was. Supple, amorous creatures were gyrating on elevated platforms. Some were coiled around dancer-poles and whirling inside massive hanging birdcages swinging high above their heads. More were threading their way through a myriad of tables wearing what little they possibly could, and some of them were wearing nothing at all. His jaw fell open, and the music suddenly wrapped around him as comfortably as silk.
He paused in his step. His breath abandoned him. Just then his big, obnoxious friend locked him up under a heavy arm and proclaimed, “Tonight, you become a man!” No sooner had they taken five steps into the club has a dainty, vivacious woman appeared before them. She was lithe and radiant. Her almond skin almost seemed to glow under the influence of the club lights surrounding her. She was like plastic, and nearly too perfect to be real. Her garb seemed to gleam like black liquid. But at close inspection they would learn that she wasn’t wearing clothing at all. Ornate shapes wrapped around her lissome, sinuous build, covering only the right parts to tease her prey, and showing only enough flesh to feed their fantasies. She was wearing a black-tape bikini, every piece expertly placed to create flawless, intricate designs that curved here and tapered off there. Her nipples were hard as little pebbles protruding against the glossy fabric of the tape that covered them. Chase could see the tiny lumps indicating her nipple-piecings as they swelled through the adhesive as visible as though she were standing there before them naked. Half her head was stylishly shaven; the other half cascaded down her right shoulder in a curtain of thick, rainbow-dyed dreads that were infused brightly by the blacklights. Her ropes of lurid hair were so long, full, and matted over that Chase couldn’t help but wonder how many years she had been treating them. Maybe ten, maybe ten thousand. She wore a purple lipstick that glittered like stars. Her thin, narrow bedroom eyes were accentuated by dark eyeliner and her irises were a kind of smoldering iridescent green that was unhuman. You could swim in them, but you would drown and die. And the tattoos that covered mostly every inch of her flesh were like a temple of hieroglyphics which told a long loquacious story, but one that might be fatally prognostic were the reader so wise enough to understand the language.
To the youngest one she showed him her most gracious of smiles, which was pretty, peaceful, and pleasant. He gave her a timid one back in return with flush blooming on his cheeks. To his audacious friend she beamed dangerously. Hoisting up a tray of loaded vials cleverly shaped like syringes, she asked, “Would you gorgeous boys care for a drink?” Her left eyebrow arched endearingly with the offer.
“Please, I invite you: pick your poison.”
Chase’s head was already swimming with enough toxins for one night, but before he could politely decline, his flippant friend jumped in and goaded, “I’ve got something for you to sip on right here!” then he grabbed a handful of his manhood and added, “Come get your fill!”
Security saw that, and a large man stuck out his muscled chest as he went to stalk the indecorous newcomer. The spectacular woman held up a patient finger to hold him. With liquid eyes on her unruly guest, she grinned thirstily at him. She said, “Maybe I will.” With that, she left him a wink and moved on. Brushing past the puffed-up bouncer, she whispered, “Let him be. That one I like.” She flashed their visitor one more coquettish gesture and Chase’s big friend bristled with drunken pride.
“Tyler, why must you be a dick?” Chase derided.
He shrugged off the insult. “I’ll be whatever she wants me to be.”
Chase was troubled by this. He looked again at the passing waitress, scrutinizing her perfect body... too perfect for nature. Warily, he noted, “I’m not so sure it was a good thing, what just happened.”
“Lighten up, Chase,” one of the other guys said. He thought his name is Moyer... or was it Kreger? He couldn’t ever remember. “Modesty, or lack thereof will get you nowhere in this place. It’s all about what’s in the wallet. And Tyler is way too broke to get himself in too much trouble!” “And fat,” the other nameless asshole japed. Was it Bader? Or was it Krewman. Whatever, screw him too!
Tyler flipped him off before leading them again, where ever he was going as if he knew the place. That was how he treated every new environment he found himself in, like he was too damn sure of himself to ever be lost. Put him on Dera and he’ll somehow manage to pop a hole in the barrier protecting the colony at Sector 9, strutting away blithely as the hull implodes behind him. He said, “The mainstage is over here.” There were four stages, not including the massive transparent box hanging from the shadowy ceiling where nude women were dancing dirty like they were floating on air. This time, Tyler guessed his way correctly.
They moved through on past rich men in suits, poor men in discount superstore novelty shirts, and young men brandishing their drinks, being as recklessly obstreperous as the youthful spirit could possibly be. Then he caught view of a VIP seating area, far off to the right, climbing high just before the Sky Cube and main stage. A curtain of glittering beads fell around them like a wall of lapis pearls. They weren’t the normal sorts of sex-depraved patrons there. They were seated in a place of honor, more expensively dressed than any man in the club, but he saw on the swarthy nape of one of them in attendance a stretch of tribal-like tattoos. He was a hard man, and he was dangerous company. With a flinty scowl, the stranger warded the young man’s curiosity away as he turned to place it on him. When Chase retreated his eyes, he found a woman striding their way— brave, and with a gait that was both assertive, yet primal and sexy. She walked with a party of suited men, though they looked more like trained killers. Lean, and hard-muscled, they shadowed her as she went by them. A perfume wafted from her, which was redolent and exotic, but there was also a taste of professional authority clinging to it.
Tyler caught the scent too, and as non-elegant as was in his every demeanor, he shouted out to her, “Goddamn, how much do you cost?”
She turned to offer only disdain. Her very austere was incongruous with everything that surrounded her. The woman was not in dress like the others, or of a patience to endure such bold wit. She wore a dark purple vest that was all business, cut to show most humbly but a hint of the cleft in her bosom, and she was in a formal black skirt that climbed no higher than to her knees. Her high-heels, though, appeared almost to have been sculpted out of black ice, and were cold as her ambience. Her hair was spun in flaxen threads, wrapped up in a seductively messy bun that was stacked high on her crown. It was a style that could just as much promise the most wicked of pleasures as it could say that she was a busy woman with no tolerance for drunken jeers. Chase’s ignorant friend was far too slow and dissolute to see that her men were all marking him with baleful glowers. Though confounded, the woman went on about her business without a word in his direction. Before she went under the canopy to meet with her guests, however, she said to her stalwart knights, “Watch him.” And that they did— every single move Tyler made next.
Trepidation pulled at Chase’s heart then, even as they started for the main stage to rain money upon the redheaded beauty that was capering with practiced enthusiasm. Deftly, she shimmied up the stripper-pole and hung upside down from it, letting her long curls sweep about, as she swung round and round, fully nude, and absolutely breathtaking. Still, she was not enough to ameliorate Chase’s stress. Something very bad was happening in that place of the world under those beads, and every instinct in him was screaming for them to get out while they still had a chance. Some primal, dormant sense in his human core was waking up. And it said unto him, they have his scent! Run, and don’t look back!
ParaVice has always been something of a mystery to Chase. He and his friends grew up on the rich side of the city. They only heard stories about the dark half. Now they were seeing it in all of its fantastic glory. But only Chase could smell the ugly lingering behind the pretty mask. The ugly had sharp teeth, and they were closing around him and his friends.
“Gentlemen,” the mysterious businesswoman so courteously began with her waiting guests at the VIP table. Her red eyes were keenly set on the one with the tattoos. “It is a pleasure to have you.”
“The pleasure is ours.” He made it a sour, curt response. “You know why we have come?” The Canian’s words were accented, but only mildly. He was highly educated in the common tongue.
She nodded. “I do.”
“So then...” he let it hang, waiting for her response.
The woman sat down; her right-hand man nearest at her side. He was a tall gentleman with oil-slicked black hair, a grizzled goatee, and of deep Eastern descent which was chiseled into his dark scowl.
She offered them a stoically flat grin and said, “Your employer is threatened, and I understand that. He wants to know how I was able to procure this property without his knowing. I understand that. It is a curious thing isn’t it?” her vulpine gaze tested him, and it was as cold as any thug or boss he had even encountered, and he met them all. Her eyes wrought with cruelty and experience. Her fearlessness was impressive, but her temerity was impertinent, and frustrating. “A woman, with power, and what’s more... a woman with said power in one of the vilest places on the planet. Oh, how could it be? I assure you, good sirs. There is no mystery here. It is all so very simple. The devil is in the details however, and that is something need not concern you.”
Her guest was not happy with that answer. “On the contrary,” he seethed, brusquely, “this is the very source of our employer’s dismay. Whom are you working for?”
“I am working for me, every girl’s dream,” she said playfully.
“Who is funding you, then?”
“Mr. Pérez, you have played this game long enough to know the answer will be the same for every inquiry. Can we save the humility and get to the point? You want a tithe, yes?”
He exchanged a curious look with his partners. Then back to her, he demanded, “Fifty million...”
Their host grimaced irresolutely. Before she could decide one of her soldiers came in, leaving hurried ripples surging in the curtain behind him. He stepped around her man, who never even flinched, still as granite, looking direct at Mr. Pérez like a brooding gargoyle. The newcomer whispered something into his Madam’s ear. She frowned. “Excuse me, sirs. Business matters.”
Annoyed, she stood up stiff as a board, her aggravated frown drawing age lines that suddenly made her appear ancient, yet still as gorgeous as ever. She went to part through the veil of beads with a quick hand, stealing a peek outside. The big prurient idiot that had made his brazen pass at her was just then being ripped from the stage. Her security dumped him on his back. He was kicking and cursing, violently aggrieved. Her dancer had withdrawn herself from them. She was frightened, and covering her most valuable of parts, spoiling the others of her organic beauty. As if sensing her boss’s presence, Lady Tanya looked angrily at her. Humans of such natural glamor were a rarity, and an asset. They were fickle, hard to come by, and expensive to keep. She would need to recompense her generously for this embarrassing interruption before the night was through.
Patrons were hectoring the beast, and rightfully so. His own posse had turned on him, cursing at him, and the young, comely gentleman that came in with him was suddenly taken with despair. He chanced a blanched look back her way. She dropped the beads and said in private hearing with the security guard whom had brought this matter to her attention, “Give him to D.”
He went suddenly taut. Incredible fear washed over him, but his sangfroid Madam gave him a reassuring smile. She touched him with affectionate hands, tentatively caressing the dribbled scars that wracked the side of his face; an old bite mark it would seem. It was a big one, devastating most of his bottom lip, neck, and jaw. “Don’t you worry,” she said, emollient, “she will not harm you, my dear. Now go."
Though terrified, he bowed and went dutifully to carry out her command. Before he was gone, she stopped him once more and said, “Oh, and do be a doll, my love. Tell the DJ to play her song. She likes to set a mood.” His Madam nodded at him, and then it was done.
When she was seated again, she went immediately back to business and said, “Forty...” Her tattooed visitor considered this for a moment before he acquiesced, “Forty. This will do well to indemnify our employer, and perhaps put his heart at ease about you.”
“Anything to keep the peace.” There was no love on her words; she spoke it with venom. “I wouldn’t want to raddle the cage of a Snake. I do so very much enjoy serpents.”
Tyler punched one of the bouncers across the jaw, sending him reeling. It was an impressive swing for a drunk guy.
“Get off me!” He was on his feet again, bellicose and besot on adrenaline, but three security officers had surrounded him.
“Bro, you have got to calm down!” Chase panicked, checking his surroundings anxiously. The fawners weren’t fawning anymore. Bader, or Chet, or- whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was quaffed down his drink and spat, “Let’em throw him out! It’s the least he deserves.”
“Hey, fuck you,” Tyler growled.
One of the guards seized him up again and began moving him for the door. “That’s it, you are done!” “I was just trying to have some fun,” he complained.
“The stage is for dancers only!”
Tyler’s intoxicated ego would not let him surrender. “I can dance better than that scrawny-ass ginger.”
Suddenly, everything stopped. A majestic sound came jingling over the speakers— melodic, yet haunting. Jaws fell open as she sashayed toward them. Her black tape bikini shimmered under the light, igniting the intricate shapes. There was a cry like bending sirens to theme her walk, and then there were drums. Peering through her ropes of yellow and blue and red and pink hair like a feral beast, she looked at him. A ravenous hunger possessed her gaze. She placed a slender hand against the bouncer’s barreled chest. He paused, swallowing a dreadful lump in his throat. Even he was afraid. No more words were needed. The bouncer let go of Tyler and simply removed himself from the scene. She grinned at him archly when the blare of energy-fueled electric guitars ensued.
The nubile woman closed in. Chase saw a storm of curious emotion possess his friend but for only a moment. It wasn’t long before his hubris was quickened again.
“What is this?” Chase asked, incredulous. His heart was pounding.
Then the man with the cruelly scarred face was suddenly there. “A gift from our Madam Bassy.” He said it almost plaintively, drawing his eyes down like a beaten dog forced to entertain a savage ritual. “She saw your displeasure with Lady Tanya. Dissatisfaction will not stand here at our Madam’s Basilica.” “Damn straight!” Tyler was leering at her, all agog and absent of chivalry. “I saw you at the door, I knew you were thirsty."
The charming lady drew back her purple lips to bare those brilliant teeth again. “That I am.” Chase did not trust it. “This is a trick.”
“Chase, look at her.” He was. There was something terrible about her; he could smell it.
“She wants me,” Tyler was never so certain about anything.
“That I do,” she purred.
“A private room has been selected for you, free of charge,” the man with the broken face informed them.
She slipped her arm through his, and they were at once ambulating together as if floating away on air. Chase stepped in front of them.
“Bro, step off,” Tyler snarled.
Chase gave the woman a careful glance. Her brow cut over her eyes in a way that scared him. He blinked at his friend and said, “Are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure if you don’t soon get the fuck out of my way you’re gonna get a broken arm for your birthday.”
One of his friends then touched Chase on the back. “Leave him to dig his own grave, come on.” They let him go.
Before long, Tyler was alone in a dark chamber with his fierce mistress. A black light filtered in, brightening her white teeth and setting her rainbow hair on fire. Her green eyes were like a cat’s in the glow. The corpulent man sat awkwardly balanced in his chair, hard as a rock. She crawled to him, dusted him with her artful threads, and then mounted him. He made his repugnant remarks, but she couldn’t hear him; nobody could over those all-consuming speakers. The singer’s voice was bleeding through, it was a woman, and she had a sonorous sound. With a seductive chorus that engendered an intoxicating sense of desire, passion, rage, and pain, she roared, “...I’m Sick, You Sick, I Infected You! Still You Think I’m So Beautiful, Even When I Rip Right In-to You!”
That was what Tyler had missed in his blind arrogance: what the song should have been saying to him.
Her long, tattooed legs were curled around him. Her ample breasts were against his jaw. He could feel the cool gloss of the tape, like plastic on his face. A laughing skull was branded on her throat, peering at him through the lace of her black choker. A self-eating snake was burned into the skin under her breasts, and a ferocious mouth lined with jagged teeth circled her navel and fell into the cleft between her legs. He did what assholes liked to do, and he buried his nose deep into her bosom. She giggled. She crooned. Then she brought herself to his level, eye-to-eye, mouth-to-mouth. She was letting him feel her labia moistening over the top of his bulge, loosening the adhesive of her black tape thong. He made once more some stupid, bawdy statement; she let the music drown him out. She did like the feel of him, though. His prick was nice enough. Shame, D thought, rueful. She opened her mouth; her tongue was wrapped in saliva. She edged closer. He leaned in, eager to taste her. She could already taste him: all of his abhorrent deeds, and all the terrible things he may have yet to do were he allowed to keep his life. She savored it. A second away from pressing his lips against hers, something happened. Just then her jaw split down the middle, a red line drawing to her throat, breaking the skull tattoo in half. He recoiled.
“What the Fu—”
An audacious drum line and snare rang together, mingled with the wild wailing of an electric guitar.
The point of her tongue parted into a slimy fork, and suddenly it exploded out from her throat. It was impossibly long. It coiled around his neck and choked the air from him. The chasm in her jaw unzipped her sternum and ripped through her navel. The tape stretched and snapped apart. Then the two halves of her body ebbed open, unveiling her insides, opening her like a grotesque Venus Flytrap. It sounded like the crunch of old tree bark as a tree is collapsing. Slaver rained down from her upper jaw to the viscera cradled within. Her eyes were smoking like burning embers. Sweat pooled on Tyler’s brow, as he tried to scream, tried to fight. Green, dappled tentacles stretched out of her, and trapped his limbs. His face was turning black from strangulation as he watched with wide, bloodshot eyes. Her ribcage transformed into spears that slammed into him, piercing his arms, shoulders, and back. Like greedy fingers, they dug into him, tearing pieces off and shoveling chunks of flesh and bone into her yawning chest cavity. Something in her spit had liquefied his tissue once it was inside, and the membrane cells that lined her guts were drinking up the sizzling, viscous matter voraciously. She broke him in half, and the life left from his eyes at last. Blood painted the walls black, splashing on the floor in sheets that circled round a hidden drain beneath them. When there was nothing left of his upper body but a pile of guts, she went back together. The rift that had been through her mended, and she was one again. Straddling him there, she grabbed ahold of the gnawed spinal cord protruding a ragged ruin between her legs. D curled her fingers around it and licked her nails on the other hand clean of blood. Streams of gruesome liquified matter ran down the center of her body and dribbled off the tips of her erect nipples as she laughed.
Outside the room the security officer with the ugly scars on his neck was standing watch, coated under nervous perspiration, and trying not to retch from the repulsive sounds that only he had heard.
“Shall we conclude this council...,” Madam Bassy announced merrily at the VIP table as she lifted a long, smoldering cigarette holder to her lips, “...on a generous note. A token of our gratitude to the daring men of The Company...” She snapped her fingers, and her provocative nymphs poured in, taking each one of her guests by the hand and walking them from the high table to the private chambers far in the back. The dancers enraptured them, and as if hypnotized they went with them willingly. She inhaled deeply and breathed a stream of liquid smoke slowly. “Let no one leave here with doubt on their tongue,” she proclaimed wickedly. “Let no appetite go unsated. Not here. Never at Bassy’s Basilica.”