"…so, after things went to shit, what was left of the Judeo-Christian sects decided to put aside their differences and make a unified religion of God," Troy said, wrapping up his description of the New World United Church.

Michael had led him to the Bradford Hotel and the bar in the lounge. True to what Evangelina had told Troy when they met, the liquor at the bar was genuine and good. Far stronger than anything Troy had in the past.

"So, what is it your group wants?" asked Michael. He lit a black cigarette that smelled of cloves.

Troy thought about that. He fiddled with his glass of bourbon, eyes on the amber fluid. "The missionaries are here to try and convert your flock."

Michael cocked his head and studied the dark-haired fellow next to him. Troy was roughly his same age, dark haired and dressed in a faded flannel shirt, an old coat, and well-worn jeans. Good-looking in a James Dean way that old Hollywood would have appreciated.

"What about you?" Michael prompted.

Troy looked up from his glass, lost. "What about me what?"

"What are you here for?"

Troy hesitated. Then: "Since I was small, I've had these…visions. Dreams. Dreams of dragons, and beasts of the sea and land. About a month ago…" He laughed, suddenly afraid of the first impression he was crafting. "Never mind."

He started to lift his glass, but Michael intercepted him by putting a hand on his arm. The blond guy arched his brows for a probing look.

"Tell me." Michael's words were simple, soft, and supremely compelling.

"I had a dream that the dragon emerged on the beach and there was a great serpent in the sea to one side of it and to the other side, there was a great beast like an ox with ram's horns. And I was telling this, uh, this tour group that the dragon's name was Michael and they should all follow him. You."

Michael let go of his arm then and settled back to smoke his cigarette. It pleased him that Troy's dream proclaimed him the dragon he knew he was. The other creatures made him wonder though. In the Biblical texts he'd read at Father Jeremiah's behest, those same beings were something of an entourage to the dragon.

"You're the False Prophet," Michael said

Troy swallowed the swig of liquor in his mouth and coughed on the fumes. "Excuse me?"

Michael swept him with another scrutinizing stare and nodded to himself, certain of his assessment. "You're the False Prophet. The third part of the Unholy Trinity."

"Me?" Troy said, not believing it. He knew his Bible verses. "I'm just a missionary who's ditched the path of righteousness to get drunk in a bar with the Antichrist." He laughed at himself because it was true: He was drunk.

"True," agreed Michael. "But you're the False Prophet too." He paused, watching the swirling signature of the other man's soul. It reminded him of a Rubik's cube in its complexity. He smiled broadly. "And I think I know how you're going to help me."

—

The orgy was in full swing when Michael and Troy arrived at the bunker up in the Hollywood Hills. Officially part of New 'Salem now, the central bunker where the elite used to shut themselves away was crawling with people in various states of dress and intoxication. Most wore masquerade masks to shelter their identities while they explored every kind of carnal delight.

The main room of the bunker was wide, strewn with couches and cushions, studded with low tables overflowing with rich foods rarely seen by the common people in the post-apocalyptic world. The room was lit with fire barrels and thick candles; the light was dispersed by several small, strategically placed mirror balls dangling from the ceiling. Black velvet drapes covered the walls, embroidered with blood red angelic script.

Loud music with a heavy bass beat vibrated the air. Troy could feel the sound waves tingling in his fingers and nose and thumping around inside his lungs. The smell of sex, marijuana, opium, and incense made him dizzy. The air was electrified and cool at once. And the sights! As Michael led him on a winding course through the dimly lit room, Troy saw all kinds of fornication the likes none of the vague Bible stories he'd grown up on could prepare him for.

They passed a St Andrews cross where a redheaded young woman was strapped down, half covered in melted wax from candles lit all over her body. Three naked people, two women and a man, took turns fucking her every orifice with a variety of foods. Not far from them, a man who looked to be in his early 60s pounded away at a man half his age, while flogging himself with a short whip that had bits of sharp metal attached to the ends of the thin leather straps. Blood and sweat dripped down his back. Beyond them, a woman very pregnant woman with large breasts rode a man reverse cowgirl while another man tried to keep his cock in her mouth.

"Holy shit," Troy whispered to himself. The words were inaudible beneath cacophony in the room.

Michael led him deeper into the bunker, down a hall studded with several doors that were open. Each room held a large bed or just heaps of cushions where still more people piled, indulging their base urges. This area was overseen by several burly bouncers that kept the common crowd back. This was the coven's territory.

It wasn't hard to find Pieter: He had staked out the largest room, the one with the round bed large enough to sleep sixteen people. The triplets were with him, all bare and strewn about the wide mattress, half-spent already. Meg had noticeable red marks on her throat. When Michael entered the room, Pieter had Madison bent over, on her knees in the center of the bed, with one arm twisted painfully behind her back as he slammed his cock into her. Her shoulders carried the brunt of the force he was applying; she had to twist her head to the side in order to keep from having her face smashed into the bed.

"This is Pieter," Michael introduced. His words were casual, but he was watching the action on the bed with active interest. "He's the warlock of the coven my Aunt Fiona leads."

Troy stared. On the bed, Alec lifted his head to look at them. He glanced at Michael, but Troy held his attention, being someone that the albino had never seen before. He assessed the stranger then let his head drop. He needed to save his energy for Pieter.

"Pieter, this is Troy," Michael said, not at all hesitant to intrude on the man's moment. "Troy is the False Prophet."

Pieter gave Madison another good thrust then paused to look over at the pair in the doorway. He was panting for breath and slicked with sweat; his blond ponytail was in disarray. He gave Troy a long, hard look then smiled. It was a dark smile; hungry. He pulled out of Madison and gave her bottom a hard slap to get her moving out of his way. Scowling, she rolled away from him and grabbed a sheet to curl up in.

"Come here, boy," Pieter said to Troy.

Unlike Madison, the warlock did nothing to hide his nudity. He was still fully erect, which made it awkward for Troy to look at him.

"Go on," Michael urged him quietly. His words were almost playful. "He doesn't like to repeat himself."

Troy moved forward and it all started to feel like a dream. The influence of the strong liquor and the drugs in the air blurred the lines of reality. He couldn't really be there, living the moment he was living. It was too strange, too much like one of his visions.

"Strip," Pieter said.

Troy's eyes rounded and he looked back at Michael. The Antichrist was helping himself to one of Pieter's cigarettes, apparently unconcerned. Troy didn't want to make the man repeat himself, so he started to undress. He looked down at the buttons of his shirt so he wouldn't have to see how everyone in the room was watching him now. The music from the main room was a dull thump back here; a sleazy heartbeat.

When he was down to his underpants, Troy straightened and looked at Pieter. The man arched a brow.

"Those too," he said, waving to the boxers.

Ten hours ago, Troy was in a van with no shocks, riding toward a spiritual battlefield he was meant to help claim. In all his imaginings of how things might turn out, this was the furthest from what he pictured. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear, shoved them down and stepped out of them.

Madison uncurled a little to get a better look at the new boy. Though she was still upset at her recent treatment, she also couldn't help noticing Troy. He had a nice body and a charming face; a great cock. She was dead, but she wasn't blind. More than just looks: She could sense the latent power in him. The power was dormant, but it was strong.

"Don't just stand there, silly boy," Pieter chided. "Come here."

((Cue Paint It Black, Ciara cover))

Troy felt himself blush from his head down to his chest. As the dark-haired young man moved closer to the bed, Michael took a seat at the small marble table near the wall. He dragged the lead crystal ashtray over to his side of the table, content to watch from the sidelines.

Pieter pushed himself to the edge of the mattress where he could reach Troy. He put his hands on the younger man's hips and drew him close, between his spread knees. He looked up and smiled a lazy smile.

"Delicious," he said, taking in the whole of the being before him.

"I'm a virgin," Troy blurted.

Madison laughed. It was a mean laugh. Troy blushed harder and looked at the floor. He didn't know what he was doing or saying. He felt drunk without the stumbling. The warlock's hands on him stirred the fire inside him, making him sweat. He tried to think of his church group, to second-guess his ill-thought-out plan to confront the Antichrist himself, but that life felt like a distant fantasy. A construct meant to drive him right to where he was now. Where he should be.

"A virgin?" Pieter smiled. "Not for long."

For a wild moment, Troy thought the Pieter was going to go down on him. Instead, the warlock palmed his hands over the younger man's ass and trailed a long lick from his hip to his ribs. Then, in a smooth motion, he flipped Troy onto his belly on the mattress. That's when Pieter went down on him, tonguing his back door for several mind-blowing seconds before shoving his cock in. Troy reared up instinctively with the pain, but the man pushed him back down and used his larger size to keep him pinned down.

"Please don't hurt me," Troy begged. The fire inside was smothered; he couldn't feel it past the cock in his ass.

"Growth has to hurt sometimes," Pieter growled in his ear.

He raped the younger man viciously then, trying to push him to his limit. Through it all, Michael sat and smoked and drank some of the vermouth Pieter had on ice at the sideboard. He found the sexual assault mildly arousing but he was still too worked up over Evangelina to muster true interest.

"Please! Make him stop!" Troy called out to Michael when Pieter changed positions for a deeper assault. The bed springs squeaked audibly with the force of his thrusts.

"You make him stop," Michael bantered, unsympathetic.

Troy gave a pained sob and tried to pull away, but Pieter held tight and kept him pinned. Madison curled up tighter where she was and drew the sheet close. If she wasn't chained to the bed by the damned collar on her throat, she would have left long ago. The triplets weren't physically bound but they stayed put as well. Tisi had her eyes shut and was pretending to rest. Alec couldn't stop staring. Meg had her fingers in her ears and her back to everyone. On her bottom, several bruises were slowly surfacing.

"Yes," Pieter encouraged breathlessly. "Stop me."

Troy yelped with each punishing thrust, unable to tap into the fire he knew was inside him. He just couldn't reach it while Pieter was violating him.

"I can't!" he cried.

"Then I will fuck you until you pass out," said the warlock cheerfully.

The younger man gave a miserable wail. Alec looked away finally. He had been through a similar ordeal with the blond man himself and already knew the ending.

"Please! Stop!" Troy gasped. He clutched at the sheets, but they were of no help to him.

Pieter barked a laugh and continued the sexual assault, plowing away until the stray missionary did indeed pass out from the pain and trauma. When the warlock finally satisfied himself, he pulled out and rolled the unconscious youth to the side, so he could flop wide on the bed.

"Mm," he purred. "I do love fresh meat. Toss me a cigarette?"

"He's not very bright," Michael remarked. He threw one of the black cigarettes over to the bed and followed it with a box of matches.

"He doesn't have to be," Pieter pointed out. He lit his cigarette then dragged himself to the heap of pillows at the nominal head of the bed. Propping himself there, he looked lazily over at Michael. "He just has to be loud. And he is."

Michael eyed the unconscious young man still sprawled where Pieter shoved him. "Is he marked? Tisi. Check him."

The eldest triplet stirred and crawled over to the stranger. She had a bite mark on her inner thigh. She checked Troy's hairline and behind his ears. "He is," she reported. She ran her fingers over the raised scar-like skin behind his left ear. It was an excuse to touch the pretty boy more.

"Good," said Michael. He crushed out his cigarette and got up to start pacing. "I want to use him to summon the Dragon."

...

Author's Note:

There was a touch of homage to AHS Hotel in this one, as well as a hefty dose of The Sentinel and the Omen series, and just a dash of Rosemary's Baby. I love the older occult horror stories. They were so raw and edgy; bold enough to rely on story more than visual effects. The 60's and 70's horror films also loved to throw in random nudity and graphic sex.

The next AHS season taps the 80's so I might do some of that in the next episode, which is coming soon. We're not quite done with this one. Poor Troy still has work to do.