His was a dusky beauty that captivated Lilith as she gazed on his bare form stretched out beside her, freshly spent from the carnal bout of sex they'd just engaged in. His skin was mother-of-pearl, his hair long and black as the night. His body was strong but not overtly muscular. A pleasant blend of masculine and feminine traits that reflected her own androgynous leanings. His appearance was marred only by the vicious scars that scored his back; ten wounds healed long ago.

"Marry me."

At first, Lilith thought he was joking, but when she looked into those fathomless indigo eyes of his, she knew he meant what he said. It was a look that lanced her heart.

"He would never allow it," she demurred.

"Let me take care of that," he assured her. "I want you for my wife. Now and forever."

She wanted to debate him further on the matter, but he was crawling on her again, penetrating her. The connection with him was so dominating in its ecstasy, she could think of nothing else. How could she deny him anything?

They didn't speak of marriage again that night. The next time she saw him, he was reluctant to let her see his naked body. When she finally was able to part him from his clothing, she understood why. His attempt to barter for her hand in marriage had been successful, but permission had come at a terrible price.

"He didn't want us filling the world with our children," he told her bitterly.

There would be no chance of that. In exchange for the right to wed his beloved, their master had castrated him. Worse than mere sterility, his mutilation prevented his getting an erection. And though they went through with the wedding, they could not consummate their union.

So, Lilith came to a decision of her own: She sought out the White Serpent.

To set the tone for their meeting, she put on a silk dress that shimmered every hue of the rainbow when she moved. She braided her hair with wheatgrass and poppies and made herself desirable for Damballa. A compassionate king, he gave her what she wanted. But the Serpent wanted something of his own: Her hand in marriage. It didn't bother him that she was set to marry another. He even blessed the future wedding. He wanted to share her, however, and would settle for nothing less.

It was hardly a sacrifice; she had loved the White Serpent for a long time. She would have some explaining to do but what Damballa gave her to take back to her first husband already required an explanation.

—

"It is the Blind Dragon," she told him later when she presented it to him.

Carved to resemble the head of a great serpent, the ivory phallus was rigged on a set of belts that she helped him put on, and as she did, she explained the sacrifice she had made for their future. He accepted her words. He wasn't prone to jealousy and felt no ownership over her. Their marriage was the completion of a partnership that simply couldn't be jeopardized, no matter how many husbands she took.

When the Blind Dragon was secured in place, Lilith was duly impressed. Her lover been androgynous before; the device only made him more amazing to behold. The way the leather straps hugged his thighs reminded her of armor and bondage simultaneously, which she found incredibly arousing.

"After you've had a go," she smiled wickedly as they fell back into the sheets together. "I want to use it on you."

And that's exactly what they did.

—

Sex between them with the help of the Blind Dragon was enjoyable, but nowhere close to the fiery encounters they'd shared before their marriage. Neither could achieve orgasm. What had once bonded them became a source of slow-burning frustration that gnawed at them both. Unrequited desire eventually drove her to other lovers. She would always return to him, but not before finding a suitable male to impregnate her. In the meantime, he kept himself occupied with his work.

It had been decades since she found a viable partner. Even before the apocalypse, she'd had trouble finding a man who looked good and didn't disgust her on an interpersonal level. Intelligence, beauty, and ambition were a combination in short supply in the modern age. She tore through several in her search for a partner who could satisfy her lust.

Now that the world had ended, she had finally found a worthy subject for her carnal needs. She had left him a key when she encountered him in the woods; he only had to use it. Time moved differently for her within the old Hollywood mansion she had turned into her supernatural bordello. She was content to wait, amusing herself in her dark glamorous paradise. The petty dramas of the ghosts she had trapped there entertained her, as did feeding stray children to her pet. Eventually, Michael would find his way to her. And when she'd taken what she wanted from the Antichrist she would return to her beloved husband Samael.

...

-= AMERiCAN HoRRoR SToRY =-

...

Violet didn't bother with the door when she entered the Bradford Hotel. There were people in the lobby, members of the coven of witches, and she didn't want to bother interacting with them. It was a social leisure she wished she'd had in life. If she'd been able to become invisible anytime she wanted, school wouldn't have bothered her nearly as much. She might've even achieved "A" student status under such conditions.

The fact was, she had nothing against learning. She had taken in plenty of media over the years that fascinated her as it educated her. She loved to study things with Tate, especially morbid things. Only he truly understood and shared her interest in things like gravestones and catastrophic plagues.

He was the reason she was at the witch-owned hotel.

After her venture to the beach with Chad had turned up nothing helpful, Violet decided to go to the only person she was certain could find Tate, regardless of what had happened to him. Michael could find him, she was sure. She did feel strange about approaching him, though. She wasn't a religious person but asking the Antichrist for anything grated against the general belief system instilled in her by the culture she'd been raised in. Only sinners asked the Devil's son for help.

Which is what she was, she knew. She had killed herself. That alone was enough by the standards of most religions to damn her for eternity. She knew she had done worse than that too. But even knowing and accepting the darkness that she was, she still felt odd about asking the living Prince of Evil for assistance.

She found him in his suites, but he wasn't alone. Jeremiah was there with him and they were engaged in serious discussion. She had already passed through the door when she realized they were busy and she retreated with the intent of letting them alone, but the nature of the discussion caught her interest.

"—I just question the wisdom of your traveling into a nuclear wasteland based solely on some old documents Pietre pulled from an abandoned bunker in the New Mexico desert," Jeremiah was saying.

Michael had a suitcase out on the bed and was giving the contents of his closet careful scrutiny. Most of what it contained was black, with smatterings of red and white. "Some question the wisdom of my leaving you and Mother Constance to raise my sons while I tend to the rebirth of the world."

Jeremiah blinked rapidly and his lips thinned. "I...don't see what that has to do with the subject at hand," he said carefully.

Michael selected a white ascot and ran his fingers over the delicate aged lace. "Thank you for your advice, Jeremiah," he said without looking at the man. "But I intend to go to Pripyat as soon as Troy is rested and ready to go."

Recognizing he was being shut down, Jeremiah's posture wilted slightly. "The warlock and his brood aren't going with you?"

A faint smile teased Michael's lips at his former mentor's resignation. "No. Desiree is close to delivering and Pietre wants to be there for the birth."

"As does Fiona."

Michael's smile grew. "So I heard."

"That doesn't concern you?"

"Why should it?" Michael asked, his smile disappearing in favor of wide-eyed innocence of the most false kind. "They both want the baby. They'll either sort out between them who gets it, or they'll carve it in two to share. Whatever they do with it doesn't matter to me."

Jeremiah's frown had less to do with the morality of the younger man's position and more to do with the sensibility of it. "We don't even know what sired the child," he pointed out. "Don't you think you should know what the baby is before you let them take it?"

"I don't care what it is," Michael stressed, suddenly tired of the conversation. He tossed the ascot into his suitcase and grabbed a pants hanger which he swept the contents of into the case as well. "It's probably some sort of squid monster or something. I don't fucking care what it is or what happens to it." He turned to Jeremiah then and his eyes were alight with barely contained excitement. "If what Pietre says is true, we've found the Rod of Wormwood. Once I have it, that only leaves the Chalice of the Leviathan and Belial's Shroud. When I have those—"

"You have the world," Jeremiah finished wearily, repeating what Michael himself had said so many times. "But you already have the world, Michael. Don't you see? New Jerusalem is the world."

"It's not all that's left," debated Michael. He went back to packing. "There are still people beyond the walls in the world, hiding in the mountains and underground. Traveling in packs like wild dogs. They're out there. And they're either lost or they're my enemies. There are dissenters here in New 'Salem who would love to see me destroyed, too. Don't act like you don't know."

Jeremiah couldn't argue that so he didn't try. "I just wish you would take more time with this decision."

"You say that but there isn't anything to decide!" Michael exclaimed, exasperated again. "The rod is there. I am going to get it."

The older man could see the futility in trying to push past the stalemate and sighed. "If you have time, you should stop by and say goodbye to Constance."

Michael didn't respond so Jeremiah let himself out in silence.

The Antichrist plucked a shirt from the closet and folded it sloppily, mild irritation punctuating the moves. "What do you want?"

Violet was surprised when he shot a mild glare her way. "Uh. Me?"

"Yes, you," he said. "You've been lurking about this whole time. I'm guessing you have a reason for being here other than spying on my conversations."

She hadn't made herself visible to anyone so she knew then that he could see her whether she wanted him to or not. "I...It's Tate." May as well get directly to the point. "He's missing."

Michael paused in his packing to give her a better look. "What do you mean?"

Violet fidgeted. His direct attention was uncomfortable; she felt like he was somehow looking inside her. Which wasn't incorrect. "He disappeared the other day when we were in the market. He was hanging around that gross bull in the center."

"Disappeared?" Michael repeated, not following. "He's a ghost. He disappears when he wants to. Especially after a fight."

"We didn't fight," she protested. "He was waiting for me. I was grabbing some shit for Chad. When I got done, Tate was gone. That was yesterday morning. He hasn't been back at the house since. I'm sure of it."

"So, what do you want me to do about it?" He figured she hadn't come to him just to give him an update.

Violet frowned. She'd assumed he would volunteer a solution. "I want you to find him."

"I'm busy," he said dismissively and went back to picking out clothes. "You heard what I said to Jeremiah: I'm going to Pripyat."

"But—" Violet faltered. Then she got mad. She bit down on the frustration and forced herself to phrase her next words carefully. "Please. Just...could you look for him? I know you can do that. Can you please just do that?"

"Why?" Michael demanded. After the previous conversation, he wasn't feeling terribly generous. "You're the one who wants to know where he is. You find him."

"I've tried," she insisted, desperation nudging her to close the distance between them. She looked up at him imploringly. "You're literally are my last hope. I wouldn't come to you if I hadn't tried everything else first."

"Way to make a guy feel wanted," he sulked. He was only half-joking.

Violet couldn't help seeing just a bit of Tate in Michael at that moment. So, she handled him like she would Tate. "I know you're a busy guy," she explained. "I didn't want to bother you until I'd done everything I could to handle it myself. But seriously, Michael? You're the only person who can do this. I need your help. Will you please help me?"

He plucked at the collar of the silk shirt in his hands, considering her appeal and the situation. When he gave the matter serious thought, he found it did bother him that Tate was missing, if only because the ghost was part of what he considered his estate and belongings. If something had happened to him, Michael did want to know what it was. It could mean someone was trying to stage a coup against him.

"Fine," he relented. He could sense her relief. "But I want something from you."

Violet's relief faded into uncertain suspicion. There it was: The reason she'd been apprehensive asking him for anything. Making a deal with the devil always came with a price tag. "What?"

Michael gave her a sunny smile. "I don't know yet."

Violet folded her arms. An open-ended IOU was even worse than anything she'd conjectured. She fished wildly for something that might keep the situation a little more balanced. "If I have to owe you a solid, you have to call it before the new year."

Michael tipped his head curiously. His dark eyes were unreadable. "I don't think you're in a position to dictate terms to me."

She sucked her lower lip briefly. "You're right," she relented with a tight smile. "So. You'll do it? You'll find him?"

Satisfied at her backpedaling, Michael's smile bloomed again. "Of course."

Author's Note:

We've finally made it. We're at the end. Episode 10 will be the last in this Season. I'm not sure how many chapters it will have, but they should be pretty epic. It is the end of the world, after all. Or is it the beginning?

The first portion of this chapter was inspired by the combined beliefs of at least 8 different religions. I find it fascinating how many religions, new and ancient alike, share the same basic ideas.

Next time, we should find out what's going on with Tate. Later we'll tag along with Michael to check out Chernobyl.

I have to wonder: Are you rooting for Michael? Or against him?