Chapter 3: Passion of Light
She hoisted him onto the dusty table right in the middle of the alter, like a real sacrifice in some pagan ritual. The exertion hadn't tired her as much as it had before, and she attributed that to her excitement, as she shed her leather jacket and felt the damp, cool air on her arms.
She pulled Light by the hair, directing his face toward the cross that hung over the choir box.
"You think that a miracle will happen for you, Light?"
Light calmed a bit, hoping for an opportunity to talk his way out of this, "No, I don't think that."
"No, you don't. You think that you're better than the rest of us, don't you? That you deserve to judge us all, don't you? That's why you kill these criminals. Not for justice, not for revenge."
"Is there anything so wrong with that? Some people are better than others. They're smart, work hard, hone their skills, their bodies and minds, and they do good. Why should those people live in a world spoiled by waste? There's so few criminals, but they ruin everything; one bad apple spoils a bunch, or so they say."
"Was Raye not smart and hard working? Kind? Good?"
"He misguided, like you. He was in the way of the new world."
"New world?"
"Yes. The better world that I'm trying to create."
"But what gives you the right?" Naomi yelled frustrated that Light had sidestepped that question, "Why you above all of the others? Not just the other killers, but the other so called 'good people'? Are you really trying to create a world in your own image, like some kind of modern God?" The Voice laughed, and then she did too.
"More like 'modern magician'", The Voice joked to Naomi, "with only one trick, and it's not a very good one. Make people die, ha! It's EASY to make people die, even without magic. It's not getting caught that's hard..."
Light did not answer, he thought it was obvious. He saw that she had rebuffed his attempt to win her over, and couldn't think of another.
"So you think you're a god, hmmmm?" Naomi cooed, putting her face much too close to Light's own. Again, he didn't answer. "Oh, Light," she giggled wildly, "I'm a woman considering suicide and hearing voices," she paused to laugh at her unfunny non-joke as Light watched coolly, "But YOU are insane," she finished seriously.
Her face cracked into a smile before it really had time to sink in. She pulled him to face the cross again, "You think you're a god?" she whispered, digging the dull side of the blade into the ropey muscles of his back, "Then suffer," she sighed, as she finally allowed herself to slice a long, shallow, angry red gash across both shoulder blades.
It was beautiful. She thought it would be hilarious to draw wings, but he was squirming already.
"What are you doing to me, you bitch?" Light screamed, trying to shake her off. She nicked him with the blade again and answered that, as she had told him before, he was the bitch in this situation.
"You know, I wanted to cut your belly first, it's such a nice, soft, smooth canvas to work with. Very sensitive and delicate… But there's too many organs there, and you're too damn squirmy," she rattled on, "You see how I help you, Light? Thank me." She said, slapping his face.
"Whore!" he shouted, before his left cheek was cut, and a second nick to his back began to form the incredibly badly drawn angle wings Naomi hastily planned.
"Ok, fine, it's for me too. I want you to last a long time, Light. Are you cold, by the way?"
"Yes!"
"Good," she smiled, earning laughter from The Voice, as she hummed and ignored the squirms and the protests while she ruined the milk white young flesh beneath her with a brush of beautiful red that would oxidize to scabby brown, but never completely heal.
It went on for minutes that seemed like hours, and his protests got hoarser, fainter, and faded. She felt warm and alive while he seemed to shrink beneath her, his mind going someplace dark to hide from her fire. She recognized that as the moment to humiliate him. Now, with the thoroughly ugly wings drawn on, she latched her thumbs into his boxers, his last remaining clothes, and pulled them down toward his ankles. She pulled his posterior upward and spread the cheeks apart, so that he was more exposed than he had ever been, with her looking right into him, spreading him, and just looking and laughing.
"Oh, Light," she called out, much too loud. It echoed in the church. If only you could see how ridiculous you look." She walked in front of him, and off to left stage where a large candelabra stood drenched with a waterfall of cobwebs. Took one candle out, cleaning it hastily with the hem of her t-shirt, and walked in front of him again, then circled unnecessarily, like a shark.
They both knew where the candle was going to go. The small protest, 'No', was obligatory, but she laughed at it, stretched him quickly, without tenderness and rammed it in dry, with all of her anger and hate clenched into a fist, literally punching him at the end of her stroke, to the accompaniment of a pathetic cry. She couldn't stop herself, and managed ten or so violent thrust before tiring and switching hands. She realized that she should have made him lick it, that would have been funny, but there was still the opportunity to make him lick it off afterward. That was if it didn't break inside of him, which was a possibility that she hadn't thought of.
"Oh well," she sighed to herself, easing her pace, "Hey, Light. You see now? You're no god. Just a ridiculous man with a candle shoved up his ass," she laughed and he moaned pathetically.
She reached around under him, and squeezed his balls, lightly at first, and then painfully, then palmed his erection harshly and pumped, changing the cadence of his moans to something between pleasure and extreme pain and anger.
"Well, well, you're hard from this, I can see," she laughed, almost panting at the heat rising from both of their bodies. Her jeans now seemed too hot to wear and she kicked them off.
"Lick the blood," The Voice commanded suddenly, as if it had waited for the right moment. It amused her that The Voice came up with things that she hadn't, "I bet it tastes like strawberry jam," it said, trying to tempt her.
"Strawberry jam, how odd," she thought, she hadn't especially liked that kind. When she was in the states, taking breakfast in a diner, she'd put orange marmalade on her toast. It was less sweet and had little chunks of peel that were sometimes spiced and fun to chew. But strawberry jam was much too sweet and often failed to taste like actual strawberries. But she didn't protest to the foreign thought too much, and jumped up onto the table, draping herself all over Light's back and embracing him like an animal holding down its prey, tasting the blood.
It was salty and tasted nothing like jam. "Of course it wouldn't," she thought absently.
"I bet you can't use your god-powers to stop this from happening to you," she growled, licking the shell of his ear, as she flipped him over.
She threw her panties on his face, knowing they'd be unpleasant after days of wear, like the rest of her clothes, and laughed. He began to squirm again from the discomfort of having his bleeding back pressed on, but she slapped him over and over until he froze and looked up at her. She mouthed something that might have been 'This is for Raye… but also for me," and lowered herself onto him. Before she started to move, he looked up at her with alarm, pleading for mercy, but finding such crazed eyes, he bit his lip and looked away, blushing in horror and humiliation as two horrible voices laughed at his pain and degradation.
With the knowledge that she was going to die she fucked like this was going to be her last. She used Light's toned body roughly, grasping him tight, pinching, and scratching him, just to hear more whimpers and cries. Her climax within minutes was assured, his face beneath her was panting and pained, reddened from the slapping and the shame, but still not blubbering.
"Isn't it wonderful?" she panted, almost yelling, "... that I'll never have to answer for this, Light?" He seemed far away, still in pain, but not enough for her taste. "You destroyed me, and the only one I loved." She said harshly, squeezing his face until he looked at her. "You wronged me, and this is my revenge. I don't have to face any punishment for this crime, though I'll die anyway. You were going to let me die innocent, but I won't have it like that. YOU will suffer though," she whined, feeling close, "Yes, yes, you…" she growled, wrapping her fingers around his neck, "You did this to yourself," she went on squeezing.
"You, you, you. Murderer," she gasped, as she wrang his neck harshly, forcing out the tears that she wanted, just as the warm ocean waves of orgasm took her over and over again. She rocked and moaned long and loud while Light, beneath her, was left on the brink even as she stopped and climbed off.
Light lay quietly sobbing, turned his head away, trying to hide it, and still visibly aroused, hating himself for the feeling. His shaft protruded stiffly upward, his ego was shut up in a little cave inside of him somewhere. He could no longer hear the shinigami's laughter, the church looked empty, and his eyes scanned for Naomi and found her in the darkness, dirty and sweating in her short, bloodstained t-shirt.
"You're not sorry, are you?" She asked.
"He never will be," The Voice answered.
Light's small sobbing sounds and motions didn't indicate that he even heard.
"APOLOGIZE!" Naomi screamed, grabbing his shaft roughly.
He only screamed with surprise and agony as he felt it, the demand barely registered.
She sliced a shallow line across his chest, and yelled it again, "Apologize!"
Light was able to force his voice out, sounding small and pathetic, as Naomi stroked him. He hated the feeling, and wanted to vomit. He just wanted her to stop, he'd say anything, "I'm sorry for killing you."
The pace of Naomi's hand quickened. She was not gentle.
"I'm sorry for killing your husband."
"What was his name? Say it!" She was furious again, she barely knew why she was doing this. The bliss of before had almost completely worn off, and she was no longer friends with her Voice.
And then Light said the name, and Naomi heard the church bell ring.
The church bell rang on its own, somehow. An odd occurring, and not something that should have even been possible. Naomi wondered if it had really happened, or if it was just in her mind, but the candelabra still vibrated with the sound.
She looked around at the open empty darkness of the awful abandoned church. Quiet. Quiet. Nothing but dark and silence, and two wretched people mocking God. The 'service' as over, the depression draped over her like a heavy curtain falling.
It seemed so useless now. She tried to stab her knife into the alter with as much rage as she could muster, but there was none there. The knife barely stuck into the wood by Light's left side.
When she looked down at him, something inside had been satisfied. But was it Naomi? Naomi was ashamed of herself. The old Namoi was sorry. The current Naomi didn't know what she felt or who the feelings belonged to, but she knew she couldn't finish what she had started. He had suffered, but he wouldn't die by her hand. Perhaps the elements would do their job. Parts of her hoped they would, but maybe he'd escape somehow; use the knife she'd left so near him. It didn't matter to her.
"You'll either die, or someone will find you like this. Either way, I know that you've suffered." She said blankly looking up. Then back to him, meeting his eye, shining with moisture, "Has it changed you? Has it changed anything?"
His look didn't change, his eyes sparkled but didn't move. Naomi put her pants back on, and then her jacket over her bloody shirt.
"Goodbye, Light."