The Rebirth of Morviack
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I was 13 when the Taskmaster showed up to our farm and began torturing my parents. There was nothing I could do to stop him. He took my parents outside, stripped them of their clothes, drove nails through their hands and feet, and then hung them on wooden crosses.

The Taskmaster chained me to a chair in front of the window so I could look out at my parents being tortured. He wanted to keep them alive as long as possible and he wanted me to watch every moment of torture. When I was not forced to watch my parents the Taskmaster gave me a book, the book, he said, was of me, it had my name on the cover which was bound in human flesh, the pages of the book were written in blood. He ordered me to study, learn, read and re-read the pages. He told me the book was of my life.

My name is Morviack, up until the Taskmaster showed; I had a simple but fun farm life. My mother would wake me up at 5 A.M. to feed the cows, horses, pigs and chickens. My dad would be up working the land in preparation of planting season. By 7 A.M. most of my tasks were done and breakfast would be ready. Except for today, today was different. There was no breakfast, no teaching from the Good Book, no afternoon snacks, only torturous incantations of death from the Taskmaster.

In between the ear piercing screams of my parents the Taskmaster would tell me about how I arrived at the farm. He told me that they were not my real parents and that I was left on their steps as a babe in swaddling clothes. He told me that my parents could not have children of their own. They were devout Christians, devout to the Roman Catholic Church and they welcomed me as a blessing from God at which point the Taskmaster would laugh.

For some reason it really did not bother me to watch the couple being mutilated, I actually enjoyed watching there flesh being cut and reveled in their screams of agony which would sometimes rattle the windows. Part of me wanted to feel guilty for not being able to do anything but that part was quickly drowned in the crimson blood I watched seep from their flesh. They were my parents and I loved them but an overpowering force called to me which I loved more. The Book of Morviack which I held in my hands felt alive, the Taskmaster eventually revealed to me that the book bound in flesh was my flesh, and the blood on the pages was my blood; and that’s why the book called to me.

It did not bother me that I was chained to the chair, the Taskmaster let me get up from time to time to use the bathroom, wash up and take me for walks which usually involved us circling the bodies of my foster parents a few times. I felt a kinship towards the Taskmaster, a closeness that I have never felt before. He said I had many brothers and sisters throughout the world and one day soon I would meet them. I would ask him when I would be able to meet them and he would respond ‘after the teachings are over and I learn of my true self’.

The Taskmaster said in the 13 years living with this family I have learned much from the enemy. The Taskmaster said it took time to find the right family to put me with, parents that would love me and treat me as their own. My parents were young when they found me on their steps. My mom was 16 and my dad 18. They took me in and showered me with love and gave me everything that a son should deserve. They said they wanted to raise me in the eyes of God and my mother would teach me every day from the good book she called the Bible. I sucked in the words like a sponge that she taught me and had no problems repeating the scriptures she read. By the age of 11 I knew the Bible inside and out and could quote any scripture you could throw at me. My parents were proud and said I would make a good soldier for the cross. Little did I know is that my parents would be hanging from cross.

Before the Taskmaster arrived I had morbid dreams of macabre which I kept to myself. I made the mistake of telling my parents about a dream I had involving someone coming to the farm and killing my father in front of my mother and myself. The killer had no face but feasted on his flesh and he lay in his bed paralyzed being eaten alive by this demonic force. The dream did not bother me, in truth it thrilled me, but is truly bothered my parents. My father beat me with a switch and rebuked me for allowing such evil thoughts to enter my mind. When my father finished beating me my mother joined him and they poured holy water on my head and prayed for me. I could not sit down for days after receiving that lashing. Since then I kept the dreams to myself. They were my escape, my refuge, my grotesque hiding place.

I sat chained to the chair looking out the window at my parents. Their eyes reaching for me, pleading with me for help; I would stare back at them trying to envision what they saw, what they felt. The Taskmaster kept them alive by giving them water and food in small doses which he would shove down their throats. It was mid-March so the days were warm and sunny; the nights had a slight chill in the air. Their skin was red, cooked by the sun. The Taskmaster would love popping the blisters and watching the ooze drip from the open sours.

At times the Taskmaster would let me stand and watch him slowly slice their flesh, he would hold the knife out offering me to partake in the torture but I would turn my head and he would laugh. ‘Just watch for now’ he would tell me. They stunk, soars from open wounds were infested with flies and maggots ate at the tissue beneath the skin. Urine and feces ran down there legs and dripped off their feet to the dirt below. Vomit ran down the front of their naked bodies. The Taskmaster would every once and a while cut a peace of cooked flesh off one of my parents and place it in his mouth suck on it like a piece of beef jerky. My mouth watered watching him do this. I tried to hide the enjoyment, I tried to feel resentment but in truth I wanted to partake in the torture, to cut and taste their flesh like the Taskmaster.

As one of the first pilgrims to the new world my parents chose to settle in Virginia about 30 miles South West of Washington, D.C. It was remote and away from the hustle and bustle of the ports in Anacostia. My mom and dad liked it that way. The closest ranch was 5 miles away but every once and a while we would have some travelers pass through headed south or west to claim their stake in the new world. My mom would fix a big meal for the traveling families or individuals, they would sit and talk about the adventures to come or share stores from their home land, they would stay the night and in the morning head out to forge their own destiny. Other than that it was pretty quiet in our neck of the woods.

At dinner time or on the Sabbath my parents would tell me stores about how they settled the land, built the house and grew the farm. ‘It was rough going at first’ my dad would tell me. He had to tame some wild horses, traded a few for some cows, pigs and chickens and grew the farm to what it is today. He said he use to have problems with the Indians and at night they would occasionally sneak on our property, steal livestock, and let some animals go, or just cause trouble. But for some reason that all stopped when I showed up. They took that as a sign from God that an angel was protecting their land.

I was a fast learner, by the age of two I could speak fluently and hold a conversation. My dad said it came from being around grown up’s. At the age of five I learned to tame wild horses with ease and helped my mom and dad around the farm. I would see some traces of Indians but they would run when they saw me, calling me Kigatilik. I asked my father what that meant but he would just laugh. Truly I don’t think he knew what that word meant. He thought the Indians were evil savages that needed to die and had no place in the new world, running around half naked like beasts of the field mumbling some strange demonic language, causing trouble waving there spears, bows and arrows like Neanderthals who should have died during the ice age. Any mention of Indians would set my father off on a never ending rant of curses and complaints which would end in him grabbing his shot gun and heading into the woods to kill one of the so called Neanderthals. He would return a few hours later drunk as a skunk. He made me laugh and I liked to get him worked up for the hell of it. My mom told me to stop it because she knew that he was using it as an excuse to go get sloshed drinking his home brew.

My mother was a God fearing woman who believed in washing the ‘evils of the land’ off your hands before each meal which would be followed by a rousing prayer of thanksgiving. She did not approve of my dad drinking his home brewed whiskey so he hid his liquor still deep in the woods where he knew my mom would not find it. He promised to show me one day soon where he hid his still, he felt that in a few more years I should be able to handle my liquor and put some hair on his chest. Little did he know I already knew where he kept his stash and I was taking sips from the bottle which did not affect me in the slightest. I even drank an entire bottle but it had no effect on me so I started staggering around like he did, knocking things over, falling all over the place, trying to act like he did hoping that might help get a buzz but still I felt nothing. So I made it seem like some Indians found his still and drank some of his brew. He came back home that afternoon cursing that he had to find another hiding spot because those damn savages got into his whiskey and contaminated it with their piss. I did not see what he saw in the whiskey; to me liquor was like lemon water.

Living all this time with this family, I wondered why I did not feel any remorse. How come I did not want to cry? It felt like a dream, a sick happy dream that for some reason I enjoyed. Even being chained to the chair and looking out the window at my slowly dying parents was enjoyable.

The Taskmaster was cruelly kind to me and in a way it seemed the Taskmaster had a fearful respect for me which would be understandable if what I was reading in the book was true. I would close my eyes and picture what I read. I would run my fingers over the bloody letters and feel an ecstatic sensation run down my back. When the Taskmaster was not looking I even licked the pages and savored the flavor of my own dried blood against my tongue. I would swish the residue around in my mouth and slowly swallow.

On the third day, like he did on the two prior days, the Taskmaster took me outside to see my parents. As we walked around the hanging bodies the Taskmaster spoke to me ‘There is something you must do Morviack’ he said. His words sounded like someone speaking with a slit throat gurgling blood and loving it. ‘What must I do’ I responded looking up at his maggot infested cloaked face. ‘You will know when it’s time and the time is close at hand’ he chuckled as he spoke.

He again offered me the blade to slice the flesh of my parents. I slowly reached for the blade wanting to feel the steel in my hands, wanting to feel the blade come in contact with flesh but I pulled back. ‘You’re almost ready’ the Taskmaster said as he placed his arms around me. I enjoyed his touch; it was soothing like laying in a cold grave with dirt being thrown on you. The sent was of decay and death; it pleased my senses as I inhaled deeply.

I spent the next few hours chained to the chair, reading my book… my book. I closed my eyes and tried to picture myself cutting my flesh to write this book, I wondered what it felt like, what drove me to do this. ‘What are you thinking?’ the Taskmaster asked as he stood in a dark corner of the house. I slowly lifted my eyelids and a chill went down my back as I saw demonic creatures moving into the shadows. ‘Your brothers have come to see you; they sense your crossing is close.’ The Taskmaster smiled under his cloak. What did he mean by my brothers?

‘Now back to my question’ the Taskmaster said.

‘I’ll answer your question if you answer mine’ I replied.

He walked towards me and raised his hand as if he were to strike me. He began to swing but stopped before his hand touched my face. I did not flinch but stared at his hollow face. ‘You were always brave Morviack, very well… ask.’ He turned and walked back to the shadowed corner.

‘You said my brothers have come to see me… are those my brothers?’ I asked with caution in my voice.

‘Yes, in a sense they are your kindred. You serve the same purpose and they desire for you to return to your normal state.’ He responded.

‘What do you mean by my normal state?’ I asked.

He quickly responded with anger in his voice ‘Only one question will be answered, the second will be answered in time. Now back to my questions… what were you thinking?’

Fair enough, I thought to myself. ‘I was thinking what it felt like for my… my prior self to cut his own flesh to write this book and why he did it.’

‘Would you like to know how it feels to cut your own flesh?’ He drew his blade from his cloak and stepped towards me. ‘What would you write?’ He took a few more steps towards me. ‘What do you have in your mind that is crawling around like a cancerous worm that you must put onto paper to be sealed with your own blood?’ I stared at him but also saw my brothers moving out of the shadows behind him.

He took another step towards me and grabbed my wrist. His touch burned as he flipped my arm over leaving my palm facing up. Pain shot up my arm as the veins stood out and words began to form on my flesh. Death… the words formed ‘D-E-A-T-H’ and my arm began to bleed. The Taskmaster put a quill in my hand and dipped the tip into the bleeding words and commanded me to write.

I did not know what to write, I was in too much pain, my mind screamed in agony and tears ran down my face. ‘Write!’ he commanded. I could see the demons behind him staring, waiting to see what I would do.

I put the quill to the paper, closed my eyes and began to write. ‘Through the trauma of child birth humans have forgotten who they are which makes them easy prey for demonic forces.’

‘Very good Morviack’ the Taskmaster said as he let go of my wrist, the pain quickly left my arm and the words disappeared. ‘You are almost ready for the transformation.’

I looked out the window at my parents, their flesh shining in the moonlight. A crow rested on my mother’s head, she tried to shake it off but she was too weak. It casually pecked at her face as demons sat below their crosses chatting among themselves. I could hear her groan with pain as the crow pecked at her left socket working her eye loose. The crow took off with my mother’s eye as the veins dangled leaving a glistening trail of blood that shimmered in the moonlight. I smiled to myself happy to know a crow would have something to feed upon.

I continued to read from my book but now I had company. The demons gathered around me and coaxed me to read to them. When I was not reading to them my brothers would talk to me and remind me of what it was like to be a demon. They would talk about the lesser demons, what it was like to torment humans and possess one.

I questioned them about the lesser demons and they told me that each demon had lesser demons assigned to them. The lesser demons would begin the tormenting process. Sometimes they would put thoughts in people’s heads or move things around and laugh as the people looked around trying to find the misplaced items. They were great at going into people’s dreams, especially child’s dream and torment them. They are the things that go bump in the night.

The demons told me that they hated the Indians and their Shamans that lived around this area. He told me that they were attuned to the spirit world and could sense us and at times destroy us. The tribe of Indians that lived near the farm could spirit walk and had spirit guides that would come in the form of a wolf, bear or eagle.

My brothers let me know that they were watching us but would not interfere because they hated the settlers and wanted them dead. They would not come onto the property because they considered the land cursed.

I asked them, if I am a demon then why I looked like a boy. I did not feel like a demon. They told me that the Taskmaster had to find a worthy body for me to enter. I did not understand what they were talking about so they went into great detail.

Apparently they found a pregnant, alcoholic woman who was violated by several men on one of the ships that came to the new land. That’s how she paid her fair was by being a pleasure slave to the ship-masters. She was discarded when they found out that she was pregnant and passed her along to the crew members for their enjoyment. The Taskmaster watched the child in her womb who was sure to die and that’s when Morviack would possess the baby. Once she left the ship she fond a dark ally behind a brothel. There she gave agonizing birth. The mother screamed in pain pushing to get the child out. When the baby came out she slammed its head into the gravel. That’s when the Taskmaster allowed Morviack to enter the body of the dead infant. The Taskmaster cut the umbilical cord before Morviack could travel up the life line to the mother. The woman slowly died as blood poured out of the severed umbilical cord.

The Taskmaster cleaned Morviack’s new body and wrapped it in swaddling clothes. The child looked innocent and would serve its purpose of housing the demon. The Taskmaster was very concerned of Morviack becoming more human and forgetting about his demonic roots but there were ways to extract the demon from the body and restore him to his natural state.

The Taskmaster spent the next few days trying to find a worth family, one that was corrupt and tried to change their ways but failed in the process. A family that sold their souls to the devil then tried to go back on their promise by following the enemy. I was curious to know why the Taskmaster picked this couple. Obviously the Taskmaster could not tell me but my brothers were more than eager to let me in on the secret.

Apparently the Taskmaster had good reasons for choosing this couple. Before leaving the Old Country my so called father was a hit man who would kill people for fun and get paid to do it. He was not in a gang or anything like that; he worked alone and made a lucrative living. He had to escape to the new world because he was found out by a prominent family. By found out I mean that they witnessed him killing a member of their family so he had to escape before he was caught and killed. Upon coming to the new world he took up drinking to drown his sorrows. On the other hand his mother was a harlot in the Old World. Not just any harlot, she ran the brothel and employed many a young woman to the ranks. My father took to her and soon they were married. She did not practice the trade; she merely was great at that type of business. She caught the eye of many a man but she never allowed herself to fall into that trap. For some reason she liked my father, probably because he was mysterious, interesting and handsome. He was open about what he did and on occasion had to kill some of the clients that came to the brothel. He was definitely a man to be feared. My mother was a great business woman but mostly sat on the fence and let things happen, she read the bible but did not believe in it, she tried but found it hard to comprehend but she stuck to it and attempted to pray while she made money from people using her establishment.

My father had a smooth tongue and talked my mother into leaving the brothel behind and start a new chapter in their life by going to the new world. There she would have a fresh start and leave this life behind and try her hand at being a devout Christian. They had plenty of savings, enough to travel first class and make a great start in the new world. He never told her about the price put on his head. It was a pretty quick decision and she jumped at the opportunity. Of course she was concerned about her brothel but she had a great woman she trusted that worked for her who she sold the business to. Some of the women that worked for her wanted to come with her to the New World but only one took the big step and got herself on the ship. That woman was the one that gave birth to the body I now possessed.

Those memories and many others came rushing in like parched dry ground drinking up a river of crimson blood. I remembered touching the infants flesh, still warm from birth and sliding into the warm dead body. I claimed it as my own… flesh of my flesh bone of my bone… it was mine to hide in. This vessel was to house my spirit until I no longer needed it. The treads of flesh wrapped around my spirit as we became one abomination joined in unholy matrimony. My cocoon to grow in.

As the body grew I grew to forget who I was… but now… now I know what has been hidden from me for so long. What a demon joins together let no man put asunder. It is a demon that created this union and now a demon must undo it. I wanted out of this flesh, I had no more use for it… it was fragile and prone to disease, pain and suffering. Some good will come out of this, I now know what it means to be human, the frailties of life, the inconsistencies of their brains, the struggles of desires they face. Not only have I slept in the enemies camp and witnessed the frailties, I’ve lived in its body, not to only possess but to become one with the flesh.

The Harvest moon hung bright and orange in the sky like the third eye of Cthulhu. It pulled at my senses, heightening my arousal, filling my desire and longing to leave this human body. It was time, I could feel it. The taskmaster took a stick and drew a star on the ground, with my parents in the center. Each of my brothers stood at each point. Other demons appeared and formed a large circle around the star.

The Taskmaster put his arm around me and whispered into my ear with his dark raspy voice “It is time…” then he kissed me on the forehead.

Where he placed his lips began to burn, then it hit me. Because of the kiss of death I knew what to do. The burning increased, how come I did not think of this before? It seemed so easy, so logical, and so right. The flesh was just a shell that could be removed; all I had to do was remove it. The kiss broke the bond and I began to pull at the cocoon that surrounded my body.

I pulled at the spot where the Taskmasters lips touched my forehead. Even though the bond with the flesh had been severed I could still feel the pain as I scratched, dug and pulled at the flesh. I looked at my parents hanging on the crosses and I could smell their fear as they watched me. I blew them each a kiss knowing that they were my gift, my responsibility, my duty. I continued pulling away the flesh as my true self shined through, the glorious demonic flesh being reborn, soft, silky, wet and slippery. I tugged, pulled and screamed as the pain rippled through my body, the pain felt so good, and the pleasure felt so right. My demonic muscles ripped as the flesh fell away, my forked tongue licked at the blood left behind, the chill night air caressed my flesh and made my nipples hard with pleasure. I closed my eyes and breathed in the cool air inhaling the sweet smell of blood.

I admired my body as I flexed my muscles and looked at my hands and fingers which ended in sharp claws made to rip flesh apart or for climbing. My feet were long and beautiful also ending in claws. On all fours I could run faster than any land mammal. I loved the color of my skin, it had the tint of fresh green baby shit. My body was made for speed, strength, endurance and agility. I longed to test my body, to shape shift, to run, leap, climb, but now was not the time or place. I had something to do, something of great importance.

I know my purpose; I know my plan and destiny. The Taskmaster stood outside the circle and beckoned to me to stand beside him. My brothers chanted and I watched the demons sway to the beat of their demonic incantations as I walked towards my teacher under the bright orange Harvest moon.

He placed his loving arms around me and whispered in my ear “the witching hour has come, the harvest must be made, and you know what you must do to complete the ritual.” He let go of me and stepped back. I could feel his eyes studying my face.

Looking up into the emptiness of clocked face I responded “I know what must be done.”

He stepped past my brothers and into the demonic circle, as he did so he reached up and slowly pulled his hood back revealing a bone white skeletal face with eyes that burned like crimson fire. This is the first time the Taskmaster has ever reviled his face to us. He spread his arms and began to speak “I am one of the Nephilim, son of the creators, a god, overseer and keeper of the dead. I am one of Nibiru’s children and this night our son has returned to us.”

He pointed his finger at me and continued speaking. “This night our sons’ offering hangs before us, and they are ripe for the picking.”

He pointed at my earthly parents dyeing bodies. “Let the harvest and feast begin as we rejoice in our prodigal sons return!”

I felt the pull of his voice and took off running on all fours towards the body of my earthly parents. Their souls cried out to me there flesh feared me. I leaped into the air and with arms extended I plunged my hands into their bodies and grabbed hold of their souls ripping them from the flesh. It felt good to feel their souls fight against my grasp. There flesh was weak but their souls were strong and full of fight. They tried to hang onto the flesh but they were no match for my grasp as I easily pulled them apart.

An endless pit opened under the cross and I plunged into the abyss dragging the screaming souls to their new home. I could hear the Taskmaster laughter fading away as I dove down into the blackness. Hands from the demonic bodies that formed the wormhole to hell reached out to touch me and the two souls I dragged behind. I welcomed the touch of my brothers. I closed my eyes and allowed them to guide me home. The souls of my earthly parents fought to keep the hands away but it was a losing battle. They could not stop their touches.

It was good to be returning home with a worthy gift for my master.

This ends the rebirth of Morviack, one of many stories in his demonic life.

The Book of Morviack, Chapter 9, section 3, verse 1 – 13
1) Humans are so blind in there thinking and interpretations that they do not know the truth. That’s why there are so many ridiculous religions.
2) The truth is we are the aliens and we claim souls.
3) Certain souls have been chosen to be saved by both sides.
4) Those left behind are not worthy to serve good or bad, righteous or evil.
5) Other alien races will also come to claim souls but those that have not been claimed will be left on the earth to wander, some will be reincarnated but all will burn in the fire.
6) There will be no “casting into the fire” as perceived by the simple minded religious groups.
7) The sun will expand and will eventually engulf the earth and that’s where the endless torment begins.
8) The soul cannot die but it can suffer. Yes, it can even feel pleasure, anger, torment, and much more.
9) Once the soul is taken into the heart of the sun it cannot be retrieved, it’s scared for eternity and no alien will save a tormented soul.
10) There are beings that live in the sun and they see and desire your souls from afar. They await the day they can harvest the souls and cast them into the fiery furnace of the sun to torment them for their endless pleasure. They are to be feared more than me and my brothers.
11) We serve a purpose, our hell is a training ground, a sanctuary, even what you call angles visit and walk among us. We are brothers one in the same but serve different masters for different purposes.
12) The judgment day is to see who will be saved by what side and to see who will be left behind to wander this earth.
13) Hope and pray to your deity that you are one of the chosen and are not left behind and if you are left behind hope that one of the other alien races chooses your soul to save before the fire demons come.




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