Segment - Visitation

Here I speak of astral projection in its purest sense. There are only a few who will take to the skies to travel and meet in accords and gatherings around the world. Few of us there are, for few of us really hold to the old ways that made us who we are today.

We must, as a vampire society, come back to the roots of our pure religion. For it was that we intend and we strive and plead with the old ways and the old masters, to do something that we are not supposed to do. If we would just realize our true callings and act beholden to them, we could have enslaved man by now.

But it is not to be. Many of my kind will disagree with me but The Christ will win in the end. Though they deny it, we all know this deep down, but it is our chief desire to rail against Him of Heaven. And now I must write this reverie to myself… To tell a story of great delight and some dismay. Delight in that, I see our true purpose, dismay in that, I also see that no one wants to adhere to it any longer. Woe to us, night born, for we diminish in the light of the new and coming antichrists.

It was December and Shemesh was a half hand from rising... I was "off to bed" as they say. Saying farewell to my venus fly traps, I lay down in the coffin I had before this one (an old cedar monstrosity from Lebanon) when I dove deep into my mind and pulled back the realm of flesh to spring out of my body into the world in my spirit form. This usually takes only a few minutes, as I am a practiced projector, but for some reason it took me longer than normal.

I did not understand what was taking so long until the very last second when I was making the turn into spirit - what some call "fog." I had not known what it was until the very last moment, for when I rose up out of the casket in spirit, I was greeted by one of His messengers. This was frightening enough, and, adding to the fact that he had his sword drawn, I was terrified. If I were mortal, I would have either shat my pants or fainted dead away.

I did reel and scream like a mewling fool of a little girl, but quickly recovered and lowered my hands. Though he could have slain me in the coffin, he had not taken action against me. He stood as a statue, not moving, his bright golden eyes remaining fixed on my every movement. His ivory sword was still in his hand, with the flame residue dripping like wax into the air before sizzling away into nothingness. Veoyyy veoyyy. The drips gave foleys to his stillness.

"What wanteth thou oh messenger?" This came out of my mouth readily, for most angels speak in the King James English, as did we when we encountered them.

He said nothing immediately, but slowly he sheathed his sword and drew out a living scroll from his side. A living scroll was not a joke. It had come from the commands of Heaven itself, and could not be refused. Not by me nor by anyone. If you were given a living scroll, it was to be followed whether you were in submission or agreement.

It floated to me as if in water and landed in my hands.

Now, remember that I was still in my coffin below the spirit me. The silver thread that connected us was very visible now. If the angel had wanted to, he could have severed the line and killed me then and there, my days of life immortal would be over instantly. However, he had sheathed his sword and addressed my spirit directly. The scroll opened before me.

The words were of the pure tongue and he knew that I could not read it. Was this mockery or a warning? I did glance at it and knew that it was legitimate. Maybe this was his reason for waiting to speak, that I would know it was not a fakery.

It floated back to him, and he placed it once again on his side.

"Elizabeth Macleary." He said. "You are not to touch her, for behold, she standeth anointed." As he said her name, a face filled my mind. I saw a Laotian-American woman, twenty three, standing in a supermarket, directly after sunset. She turned, saw me, and screamed. Then the vision went away.

His face came back to view. Stern and humorless. He was a stocky sort. The kind you find no humor with, nor do they find any humor with anything. I had met his kind before. All work and no play. How boring. And now that I knew he could not harm me without provocation, I would toy with him a little.

"Who is thine commander?" I asked him. I knew he did not owe me an answer, but he told me nonetheless.

"I am of Sakoz, of Jarnosh, of Kebar, of Uriel." He said, and puffed out his chest. There, on his left chest, where a human heart would beat below, stood his rank and insignia. Strange. I had not seen this one before. It was a golden foot crushing an alligator's head.

"An alligator? Is that not a little dull?" I asked, smiling.

"Behold!" he said. And with that word, I suddenly understood. It was not a lowly swamp dweller after all. It was Leviathan.

I recoiled immediately upon the revelation, but anger flared up within me almost as quick.

"Knowest who thou mocks?" I flared up, floating up to the ceiling, showing my full height.

"Knowest who thou challenges?" His sword was in his hand again, his wings flapped open quicker than a blink. His face matched my face and we stood apart almost nose to nose. My legs were almost two feet below his, for again, he was a stocky sort. His short black hair was cut close, modeled after the fashion of Hellenistic Greece and, even in my spirit form, I could smell incense from the Altar. This was an elder, to be sure. He must be old, to be this tough.

I backed down slowly, raising my hands up at my side, and came close to the floor again. Although I did not need to, I bowed. I didn't want to fight this angel; he would have killed me in seconds. I knew when I was matched, and indeed, overpowered. The spirit body, even the mortal body I possessed would never be able to match his, and I was wise to know it.

"Let it be as thou sayest." I said, eyes to the floor. I felt the heat of his sword flare up then disappear, and before long I looked up and he was gone, absorbed into the air around me.