AZRATH the UNHOLY and MALEVOLENT is a story of horror. It begins with the most vile and wicked of scenarios and continues to get more wicked as it moved along. It is not for the faint of heart. Author Lucifer Fulci had broken new and bloody ground with his debut book of sickness, SIKI CITY, and has proven here that he was only just getting started. If you want blood, you got it!
There she stood, dazed and uneasy, picking away at her already wasted face. Darla had found herself a few days divorced from the wicked murder of once friend, Danielle, and yet to sleep.
She gazed into an old, rusty mirror that was among the very few things that somehow remained standing in the old, abandoned home that only she somehow knew about. Even with as much as she ran her mouth, she never revealed this out of county find with her cohorts of crime…or anyone else for that matter. She seldom visited this place, but needed to be there after such a sick chapter in her life.
Thoughts and visions kept racing through her head. How was it that she had allowed herself to become a part of such a horrible crime. What would happen now? And where there fuck would she get her next fix, if she was hiding out from Lizard, Grim and Butch?
There it was. That was the piece of skin she needed to get. It was an old scab, almost hardened. She had been playing with it for a good half hour now, but she finally gave in and snatched it up with her dirty and smelling fingernails. She looked at it, twirled it around in her fingers and then looked about her. To the left and then to the right. Behind her. Nobody.
Then, she ate it.
The storm outside was in full swing. The holes in the house allowed the wild winds to offer both a chill, as well as a haunting sound that seemed to echo in Darla’s head like a maddened symphony of sickness. It whirled her thoughts, to and fro, and it gave her goosebumps upon her dirty, sickly skin. It probably seemed colder to her than it actually was, for the poisonous meth that ran in her veins always seemed to lend a false sense of physical perceptions.
She wondered how she had fallen so far. There was a time in her life that she was curious and different. The more she found out about who she wanted to become as a woman, the more she realized that she had to dig deeper into the darkness of the spirit and the supernatural.
There were many years that she pushed the limits of sexuality and drug use, but it was never to hurt anyone. It was meant for personal exploration. In time, she felt the need to go further. More than anyone she had heard of or met. She wanted to be the most unique of any and all death rock divas that she had ever read about, but instead turned into a sick, twisted whore. And it was all about getting more shit. More speed. More mother fucking meth.
Sick and tire of being sick and tired, she fell to her knees. The wood was rotten on the floor, and the smell of the place was something she would never forget. It was old and musty. It was sickness.
What was that other smell? Darla could not place it? She could smell something like rotting meat, but it was more tart than that. It was something she had not smelled since she was hiding in her hidden cave.
It was sulfur.
What the fuck was this? Her mind was on its way out, and she could not figure out what was going on anymore. She had a strange feeling that she was not alone.
“What the fuck.” Darla grumbled it under her breath and turned all around. “God. Help me. Please.” She began to cry softly and put her head back down. She might have even thought about folding her hands together to pray a bit more.
She took a deep, deep breath and closed her eyes. She thought to herself, “please forgive me.” When she opened up her eyes to peek around, she saw the shadow of a man before her.
The shape of the man moved forward towards her, revealing himself.
Darla knew him. It was Danielle’s father. How in the mother fucking hell could he possibly have know where she had been? She thought this, and then attempted, if only for a second, to speak the words to the man before her. Nothing would come from her lips. She was terrified.
She needed sleep in a bad way, but there was no time for that. She almost cried, but her confusion and insanity prevailed. Nothing, but an open mouth, hoping that something would come out.
The man who was once Howard Phillips West stepped just a foot closer to Darla. A dim light glowed upon his face. He looked directly at her.
What was this? She thought that she must have been hallucinating. What was this that stood before her?
His eyes were black. Like stones, they gazed at her. Like liquid, they glistened.
The dirty, murderous whore knew that the wild smell was coming from the man before her. She wanted to say his name. She meant to cry for his mercy. She had known for years, what his Christian name was. Instead, all she could hear in her brain was the word Azrath.
The clouds in the darkened skies above began to move at a frantic pace. A wild gust of hatred blew through them and they moved aside for this life form that commanded even the air. It flew through the night like a tornado and landed in the body of what was once Howard Phillip West.
It spoke. It screamed! Azrath!
In a frantic breath, Darla thought to run, but she could not. The man- demon jumped upon her like a wild animal. His fingernails clawed at her face and seemed to have been sharpened into points. His nails were black, but at the first sign of her blood, they became transparent. They sank into her flesh, deep.
Her body fell backwards and her head hit the ground. A dull cracking sound attempted to make itself known among the wild growls of this unholy creature and his prey.
The blinding pain engulfed her. She began to babble without sense and her attacker just stared through her. What Darla did know was that a large man was upon her, but somehow, as each second passed, he seemed to get heavier. She was almost out of breath when she began to feel the life leave her.
The demon had her in his grasp. His left hand jabbed its fiery fingers in her neck and his right hand just under her breast.
There was a dull, popping sound, where the puncture wounds were created. The life of the woman began to escape her. So did her bodily fluids.
The beasts claws began to fuck her soul. Darla’s body was convulsing on the floor while the thing laid upon her, jamming its joints inside of her body. With each ghastly pump of its fingers, blood and sickness streamed out of her flesh and into the life form from elsewhere.
Her pale skin was beginning to become wildly stained with her own deep, deep red blood. This was not a neat operation by any means. This was butchery.
With every second that passed, her body became lesser of something alive and more like a drained piece of old and wasted fruit. In that same time, the thing that was destroying her was becoming greater and more powerful. It was drunk on her blood, but it wanted more.
The skin of the whore was becoming even more pale. It was deflating around the very bones that had supported the meat of her form. A repulsive sound was jetting out and around the sickening scene. It was a wet and squishy sound, an auditory onslaught of all things vile. It was the sodomy of her already dying soul.