Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Salvation ❯ Devil's Little Solider (part two) ( Chapter 5 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

By: Makota

Devil's Little Soldier (part two)

Goten's jaw dropped, hanging like a hinge that had been rusted through. He gaped at the carved letters absolutely stunned.

He had heard about the Temple of Set in class. The details of the lesson were fuzzy because yet another argument had broken out among his classmates and he had tuned it out. But he learned enough to know which particular religion the Temple of Set represented.

He turned his head slowly to look at his best friend's parents in incredulous shock. They regarded him coolly but expectantly.

He looked at the engraving again just to be sure his eyes were not playing tricks on him.

“You're…” he muttered softly trailing off, “You're Sata—

“Do we need to go back?” Bulma asked suddenly, a note of disquiet in her voice.

Goten looked at her. One shapely eyebrow was raised in question, but there seemed to be an air of defiance around her. He then glanced at the man standing behind her.

Vegeta's black Saiyan eyes were fastened to him, fixed in their intense stare. The message was simple; this was a challenge. The youth's reaction would redefine the elite's opinion of him for better or worse.

The demi-Saiyan turned and looked at the door again, scrutinizing it. A good thirty seconds past before he reached a decision and spoke. He straightened and regarded the woman next to him.

“No,” he said calmly, “I'd like to go in if that's all right.”

The smallest of smiles broke across the prince's face as he moved past him and pushed the intercom button next to the doorbell. No voice answered but a mechanical hum sounded above them. Goten looked up to see a camera that he had not noticed before swivel slowly round to point at them.

With a `clank' the door swung open.

Bulma smiled.

“Well, go on in,” she said as if they were standing at the gates of Disneyland.

He hesitated for a second, but nodded and walked through the threshold uncertain of what was beyond.

He was surprised to find himself in an open atrium filled with the remains of the sun's setting rays. He had been expecting some dark vampiric lair with torches on the walls and muffled chamber music playing through the air. But this place was obviously well equipped with modern technologies such as electricity. Point in case; a chest high security desk complete with monitoring screens was sitting quite at home between two larger than life grand spiraling stairs.

A young woman sat behind it, setting aside the book she was reading to get to her feet.

“Mr. Vegeta, Ms. Bulma.” She inclined her head.

They returned the gesture.

She motioned behind her towards the left-hand wing.

“He's waiting for you in his office.”

“Good,” Vegeta clipped turning to Goten. “I'll take you.” He glanced at his wife, “I believe everyone's expecting you in the ballroom.”

She nodded and sighed, “I don't see why they're making such a fuss.”

“Well, it is your day. Take advantage of it.”

A grin broke across her face, “You're right.” And with that she walked past the reception desk down the hallway into the heart of the building.

The Saiyan's eyes followed her for a few seconds before he remembered himself and gestured to the teen to follow him.

As they climbed the stairs Goten's head began to spin. Satanists!! Fucking Satanists!!! He was in a Satanic building, with Satanic people inside it. His mother would kill him! And Trunks' parents…his mouth went dry. He could not believe it. And now he was going to talk with their, what? Leader? If Vegeta felt he had to ask permission from this guy then he must be pretty damn scary. A knot of dread formed in his stomach. What horrors was he going to bare witness to tonight? Or worse yet, what horrors were going to happen to him? `Shit!' he thought, `I bet they need a virgin sacrifice! How did they know I haven't gotten laid yet?!' Panic welled up within him, his clenched his clammy palms trying to fight back the terror that threatened to overwhelm him.

If Vegeta sensed his unease he didn't say anything. Instead, he led him silently down a maze of hallways Goten was sure to get lost in if he trailed behind. Finally, they went up another flight of stairs, beyond which a pair of mahogany doors awaited them.

Vegeta rapped upon the lacquered wood twice before entering.

Goten braced himself for the worst and unknowing moved behind the older man for want of a shield.

“Well,” the prince suddenly snapped, “go in. No one's going to bite you.”

“Unless, of course,” a deep voice replied from within the room, “you do something to deserve it and then I very well may consider it.”

Goten's head snapped up in recognition. Stunned, he peeked around the other Saiyan to confirm what his ears had told him.

“Piccolo!?”

“I see your memory is in working order.” He waved his hand, beckoning him inside, his eyes however shifted to the prince.

“I see you lured him here without too much of a fuss.”

Vegeta smirked, moving aside so that Goten could enter the room.

“`Lured' isn't the word I'd use,” he said cocking his head. “He nearly wet himself on the way up here. I thought the carpets were going to have to be cleaned.”

Though shaken, Goten still had the wits to shoot him an indignant look.

“Come off it, boy, I could smell the fear rolling off you.”

His face flushed in embarrassment.

“Is that so?” Piccolo asked, regarding the teen lightly.

Goten managed a short nod before quickly moving across the room and sitting himself down in the chair indicated without looking up.

He heard a sigh, “Well, it seems I have some educating to do.” There was a pause, “Can you see to the preparations?”

“Yeah,” Vegeta answered, “Bulma's all ready in the ballroom.”

“Good. I'll join you by ten.”

Goten did not look up to see the elite's response but shortly after he heard the door click shut leaving him alone with the Namek.

There was a lingering silence until Goten risked a glance up at the green man sitting before him. He was smirking, apparently amused.

“That's better,” he said, “I was beginning to think you found your shoes more interesting than me.”

“Oh no,” Goten said quickly, “Um, I just—I just never been to a place like this.”

“Obviously not, judging from your behavior.” He leaned back in his seat, “So, where do we being? Vegeta came by last night and told me that you're doing some sort of project for school in which you have to study three different religions. He informed me that you've visited two.”

“Yeah, the Lunar Tides Coven and St. Christopher's,” he supplied.

“I heard that you had a less than pleasant experience at St. Christopher's.”

Goten simply nodded, he really didn't want to talk about it. Surprisingly, Piccolo didn't question him further on it; instead he asked if Goten knew anything about the Temple of Set. He said that he had heard about it in class.

“What did you hear?”

“It's Satanic,” Goten replied lamely.

“And what precisely is Satanic at least as far as the Temple of Set and the Church of Satan is concerned?”

“Um…you worship Satan.”

Piccolo's brows drew down slightly, “Which class are you taking?”

“Western Religions 101.”

“Not the one 17 is teaching?”

Goten nodded, “Yeah I'm in his class.”

A perplexed look crossed the older man's face, “And he told you we worship Satan?”

“Not exactly.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Um…” the teen trailed off, a blush creeping across his face, “I don't really recall, I wasn't paying too much attention.”

“Ah, I had wondered what Vegeta meant by `lazy-ass kid' now I understand.”

A frown creased the teen's face but he didn't argue; it was his lack of attentiveness that landed him here. Yet, the Namek's tone caused him to halt briefly in his indignity and consider what he had just heard.

“So,” he asked timidly, “you don't worship Satan?”

“Goten, don't be insulting. The Christian's devil is hardly worth my notice, except for study in mythology. Besides,” he said with a bit of a sneer, “Do I look like the type to worship anyone,” He paused, “Save, perhaps, myself?”

“Well then why are you called Satanic?”

Pleased Goten was becoming a bit more forthcoming, Piccolo answered without hesitation.

“The Church of Satan was started in 1966 by a man called Anton Szandor LaVey who had a flare for the dramatic. I believe he chose the character `Satan' as a symbol of rebellion for his `church', but more so, at least in my opinion, it was for shock value.” He sat up, resting a crimson clad sleeve on his desk. It was then the teen took notice of the elegant mandarin-collared shirt that was in place of the training gi he was so used to seeing on the tall warrior. It suited him well, but the impression it gave was a far cry from the down to earth man he had come to know. He suddenly felt underdressed.

“There are those,” the Namek continued, “who worship Satan, but they are not worthy of our attentions and we have no affiliation with them. The term `Satan' is used by some of us to represent defiance to `normal' social structures or habits. As Lucifer defied God, so LaVey's ilk defies the constraints of modern institutions and especially those of so called moral values. You looked confused.”

Goten didn't realize that it was so apparent, but he responded nonetheless.

“You're talking about the Church of Satan; I thought you were the Temple of Set.”

“The Temple of Set is an evolved form of LaVey's church, started by a member of the COS by the name of Michael Aquino. He was less than pleased with bureaucracy of the church and wished for a more refined, academic environment. He and a handful of other disgruntled members started the Temple of Set in 1975. Of course those in the COS vehemently deny any claims of evolution, stating instead that the Temple of Set is a blatant rip off.” He waved his hand in the air dismissively, “It's on on-going debate, and I won't bore you with the specifics. This temple, The Black Tower, is more of a middle ground, though it is under Setian jurisdiction. The main difference between the two is that The Temple of Set, which uses the Egyptian deity Set as their avatar, is more intellectually motivated and has a higher complexity to its hierarchy.” He paused, “Shouldn't you be taking notes?”

Startled, Goten hurriedly flipped through his notebook to a clean page and started scribbling down info, asking the Namek to repeat the names of the founders and the dates. Piccolo supplied them patiently before moving on.

“You have visited the Lunar Tides Coven, so I assume you are familiar with Right Hand Path practices and credos.”

The demi Saiyan simply nodded, still uncertain what to make of the green man before him. Although his explanation has settled his mind somewhat, the teen had made the mistake of letting his guard down before with Father Yamcha and he wasn't about to do it again.

“The Temple of Set is obviously a Left Hand Path. From your lack of understanding before, I take it that you don't remember anything from class concerning the LHP.”

The teen muttered that he hadn't.

Piccolo look unperturbed, “Before we go any further, there are several differences between the Left Hand and the Right Hand that you should be made aware of. First and foremost,” he began slowly, “the Left Hand Path is not devotional, at least not with us. We do not worship gods, demons, or spirits, save, as I alluded to before,” he paused, “our own fundamental nature. We exalt only ourselves and our endeavors and we strive to realize the full potential that lies within,” he leaned forward slightly, “to become gods within ourselves.”

The words seemed to echo in the room before he moved on, leaving Goten with a tingling sensation in his chest, “We attract and exude power that reside inside ourselves, whereas the Right Hand tends to center on outside forces in a polytheistic or animistic fashion. We do not follow the `ancient ways' that those of the Right Hand cling to, because frankly,” he said derisively, “the so called ancient ways are no more than romanticisms of the true past. We respect history and study it, learning from it through real evidence left to us in the form of archaeological finds, classical texts, anthropological studies and so forth. The terminology we use, such as the use of the deity Set, is out of admiration for the intellects of the past.”

As the bass voice continued, Goten eased himself more in his chair, his hand moving in time with the dulcet tone, the pages filling themselves as if it was on their own accord.

They did not perform sacrifice, he found out, nor anything else that was remotely against the law. This was nothing more than an overblown elitist college as far as he was concerned. No wonder Vegeta and Bulma were attracted to it; it venerated the ego. This wasn't sinister at all, not in the least bit scary.

Though he found it interesting, he was also a little disappointed. Even if it wasn't a devil-worshiping cult he had hoped there would be something…sinister about it. This sounded more like a yacht club for academics. But if this was so, then why was Yamcha so against them? The blatant fear and abhorrence in his voice had been unmistakable. He had to know why.

“At St. Christopher's,” Goten began, “I was told that this…,” he searched for a word, “organization was purely evil, yet I've not heard a single thing that is vaguely immoral. I know that a lot of it is because of ignorance, but that doesn't explain why it is so utterly hated there.”

“I'm impressed, Goten, I had wondered when you were going to take the initiative in this conversation.”

A small blush crept across the bridge of the demi Saiyan's nose, but he said nothing as he awaited an explanation.

A tiny grin tugged at the Namek's lips. “You are right, ignorance does account for the majority of it, but not all of the animosity at St. Christopher's—or more appropriately from Yamcha—is due to lack of knowledge alone.” He drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment, considering how much he should share with the young man across from him.

He let out a breath and settled back in his chair, “Goten,” he said in a familiar tone, more reminiscent of the warrior the youth was accustomed to, “you certainly don't have to talk about this.” Goten stiffened knowing where the conversation was going, “but Vegeta informed me that while at St. Christopher's Yamcha preformed a ritual on you called `Seed Swallowing'.”

The teen's face darkened, closing off any expression. In a low but even tone he replied with a simple “Yes.”

“You do of course realize there is nothing to be ashamed of, at least on your part, don't you?”

He shifted in his chair and his eyes darted to the floor. He heard the man sigh but didn't look up.

“I'm not going to share the history of `seed swallowing' with you; needless to say it is a tradition that does not require the other party's consent. No one should be put into that situation, especially children.”

“I'm not a child!” Goten snapped, his gaze now up from the floor and fixed on the man before him.

“I didn't say you were, but the ritual is usually carried out on those under the age of 17. It shouldn't have happened period, but I'm surprised that it was done at all considering your age.” He cocked his head, “Usually those over 17 have a tendency to…tell.”

A look of disgust suddenly crossed his sharp features, “I had heard rumors that this sort of thing was going on at St. Christopher's but I simply thought it was my members venting their dislike for the church. There was never any evidence.”

“Well it happened.”

A nod. “I believe you.”

There was no look of pity on the other man's face, but for some reason the demi-Saiyan felt like he was being sympathized with. He suddenly felt defensive. “You know, I'm not some innocent victim, I could have gotten out of it if I wanted.”

Piccolo raised a brow, “Why didn't you then?”

Goten crossed his arms, wishing for the millionth time in the last few days that he would learn when to keep his mouth shut. Quickly he supplied a reply, even if it was a half truth.

“I was afraid he wouldn't sign my notebook.”

“Is that the only reason?”

The question threw him off, he expected the same reaction that he got from Vegeta and Bulma; righteous outrage and reassurance that it wasn't his fault; that he was simply manipulated. He opened his mouth to utter a `yes, of course it was', but when he spoke,

“N..no.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Goten squirmed uncomfortably under the gaze of the Namek. But he wasn't going to buckle under the stress, he had been under enough as it was. He didn't care anymore, and he certainly didn't give a damn about shocking anyone, not at this point. So matching the nonchalant tone of the conversation he leaned back and said,

“Well, I did get a free blowjob, what do you think?”

However, the reaction he received was utterly unexpected.

A small chuckle broke the air.

“I wonder, was that all you enjoyed?” His eyes fixed to the teen's across from him, “Or, perhaps, Yamcha bleeding and moaning on the cold hard floor added to the excitement, hm?” A calculated dark smile slowly crept upon his face, his eyes narrowing slightly as the grin curled upwards bearing the white tips of his fangs. “Especially when you knew that you were the cause of it.”

Goten stared, utterly shell-shocked. If Piccolo expected an answer he wasn't going to get one; he was simply beyond forming a coherent thought little alone words. Luckily no reply was needed as the Namek continued undisturbed by his guest's alarmed expression.

“Tell me,” he whispered, the low rasping sound went straight to the boy's spine, “did you sneak a peak as he tore his skin open? Did you watch him as he flayed himself while his free hand was otherwise occupied?” He let the word linger in the air before he leaned forward slightly never breaking his gaze from the youth's, “Or did you simply listen to the liturgy of Latin broken by heavy pants and the snap of a whip, knowing behind closed lids that those sounds were not ones solely of pain?”

Fucking hell, he was in a room with Hannibal Lecter! It felt as if someone had stuffed a dozen cotton balls in his mouth. The sinister element he felt had been missing from this visit kicked him square in the gut. It was as if the wind had been knocked from him but that wasn't all. Piccolo was right; how he had known was beyond him, but it recalled the wicked tendrils of pleasure from that night while he was seated in the ornate wooden chair the blindfold pushed up just a fraction so that he could watch the mirrored image of the priest `purifying his seed' in gruesome detail.

The green man studied him for a moment watching the blood drain from his guest's face before sliding his crimson clad arms slowly back across the polished surface of his desk. The ominous grin he wore muted into a satisfied smirk as he leaned back in his chair.

“The reason,” he began slowly, “Yamcha so hates The Temple of Set is because he was refused membership into it.”

The demi-Saiyan remained unmoving in his chair while sweat poured uncomfortably down the back of his neck to trickle between his shoulder blades cooling in a sticky mess against the heavy cotton of his shirt. It took him a moment of staring before he realized that he had been spoken to. As his brain belatedly registered the words his brows drew down in perpelexion at the sudden change of atmosphere. Apparently Piccolo was satisfied with the results of this psychological game he was playing, but he could not quite comprehend what the Namek was going on about.

“What?”

“You asked why Yamcha so hates the Temple, I was merely answering your question.”

Goten shook his head, “But Yamcha is a priest…” he trailed off.

“He is now,” Piccolo supplied, “but several years ago he was simply a very confused man searching for something to fill the many voids in his life.” He paused and added as an afterthought, “I dare say he still his.”

“Why did he come here?” Goten leaned forward in his seat, his uneasiness temporarily forgotten, “And why was he refused?”

“I assume he came here because he knew of Bulma's affiliation. As to why he was refused that must remain confidential. I am only telling you this much because of the ritual that you partook in last night.”

Goten had a guess as to why and he voiced it.

“No,” Piccolo said softly shaking his head, “it was not because he was a `kiddie-fiddler' as you so put it. Though that certainly would be grounds for rejection. He wasn't so at the time and I believe despite his recent actions that he truly isn't a pedophile by nature. I consider that to be his branch's influence. However,” he added raising a brow, “the fact that he so easily succumbed to their logic was a good part of my reasoning to deny him entry.” His lip curled slightly, “We do not receive weak willed individuals.”

“What kind of individuals do you receive?”

“Those of talent,” he replied off-handedly. “Two members you are familiar with; Vegeta should be obvious enough given his heritage and prowess the same with Bulma who is world renowned for her genius and drive. Ambition is crucial in an individual but it must be balanced with wisdom.”

Somewhere a clock chimed.

Piccolo stood.

“Well I'm afraid that's all the time I have to spare for the interview. I hope it was sufficient?”

Belatedly Goten nodded also rising to his feet. This was the part he had been dreading; the practical part.

The tall man must have sensed his unease because he asked for Goten's notebook.

“I'll sign this now,” he explained, “before the rite. If at any time you feel uncomfortable and want to leave you should be able to do so without fear that your grade will suffer.”

A sigh of relief passed the teen's lips as he handed over the thin book he had been duly writing in and wringing in his hands nervously throughout the meeting.

Piccolo filled in the pertinent information with a quick but steady hand.

“Stay here, I will return shortly,” he said as he handed the notebook back and walked past him.

Goten watched him leave then slumped back in his chair nervously.

What was in store for him?

As he chewed over the various horrible things that could possibly happen to him his eyes scanned the massive bookshelves that lined the walls. Most of the names he had never heard of, out of the hundreds of authors he recognized the philosophers Pluto, Nietzsche and Machiavelli. The subjects themselves ranged from World Religions and Mythology to Medical Journals and Archaeology Reports. Directly behind the desk there were several black bound books. LaVey, he recognized as they had been discussing him earlier, the rest he could not place; Mathers, Levi, Flowers, Agrippa, Cavendish, Webb, there were countless more. In the bottom corner covered with dust was the one name that had stood out in class; Crowley. But from the looks of it Piccolo did not think much of it as it looked abandoned.

“They're ready.”

The voice startled him. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes fixed to the black open robe added to the green man's ensemble. It swept up dramatically as the Namek entered the room. He felt like he was in a Harry Potter book.

“Who are ready?”

“The members, of course,” came the reply, “I had discussed the prospect of a visitor with them before but I wanted to verify should anyone develop cold feet. Not that my ilk would,” he atoned with a hint of pride, “but best to be cautious.”

He produced a black piece of material.

“You will be required to wear this. Simply place it over your clothes and at all times wear the hood unless you are instructed otherwise.” Goten accepted the robe, but unlike Piccolo's it wasn't open. As he pulled it over his head the Namek continued in a hard voice, “I will say this once and only once so pay close attention.”

Goten immediately quit fussing with the fabric around his head and looked at the older man.

Black eyes set on one another.

“The information I have shared with you thus far is available to the public so by all means take advantage of it in your essay. However,” his eyes seemed to shimmer, “the identities of the members must remain anonymous. Is that understood?”

“Yes.”

“Good. See to it you remember that beyond all else.” The severity of his tone ended with that statement as he regained a more neutral pose. “I would not include you in a ritual I was fearful of airing out to the public but considering the nature of it and the sensibilities of the weak minded population you may want to be vague.”

The demi-Saiyan looked uncomfortable but remained silent.

“Bearing in mind this is for an essay for a college course I'm sure you will have limited readers. As such, I'm not too concerned, so you may write about whatever you like,” a wicked smile touched his lips, “depending on how bold you are of course.”

“o..kay”

The Namek smirked unhelpfully but he did add, “At any time you may leave. Simply say so and someone will lead you out.” He motioned the teen forward and out of the office. “Now we must hurry.” He paused, “But before you agree, I'm warning you that, though most of our rituals are not, this one will be of a sexual nature.”

Goten stiffened.

The warrior's face softened slightly.

“I do not expect you to participate,” he assured, “only to observe. What I do expect of you is to say something should you feel uncomfortable. Your notebook is signed so you may leave now if you want to. However, I think given the circumstances of last night and from what you have said...and haven't today that you will benefit from this.” He cocked his head slightly. “So what will it be?”

This was a question of trust. He trusted Piccolo, but he had also trusted Yamcha. Logically he should leave, in fact, a good part of him wanted to. But if Piccolo could make good on his word and make sense of the mess of last night, well then perhaps it was worth the risk.

“I'm coming.”

He said it before thinking it through, but in retrospect that had been his theme throughout this entire project. He only hoped he wouldn't regret it.

Continued in Part Three

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Author's Note: The statements made about the history of the Temple of Set and Church of Satan are true to the extent of my knowledge and experience. I have mixed aspects of both together in terms of names of factions and attitudes for the purposes of this fic. However, both have their own distinct credos and hierarchies which I fully respect and acknowledge. Further additions to this chapter are of my own making and have nothing to do with practices of either establishments.