Title: Knorg’s Vampire Tarot
Category: Paranormal
Author Pen name:
Knorg
Email: paxgronk@hotmail.com
Description: These card stories use a variety of well-known and
popular as well as more obscure characters, from Marge Simpson to Elvis, from
Bloodrayne to Jon Arbuckle, as well as my own characters. Each story is around
1000 words.
Stories: Death/Rebirth by
Vampire, catfight, sex, girl-on-girl, and similar.
Song lyrics used without
permission.
Characters/places/trademarks
that aren’t mine are used for this parody without permission.
This story concept is a
parody of Fifteen Painted Cards from a Vampire Tarot by Neil Gaiman.
And so it came to pass
that in the year of our lord seventeen hundred and ninety-five, that the
winged-woman Pax, who some called an angel, others a demon, came again to
Richmond. It has been near fifteen summers since the noted Doctor, Matthew
Tyburn, called the wisest man in all England, had visited her in Norway. Her
step was steady, her back unbowed by age or time. Seven feet tall, of one
opaque colour throughout – her skin wouldn’t tolerate even the harshed scars,
and those earned fighting with the rebels at Cullodon years before had faded to
nothing.
Passers-by looked in her
face and remembered the childhood stories, the legends, the myths, and the
truths. She met their interested and awed gaze with the white orbs, pigmented
as her skin, pupils-less yet vibrant and sharp. Shaking her boots at the steps
of the doctor’s house, she scraped the dirt from the road. Majestically, she
stretched out her mighty wings, muscular arms above her head, and then wrapped
them about her.
Doctor Tyburn had written
to say that, aged and infirm, he wouldn’t last another winter. As Pax had held
that letter in her hand she’d known it true. She ran one of her hands against
the door; it swung open. Pax immediately knew something was wrong, the scent of
blood was in the air, and in her near four hundred years of existence she’d
come to sense Death’s presence. Pax walked into the house, reaching a careful
hand onto her back to draw the old, worn, but much re-sharpened blade there.
King Edward III himself had carried a similar sword and Pax cared little for
modernising.
“Matthew? Are ye hurt
sir?” she called, stepping through the house, coming to the large open drawing
room – the drapes drawn. And there she saw Doctor Tyburn, his throat torn open,
his skin pale. Too little blood. Far too little. It seemed somehow worst of all
to Pax, who was no stranger to violent death, that his books were in such
disarray, his knowledge gone, torn, thrown away with him. She clenched her
firsts, the hilt of her blade biting into her hand.
“You must be Pax.”
The voice was strange, a mix of Spanish and Irish, like a mercenary Pax once
knew.
Pax turned, sword at the
ready. The stranger was dressed like a whore, made up and little dressed,
dabbing at spots of blood about her mouth. She looked utterly normal to Pax,
save for her teeth. Canine fangs.
“What the bloody hell
kind’ve goul?”
“What am I?” The woman
laughed, “What are you? They say you were a statue from a plague village
given flesh and life. They say you’re demon or angel. They say you cannot be
killed,” She laughed again. Pax scowled. She had no games to play her, no need
for a public hanging.
“I’ll spit ye for this
evening’s work. Matthew Tyburn was the finest man I e’er met.”
Pax stepped forward and in
smooth and practiced movement ran the woman through.
“That’ll teach ye, ye vile
painted whore!”
To Pax’s surprise and
confounded thought the woman laughed and easily pulled the sword from her gut,
tossing it away. She was barely over five feet, thin, Pax thought she could break
the woman in half, and here she shrugged off a sword in the gut as if t’were
nothing at all.
“I bet the blood of an
angel is sweet… sweeter the adulation of the world when it is known that I,
Molly Muerto, Killed the mighty Pax.”
The talking a feint, she
came at Pax with her claws out-stretched only to take a hate-fuelled fist in
the gut. It had been long since anyone had hurt Molly, not since she lived
thirty summers before.
“You…”
Pax yanked her up by the
hair, and punched her hard again, sending her into a mirror. Now Molly’s blood
was also well and truly up, and she shook silvered glass from her as she and
Pax began to circle each other in the narrow room.
“What are ye?” Pax
asked anew, as Molly ducked beneath her arms and yanked at her white hair. At
such close range Pax was reduced to tugging at Molly’s clothes, the whore’s
tits bouncing from cheap fabric. Molly scratched Pax’s face with nails suddenly
closer to Tallons and punched her with vampiric strength.
Pax roared, shaking off
the blow and wrapped her arms about the smaller woman, crushing her in her
grasp. Molly drove her knee up between Pax’s legs, grinding it roughly through
the male trousers she wore into the winged woman’s long under-stimulated sex.
Pax tripped, and the two were rolling on the floor, slapping, hitting,
punching, and destroying clothes and surroundings.
Minutes passed before they
stood, each semi naked, before each other. Pax, topless, was bleeding from
several wounds, bright red blood that never coloured her skin from within,
dripping across her mighty breasts. Molly was naked but for stockings, her own
wounds bloody but seemingly already healing.
“You can’t beat me Pax. I
am Nosferatu; already I heal and you’re no longer fresh. I smell your blood,
oh, Pax, it is rich. Rich indeed.”
“You’ll eat dung!”
Pax hunched down close
into Molly, then put all her strength into driving the woman through the
picture window and out into the night. With a beat of her wings, Pax was flying
with Molly in her arms – their bodies pressed close and the wind whistling
about. Pax rose steeply, going for height.
Molly saw that Pax
intended to drop her, and didn’t fear it, and then she saw Pax was taking her
to the meat-fires burning for the local fire. Twisting desperately, she wrapped
her arms and legs about Pax and bit into her neck.
“Arrhh! Ye whore!” Pax
tried to pry Molly from her, and failed. She flexed her fingers and then drove
two into the vampire’s cunt, pinching at her clit with her thumb. Molly broke
her bite, and squealed, blood tossing through the air. Pax had sort to hurt
her, and she had, but the vampire found the rough penetration to her liking,
and ground her breasts against Pax’s bucking her hips on the woman’s hand.
They were perhaps a 1000
feet up as Molly tried to force a bloody kiss on Pax; who responded, realising
that Molly’s grip was changing, moving… loosening. She finger fucked the
vampire for long moments, wrestling tongues as she rode the hot updraft from
beneath.
As Molly’s cunt spasmodically
squeezed her fingers Pax felt deep scratches gourged in her back, and then the
woman’s grip was gone.
“Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!”
Pax held a pocket
handkerchief to her neck as she watched the body tumble down towards the great
fire, unable to stare directly at the burning mass she hoped she was on target.
Cold wind caressed her bare nipples as she hovered, disturbed by the experience
in many ways.
She felt almost… shamed.