Bloodrush: Threshold of the Partaker

BLOODRUSH: THRESHOLD OF THE PARTAKER

By Chad Michael Fleagle
@COPYRIGHT 2005



The darkness moved and with it destruction followed. A hand of God-like judgment raked the land with flesh-encrusted claws. The masses caught in the wake cried out. Not out of pain nor agony, but in the thralls of grand passion and satisfaction. They had been waiting for this moment, praying for an arrival. In this world he was God and to be answered by such a deity is a blessing that seldom came. When it did those that were forbidden to partake in the Bloodrush cried in the black streets.

The Partaker stepped from the Rows of the Rush. He had experienced the pain that was the bloodrush a thousand times. It was the Partakers duty to partake in each new bloodrush. His body had been segmented like a jigsaw. Torn asunder and brought together again very much to his dismay. To be segmented was all one could hope for. Only he was allowed to experience the pain that was the bloodrush and live. Then the pain was stripped from him, he felt empty and unwanted.
He was discovered through way of mass selection. The Defilement came once every five hundred thousand years. The God of the world would choose to spew forth a stream of darkness like vomit. Whomever this stream of darkness enveloped became a Partaker. Though a very special privilege in his world, there have been an infinite number of Partakers before him.
He walked down a large street. A black street, like coal, yet it shimmered with a mirror-like luster. The Shunned Ones stared up at him from their knees. Which were bloodied from constant kneeling. Their long faces. . . sunken eyes. . . skin pulled tight against bone from fasting in hopes of gaining the Partakers interest. Only the Partaker may select the next lucky few for the bloodrush. Fasting seldom enticed him. Selection was a very serious undertaking. He had his ways of making his selections. The Shunned Ones quickly placed their hands in his path. He stepped on each hand without emotion. The crunch of brittle bones resounded beneath his boot-heels.
He laughed.
The line of hands was long. They attempted to impress him, yet it only gives them free pain. These hands had been broke an untold number of times. Never had he selected from the like. The Temple of the Tingling pulsated in the distance. The pulse sent a purple glow that caused minor surges of pain throughout the bodies of all in the realm. It felt more like an episode of cramps in human terms. With each pulse a great moan carried its dread throughout the void.
"Choose us, Partaker," the shunned ones groaned.
He looked down upon their worthless carcasses. A woman discarded her tattered robe of black. Beneath was a vile mockery of supposed womanhood. Skin pocked and scarred, blue veins trailed pathways about her grey-white skin. Breasts like over-ripened melons on the verge of caving in. She couldn’t weigh more than eighty pounds. She approached him and licked her thin blue lips in an attempt at being seductive. She touched his manhood. This didn't arouse him. She hardly stirred the instrument of procreation between his thighs.
"Choose me, Partaker," she moaned. “Do you not find me worthy?"
Pleasures of the flesh were so petty. A triviality humans held dear to their hearts. He'd enjoy it for a few moments. If carnal pleasures is what she sought, he'd cast her to the Catacombs of Wanton Lust. There she'd be bombarded by never-ending pleasures of the flesh. She’d soon beg for an escape.
"Take her," the Partaker said.
The Gatherers growled and roared toward her. She believed he'd selected her for the bloodrush. But as the shapeless forms grabbed her and began to drag her away. She realized she hadn't been chosen.
He soon approached the Bridge of the Blessed formed out of former shunned ones, It's their job to allow the Partaker to cross the Threshold of Pain that surrounded the temple. This threshold was an accumulation of all the pain ever felt or experienced. Nothing could survive direct contact with the threshold. Those that formed the bridge were mere corpses, they rotted ever so slow and knew no pain. His boot touched the first of the sprawled corpses, foot sinking slightly into the soft flesh. The threshold emitted an unseen force that rose from its wavering, multi-colored surface. It caused great, monumental pain to grip his body. The pain was so harsh; no pleasure was extracted from the spasms that rocked his form.
Yet his separations had strengthened his tolerance to pain to unheard of degrees. With a focused mind, he managed to re-gain control of his body. The pulses from the temple made it hard to concentrate. At the end of the bridge a slime membrane opened for him. Instantly he was released from the intense grip of the threshold's power. Only the minor, more pleasurable pain caused his nerve-endings to scream. Within the temple were the arteries of many worlds, many dimensions. The Partaker must monitor the flow of pain from each. If the flow is to low on a world, he'd see to it that it was risen. His world relied on the pain of others to survive. Without pain his world will fade into nothing. It appeared the pain on the mortal world was dangerously low. This world wasone of his world's main sources of pain. He must travel there to investigate and cause pain.
In a great flash of purple light the Partaker found himself standing in an alleyway. A breeze blew trash around, he stared up at the night sky. The moon cast its white glow upon his face. His god had sent him to the Human World. Now was the time to cause any mortal that crossed his path immense pain. Failure was not and could not be an option, or he’d pay dearly.
A drunken bum pushed his way out from beneath a smashed cardboard box. He coughed and nearly fell to the street. His clothes were tattered, dirty and dried vomit caked the front of his shirt. The smell that rose from him was repulsive. The foul stench reached the Partaker, it was rather pleasing to him. Yet the minor pain that seeped from derelicts old joints only made him homesick.
“Who in the hell are you?” The bum coughed.
“A visitor to your world, old man. I seek those worthy of the Bloodrush.”
“I gave blood yesterday,” the bum replied. “They won’t allow me to give again for another day or two. Got any spare change, mister?”
This was an amusing little man, he’d test his ability to take pain.
“Do you feel any pain, old man? How much do you feel every day? Please. . . tell me I’m very interested to know.”
“Odd question, mister. Hell, I’m an old man. Got the worst case of arthritis in both my knees. And just before it starts to rain, I can hardly move the pain is so intense. Why? You some kind of Doctor?”
“No. Yet your pain is appreciated. It gives life to my world. You mentioned the rain. The pain grows intense during a rain storm? Interesting.”
On his world when it rained, it was but his god urinating upon its followers.
The Partaker looked toward the clear sky. A small cloud appeared, the wind began to blow with the faint smell of rain upon it. The cloud spewed fourth more cloud cover, a flash of lightning followed a roll of thunder. He turned toward the bum. The man appeared uncomfortable and pain vibrated from his knees. It grew with intensity as the storm clouds took the sky for their own and the first droplets of rain started.
“Oh, God. Not tonight,” the bum groaned. “The pain is starting, I can feel it. Can you help me, mister?”
“Your pain is sweet, old man. Do not fight against it, allow it to flow through you freely.”
The bum knelt against the concrete his knees screamed in protest. It felt like a knife being jammed into them and twisted. As the bum burst into tears, the sky fell in a downpour. He dropped face first into a newly created puddle of muddy water and squirmed.
The Partaker was disappointed, he expected a derelict of the streets to be used to pain such as this. He felt the old mans heart failing him, this was a pain worthy of taking pleasure in. Yet those selected for the Bloodrush needed to survive, embrace the pain and gain pleasure from it.
The old man reached out for him and died.
“How disappointing. . .”
The rain stopped and the cloud cover dissipated.
In another flash he disappeared.

He reappeared in the streets of a ghetto, two young men exchanged their illegal tender before him. There was potential for pain here. The two young men stared at him. The Partaker had a human form, tall, veinlike hair that glimmered a faint purple, a pale face and eyes of bright purple. He also wore a black robe with hood.
“What the fuck are you supposed to be, white boy? This isn’t Halloween! What in the fuck are you staring at, freak?”
The Partaker didn’t reply.
“I asked you a fucking question!”
The young man pulled a gun from his waistband.
Ignorance was a trait so very common among human beings.
“I believe you have some approaching visitors my friends.” The Partaker smiled. “They don’t seem very happy you’re on their block. Have a look see.”
They two young men turned to look.
A low-rider squealed around the bend and roared in their direction.
“Fuck! It’s Zero and his boys! Take cover!”
Two young men leaned out of the cars windows, machine guns sprayed the stairs they stood on. Bullets ripped through their bodies, blood misted the air red.
Such pain.
It was so pleasurable at that moment. Bullets entered the Partakers body through his stomach, chest, and even head. He was in ecstasy, penis throbbed between his legs from excitement. The young men in the car were in shock. With outstretched arms the Partaker approached the moving vehicle, welcomed a new hail of bullets.
“This is one crazy mother fucker! Run his monkey ass down, Zero!”
More bullets tore through his body.
He laughed.
Eyes glowed bright purple mist drifted from them.
“Hit that son of a bitch!”
“Come!” The Partaker said.
The car sped his direction at full speed. Before impact the hood of the car imploded inward. The driver was sent through the windshield, glass shards embedded in his face and throat. The final two young men slammed into the dashboard, arms and legs snapped like twigs upon impact.
“You three are worthy.”
He glared at the one that burst through the windshield. Blood spurted from numerous areas of the mans mangled face.
“Such pain flows from you, human. It’s been awhile since I’ve been so pleased. Embrace the pain and learn from it.”
The young man spat blood, “Go to hell you sick bastard!”
“Not entirely impossible for me, yet hell is always full of pain and suffering. No shortage problems there. Here on earth is where my work is needed most.”
The Partaker walked over toward the side of the car.
“Call an ambulance, asshole! We’re dying!” one of the young men shouted.
The door was torn off its hinges and tossed aside.
“No. There will be no need for an ambulance my friends. You’ve proven worthy of the bloodrush. You’ll soon become shunned ones and this pain is mere child’s play compared to what you’ll experience. Still, your pain will aid my world slightly in balancing itself. You all should feel very honored by this privilege.”
“I’d shoot you again if I could fucker!”
“And I’d welcome your bullets with open arms. You don’t possess the knowledge of what you provide by inflicting physical pain upon me. Yet enough talk for now, time to send you three to the Rows of the Rush.”

With a wave of his hand the three young men found themselves shackled to a long black pew. The walls bled a dark liquid, severed body parts of various beings littered the floor of the unholy sanctuary. The smell was overwhelming and repulsive. They struggled but in doing so this only tightened their shackles, enough to snap the bones in their wrists.
They became surrounded by a purple light and numerous collectors. Veinlike tubes snaked down from the ceiling and rose from the floor sinking deep into the flesh of the young men. Their screams echoed beyond the sanctuary and the shunned ones raised their hands high and smiled out of satisfaction.
The collectors left after they’d placed nearly thirty hooks in each body. Then the sanctuary began to pulsate with life, it rained darkness upon the young men and this darkness burned the flesh slowly from their bones. In a final pulse, the veins drained what was left of their bodily fluids.
Three blue orbs screamed toward the ceiling and exited the sanctuary. They entered the dark sky and vanished. Hundreds of shunned ones got to their knees. Three new figures approached from the distance escorted by collectors into the mass. These new additions looked a lot like the three young men from the ghetto.

Back on earth the partaker saw to it that any evidence of the incident had vanished from sight. An ambulance and two police cars came down the street. He stepped to the sidewalk as the vehicles came to a halt. Police officers jumped from their cars weapons aimed at him. After all he was covered in blood. They noticed as they approached.
“Hands above your head!” The officer ordered.
“Is there a problem, officer?”
“You’re damn right there’s a problem. We get a call about a drive by shooting and find nothing but you, standing here covered in blood.”
“I truly fail to see how that’s a problem, sir.”
“Who’s blood is it?”
“Mine. Nothing to be concerned about.”
“Have you been shot, sir?”
“Indeed. Several times to be exact.”
“Where’s the car that was reported to have crashed?”
“No such incident happened, officer. I believe you’re the unfortunate victim of a crank call.”
“Medic! Get the hell over here this man needs your help.”
“Officer,” the partaker pointed to a hole in his head. “ I assure you, medical attention will not be necessary.”
“Holy shit.” The officer gasped.
The paramedic approached and stepped back in shock.
“Good God! What do you expect me to do for him? This guy should be dead. We should all just get the hell out of here.”
The partaker shook his head and smiled.
“I don’t have time for this, officer. You have your job to do and I understand. But I too have a job to do, this is a delay that cannot be excepted. You’ve no evidence here anything happened, just be on your way.”
“You’re covered in fucking blood! That’s all the evidence I need. Give me your arms, pal. You’re under arrest.”
His eyes glowed all the officers and paramedics dropped to the street unconscious.
“Sleep. . . you were not worthy of the bloodrush.”


Regina Westing, a middle-aged African American woman, walked through a dark alley on her way home. The sudden rain surprised her as did its prompt halt. She felt something in the moist air a kind of unnatural energy. You see she was a gifted young woman. With the ability to read the minds of others, see their auras, presents, pasts and futures. She’s a seer or medium if you preferred. Trained how to hone the gift at an early age by her mother.
She never really wanted to learn more about what she can do. All Regina ever wanted was a normal life like everyone else. That was until she started seeing and hearing the dead. Everywhere she went it was impossible to escape their presence. Until she begged her mother to teach her how to use the power only when needed. Now it came in really handy when she walked the dangerous city streets at night. It’s saved her from being mugged many times.
The alleyway seemed safe tonight, which will make the trip to her mother’s shop and apartment easy and worry free. She still lived with her mother Edna and on occasion worked as a secondary medium if her mother was to drained. She didn’t like it but her mother allowed her to stay rent free.
Her mother was no rip-off artist, she was the real deal. Regina’s seen things that amazed even her. Though her mother was close to sixty years old, she still had the energy and appearance of a thirty year old.

Not two blocks away the partaker walked, where he wasn’t yet sure. Yet he felt a strange force not far from his location. It was human in origin but held a power few humans possessed.
“An Overseer,” the Partaker smiled. “I sense two of them. They can put my work here in great jeopardy. I must find them and see they’ll not interrupt me.”
In a flash he vanished.

Regina instantly felt his presence as the partaker appeared not ten feet in front of her. It gave her a quick surge of pain within her head. After recovering from slight dizziness, his shadowed figure caught her eye.
“Who are you?” Regina asked.
He laughed.
“Come, come now, Regina. Read my mind, after all you are an Overseer.”