Part 57:That Night, At the Concert
Tuxedos and evening gowns that can never be cleaned are ripped away as the shit-smeared audience perpetuates a hideous orgy of sex and violence. The men that can’t find a willing cunt or an ass are beating each other. Blood and shit spews and smears everywhere, and the stench has induced involuntary vomiting. Still with his ass hung above the worshiping crowd, Solomon repeats the chorus.
“Nuit! Hadit! Ra-Hoor-Khuit!
The Sun, Strength & Sight, Light;
Nuit! Hadit! Ra-Hoor-Khuit!
The Sun, Strength & Sight, Light;
These are for the servants of the Star & the Snake.”
The song ends, the crowd wails. The fucking stops in desperate anticipation of Solomon’s words. “It’s time for the sacrifice!” Solomon yells into his microphone. So many have died already, what more does he seek to destroy? The band plays a mournful tune.
Unseen in his approach, Nepotism is at my side, holding his sword at the ready.
Solomon is standing on one of the discs when they all begin spinning. Aiden Quartermass steps on a second. With arms raised, palms turned to the ceiling, the disc faces Solomon to the crowd, then the curtain, to the crowd, and back again and again. A new drummer has mounted a second, larger drum set on another spinning disc. Solomon clutches a black wireless mic that he brings to his lips and says, "My friends, it’s great to be back in Metro City! It’s a great place to be fucked in the ass!"
The crowd erupts in a resounding howl, hands clapping, women whistling.
"Because that's what it's all about, finding something you enjoy and doing it. It... It doesn't matter if you're gay, or straight, or whatever, we're all the same in the eyes of the Great Architect."
Feet start stamping the bleachers and a few groups manage to organize short cheers.
"I've got something very special for you tonight," he tells the crowd, endlessly turning on the iridescent disc with the audience wrapped in an orgy before him. He waits until the volume reduces to a grumble before he continues. "As you all must know by now, there is a lot of... how shall we say... 'mystical influence' on our music."
Solomon looks back and forth to the guitar and bass, who are busy tuning and not giving him much attention. "Tonight we are adding a new element to our music. Some of the weaker members of the audience might find this offensive."
From hidden pickets within the crowd, abused fat kids dressed entirely in black start shrieking and hissing at any audience member who may be offended by theatrical nonsense.
Solomon snorts, laughing and says, “Especially you Coptics.”
Someone shouts, "Fuck da' po-lice!"
Working their way slowly up the black curtain, hot yellow spotlights wash their way up until I can see the shadow of something big suspended above the stage in the light trees. A something that was not present when we discovered this concert hall. I squint, trying to boost myself with Nepotism's shoulder, as if the four inches I gain would make the difference in discerning the details of whatever impending bad news Solomon is about to drop on us.
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