Chapter 38

0800 hours, local time,
Monday, 13 April, 2015
David Howard High School
Free City of Cairo, (formerly Cairo, Illinois)

“So, Mrs. Avery, let’s introduce your first period World History class,” David Howard spoke to the sixty year old educator, who clearly looked at him with admiration and awe.

“Yes, of course, Prophet Howard,” the teacher nervously spoke to him, “I’ll call the roll, then, and let every student stand up when named. Class, as you can see, this is the Prophet David Howard and these are some of his ... family and staff.”

“Hello, class, as Mrs. Avery has told you, I am the Prophet David Howard, the current religious and political leader of the Free City of Cairo until the First of May, when I will cede all of my authority over this community and congregation to new leadership. This here is my first wife, Andrea, my second wife and niece, Denise, my fourth wife and a former ordained Unitarian Universalist minister, Melanie, Melanie’s first husband Kyle, an attorney by trade, and the demon Tozroman, as you know. I look forward to meeting you in and learning your names,” David smiled at the class now.

The students looked at each other with a mix of excitement and fear. This was not your typical Monday morning. The classroom was unusually quiet as Mrs. Avery began to call out the names on her roster. Each student who stood was a mix of nerves and curiosity, their eyes darting between David and the demon. Tozroman was famous by now, just like the Prophet, but he was still a demon and everyone there knew it. He had, at one point, and for most of his existence, lived in Hell and tormented damned souls for what was expected to be eternity. That was a very difficult fact to forget, even if Hell no longer existed.

“Abbott, Becky,” Mrs. Avery’s voice cracked slightly as she started with the As. Becky stood, a shy sophomore with her hair in a tight bun, her eyes downcast, fidgeting with her pencil. “Abbott, James,” the next one, Becky’s twin brother, a basketball player, nodded solemnly as he rose to his feet.

“Avery, Thomas,” Mrs. Avery called out her own nephew now.

Thomas Avery, a lanky sophomore with a mop of curly hair, stood up with a sheepish grin. He was used to the spotlight, being the nephew of the teacher and all, but this was a different kind of attention. His cheeks flushed a shade of red that matched the apples in the still-life painting above the chalkboard as all eyes in the class fell upon him. He mumbled a quick greeting to the Prophet, trying not to trip over his own feet as he sat back down.

“Baker, Janine,” Mrs. Avery called out Thomas’s crush, who was only now starting to warm up to him, which he feared was due to his connection to the teacher.

Janine, a brunette with a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, looked up from her desk and gave a timid wave to the Prophet. Her green eyes were wide with fascination, and Thomas couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. He watched as David Howard returned the gesture with a charismatic smile that could win over the most stoic of hearts.

“Cahill, Forrest,” Mrs. Avery continued now.

Forrest, a lanky student with a penchant for philosophy, took his turn, his voice strong and sure. “Good morning, Prophet Howard,” he greeted, his eyes locking onto David’s, holding the gaze without a hint of fear. It was a challenge, but one David met with a knowing nod. The boy had a future in politics, he could feel it.

“Cortez, Rosarita,” Mrs. Avery turned now to the only Latina in her class, a Puerto Rican by birth.

Rosarita, her dark hair flowing over her shoulders, her eyes a piercing brown, stood with a proud nod. She had seen David Howard on the news often, but never had she thought she would be in the same room with him. She had come to the Free City of Cairo for a better life, and here she was, face to face with the man who had shaped so many changes.

“Cutter, Stewart,” Mrs. Avery ended the Cs now.

Stewart was a quiet, introspective student, often lost in his own world of thought. He stood, a little too quickly, knocking over his chair in the process. The room let out a collective gasp as the chair clattered to the floor. Tozroman’s eyes narrowed, his hand twitching slightly at his side, ready to act if needed. But David Howard only chuckled.

“Davison, Ruth,” Mrs. Avery began the Ds for the eighth student.

Ruth, a true bookworm, had been following the rise of the Prophet David Howard with a mix of skepticism and fascination. She stood with the poise of someone who knew the power of words, and the gravity of the situation. Her eyes searched David’s, looking for something genuine beneath the layers of his prophetic persona. She offered a polite nod, her voice steady. “Good morning, Prophet Howard.”

“Di Marco, Jenna,” Mrs. Avery moved to the next student.

Jenna, an athlete with a bubbly personality, popped up from her chair, her smile wide and bright, as if greeting a celebrity. “Hi Prophet Howard!” she chirped, her voice echoing through the room. The tension in the air was palpable, and it was clear that even the most popular and outgoing students were feeling the weight of the moment.

“Dunne, Conan,” Mrs. Avery called out the next boy, another jock.

Conan, a linebacker with the school varsity basketball team, stood with confidence, his jock strap visible through his shirt. He had been skeptical since David Howard’s arrival, but the man’s presence was undeniably commanding. He nodded, trying to seem unfazed, but the quiver in his voice betrayed him. “Morning, Prophet.”

“Everson, William,” Mrs. Avery pointed to the admitted teacher’s pet, Billy Everson.

Billy, a fresh-faced sophomore with a penchant for tucking his shirt in too tightly, popped up with an eager smile that was almost too bright for the room. He had been preparing for this moment for days, eager to impress the Prophet with his knowledge of history. “Good morning, Prophet Howard,” he said with the enthusiasm of a boy who had just met his favorite superhero.

“Farley, Erin,” Mrs. Avery called on one of the students already preparing to start drama next fall.

Erin, a redhead with a flair for the dramatic, rose with the grace of a ballerina and a smile that could charm the birds from the trees. She had heard the rumors of David Howard’s charm, and she was eager to see if they were true. She had practiced her greeting in the mirror at home, hoping to make a good impression. “Hello, Prophet Howard,” she said, her voice lilting with excitement.

“Finkel, Sabrina,” Mrs. Avery called on the lone Jewish student in the class.

Sabrina, a sophomore with a sharp wit and a penchant for questioning authority, raised her hand, her dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. She had read about the prophecies and the Prophet’s rise to power in her own religious studies, but she had never thought she would meet him. She had heard tales of his tolerance, but she remained skeptical. Standing with a measure of hesitation, she offered a courteous nod. “Good morning, Prophet Howard.”

“Fuller, Marvin,” Mrs. Avery next called on the class bully, a real prick or douchebag if any of them were.

Marvin, a student with a swagger that was as much a part of him as his oversized football jacket, took his sweet time standing up. He eyed the Prophet with a smugness that was palpable. “Whatcha want?” he drawled, his voice a mix of disrespect and curiosity. The room tensed up, waiting for the explosive reaction they knew was coming, but David Howard surprised them all by just laughing.

“Gayle, Loretta,” Mrs. Avery kept at it.

Loretta, a very inspired artist with a penchant for wearing all black, barely looked up from her sketchbook. She mumbled a greeting to the Prophet, her eyes never leaving the page. It was clear she was more comfortable in the world she created with her pencils and charcoal than in the one she was currently inhabiting.

“Germain, Susan,” Mrs. Avery persisted.

Susan, an orphaned refugee, took a deep breath and stood, her voice barely above a whisper. “G-good morning, Prophet Howard.” Her eyes remained glued to the floor, as if the tiles would somehow give her the answers she sought about this bizarre turn of events. The room remained silent, save for the sound of her heart racing in her chest.

“Graves, Miranda,” Mrs. Avery went on to the last of the Gs.

Miranda, an English girl stranded in Cairo, who was often misunderstood, stood slowly, her strained eyes taking in the scene before her. She had heard the whispers about the Prophet’s power to see into people’s souls. Would he know her secrets? Would he judge her? Her greeting was a soft murmur, almost a prayer, as if hoping the sound wouldn’t reach his ears. “Good morning, Prophet Howard.”

Mrs. Avery nodded and moved down the list to the Hs, calling on Stephen Hardwick. Stephen, a stout boy with a penchant for the great outdoors, pushed himself away from his desk, his backpack straps creaking as he stood. His love for climbing and hiking had earned him the nickname ‘Spider-Man’ around school, which was not entirely unfounded given his ability to scale the school’s walls and trees with ease. His eyes were alight with curiosity as he took in the Prophet and his entourage.

“Good morning, Prophet Howard,” Stephen greeted, his voice carrying a hint of awe, his hand briefly touching the small wooden cross he always wore around his neck, a gift from his mother.

Mrs. Avery cleared her throat and moved on to the second and last H. “Hornacek, Milan.”

Milan, a gay student with a passion for tennis, rose from his seat with a grace that belied his six-foot-two frame. His eyes searched the room, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze. The whispers had followed him since the day he’d arrived at David Howard High. They knew, but they didn’t know that they knew. His hand hovered over the strings of his tennis racket that rested against his chair, a silent testament to his love for the sport.

“Good morning, Prophet Howard,” Milan managed, his voice barely audible. The classroom air was thick with anticipation. Everyone knew the rumors about Milan’s sexuality, but he had never confirmed them. Would the Prophet, known for his inclusive doctrine, acknowledge the unspoken tension?

Mrs. Avery took a deep breath and called the next name. “Ishihama, Sashi.”

Sashi Ishihama, a student known for his mastery of chess, glanced up from the chessboard he kept hidden under his desk. His mind had been lost in strategy, planning his next move in the game against the school’s chess club champion. He had not expected to be called upon today, especially not by the Prophet David Howard. Carefully, he folded his board away and stood, his eyes flicking over to the demon, Tozroman. Sashi had heard the rumors of the demon’s past, but he remained unfazed. After all, in the grand scheme of things, what was one more supernatural being in a world that had seen the end of the old social order and civilization.

“Good morning, Prophet Howard,” Sashi said with a firm nod. There was no room for fear in his voice, only a hint of curiosity.

Mrs. Avery took a moment to compose herself before moving on. “Jenner, Joanna,” she called out, her eyes scanning the room.

Joanna Jenner, a student with a penchant for gardening, looked up from her desk, her hands still caked with dirt from her weekend’s work in her family’s small but bountiful garden. Her cheeks flushed a soft pink as she pushed her glasses up her nose. She was the epitome of the girl next door, with her sun-kissed hair pulled back into a messy ponytail and a gentle smile that never seemed to leave her face. Despite the gravity of the situation, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement. She had read the Prophet’s teachings and was intrigued by his views on environmental stewardship and the importance of living in harmony with nature.

Julia Jenner, Joanna’s identical twin, was called next. Julia was the mirror image of her sister, but where Joanna found solace in the soil, Julia’s heart lay in capturing moments through the lens of her camera. She had an eye for beauty in the most mundane of places and was known to carry her camera around school, snapping pictures of her classmates and the decaying grandeur of the once-great building. Her art had earned her a spot in the school’s yearbook club, and she was often seen with her camera around her neck, ready to immortalize any moment.

“Good morning, Prophet Howard,” Julia said, her voice a soft melody that seemed to resonate with the stillness of the room. She had been planning to ask for his permission to photograph him for the yearbook cover. The image of the Prophet, standing among the ruins of the old world, could be powerful. It was a symbol of hope amidst despair, a testament to the human spirit’s endurance.

Mrs. Avery’s gaze then fell on Gordon Kumar, the next on the list. Gordon, a student with a mixed heritage of Scots-Irish and Indian descent, had a reputation for his mechanical prowess. He could fix anything from the school’s aging vehicles to the most complex of devices salvaged from the old world. His eyes sparkled with excitement, his mind racing with questions about the technology that had brought about the end of the world and the new world that David Howard had promised to build.

“Good morning, Prophet Howard,” Gordon said, his voice strong and steady, his hands itching to tinker with something. The Prophet nodded in acknowledgment, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He recognized the kind of mind that could shape the future, the kind that could rebuild the world piece by piece.

“Lewis, Tristan,” Mrs. Avery called out next, her voice a little less shaky now.

Tristan looked up from his laptop, his eyes flickering with a hint of annoyance at the interruption to his coding. The room’s attention was now fully on him. He was used to being the odd one out in the school of jocks and cheerleaders, but even he couldn’t ignore the gravity of the situation. With a sigh, he closed his laptop and pushed his glasses up his nose before standing, his lanky frame casting a long shadow across his desk. He had a t-shirt on that read “There’s no place like 127.0.0.1,” a nod to his love for the internet, which had been spotty for them since the fall of civilization.

“Good morning, Prophet Howard,” Tristan said, his voice clear and firm. His eyes held a challenge, but there was no malice in it.

Mrs. Avery took a deep breath and called the next name, her heart racing. “Mannheim, George.”

George Mannheim, a pious lad with a serious demeanor and a deep belief in the Lutheran faith, had been watching the Prophet with a mix of skepticism and apprehension. He had read the prophecies, heard the teachings, and seen the miracles attributed to David Howard, but his faith remained unshaken. He had been raised in a strict, traditional household that taught the word of God and the salvation offered by Jesus Christ. The thought of a new prophet, let alone one who claimed to have abolished the old ways, was unsettling.

“Good morning, Prophet Howard,” George said, his voice steady and strong, his posture unyielding. He had come to school that day expecting to learn about the rise and fall of civilizations, not to meet the man who claimed to have rewritten destiny.

Mrs. Avery nodded and moved on to the next M, her hand shaking slightly as she called out the next name. “Munro, Crystal.”

Crystal Munro, a girl with a penchant for all things metaphysical and mystical, looked up from her desk, her eyes wide with excitement. She had been waiting for this moment since she heard the Prophet was coming. Her hair, a waterfall of shimmering blue streaks, was tied back in a loose ponytail adorned with a quartz crystal that dangled in front of her face. Her desk was cluttered with tarot cards and various crystal formations she had set up to “cleanse the energy” of the room. She had hoped that the Prophet’s presence would only enhance the spiritual vibrations she had worked so hard to cultivate.

“Good morning, Prophet Howard,” Crystal said, her voice lilting with an otherworldly quality, as if she was speaking to a long-lost relative. She had read about his miracles and his visions, and she felt a deep connection to his message of unity and peace. She had been searching for meaning in the chaos that had consumed their lives, and perhaps here, in this moment, she had found it.

Mrs. Avery took a deep breath and called on the next student. “Nash, Alexis.”

Alexis Nash, the epitome of the rumored “sluttiest” student, sauntered to the front of the class with a confidence that was both infectious and unnerving. Her tight, revealing outfit did little to dispel the whispers that had followed her lately. She had heard the gossip, had seen the way some of her more prudish classmates looked at her, but she wore their judgments like a badge of honor. Her eyes, lined with thick black kohl, glinted with a challenge as she approached the Prophet, whose doctrines seemed to align with her own. The truth was that she already had Schumacher Syndrome, and she had caught it by means of a threesome with Lars and Elena Gunderson ... the degrees of separation was less than six with her.

Marcia Olin, the math whiz, stood next. Her blond hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, and her glasses slipped down her nose as she nervously adjusted them. Her mind was racing with numbers, algorithms, and theorems, but even she couldn’t ignore the gravity of the moment. “Good morning, Prophet Howard,” she said, her voice a mix of shyness and intelligence. She had heard rumors about his supposed genius, but how much of that was true was unclear. Maybe, just maybe, she thought, he would see her potential, her gift, and recognize her as something more than just a bookworm.

Mrs. Avery took a moment to gather herself before she called on Kieran Pyle. Kieran, known for his unwavering love for animals, had brought his pet snake, Mr. Snuffles, to school that day. It was a silent protest against the strict no-pets policy, but also a declaration of his identity. He stood with the snake coiled around his arm, its forked tongue flicking in and out as it tasted the new, unfamiliar scents in the room. He couldn’t help but notice that David Howard, the Prophet, showed absolutely no fear of his boa constrictor, but that Melanie was terrified.

“Good morning, Prophet Howard,” Kieran greeted with a nod of his head, his voice calm and steady despite the chaos swirling around him. He had read about the Prophet’s miracles, his visions, and his promise of a new world where all creatures were treated with respect. Kieran hoped that maybe, just maybe, the Prophet would be an ally in his quest to educate his peers about the importance of animal welfare.

The room grew quiet as Mrs. Avery called out the next name, her voice a little more composed now. “Zoitakis, Thea.”

Thea Zoitakis, a student with an air of importance that came from being Councilwoman Zoitakis’s beloved niece, rose from her seat with the poise of someone who knew she was being watched. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of shadows, and her eyes, a piercing blue, scanned the room as if daring anyone to challenge her. She was beautiful in a way that made heads turn, and she knew it.

“And that’s the class, Prophet. Any questions for the Prophet, class?” Mrs. Avery turned to the students.

“If you are of ... God, why do you have a demon with you?” George Mannheim dared to inquire.

David Howard’s gaze remained unflappable, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Tozroman is a sign of the new world,” he said, gesturing to the demon, “A creature of the old world who has found redemption in ours. He is a reminder that even in darkness, there can be light. Or you could say that he has found a new vocation, and he has already proven useful in warfare, of course, against the infamous Hell’s Angels faction.”

The room remained still, the air thick with anticipation as the Prophet’s words hung in the air. Tozroman, ever stoic, nodded in agreement, his eyes flicking to George briefly before returning to David. Something in his eyes unnerved everyone, but especially George.

“You think that you’re tough, huh? Well, let’s see you prove it to my face,” Marvin Fuller stood up and lunged at the Prophet, trying to test his mettle.

Before anyone could react, Tozroman, the demon who had been quietly observing the class from the back, stepped forward with a speed that belied his size. He was a blur of motion, his eyes burning with an intensity that sent a shiver down every student’s spine. With a swift and surprisingly graceful movement, he blocked Marvin’s charge, his hand shooting out and gripping the bully by the throat.

Marvin’s eyes bulged in shock and fear, his bravado evaporating in an instant as he was hoisted into the air. Tozroman’s grip was like iron, and his strength was clearly not of this world. The room watched in awe as he held Marvin at arm’s length, his feet dangling above the ground, the air around them crackling with unseen energy. The demon’s eyes narrowed, a warning glimmering within them.

“Alright, Tozzie, you can drop him,” David instructed the demon.

With a smirk, Tozroman complied, letting go of Marvin’s throat. The bully stumbled backward, gasping for air and rubbing his neck, his face a mix of fear and anger. The class was silent, the tension palpable, as the Prophet stepped in front of Marvin.

“You’re way out of your depth, kid. Don’t step off the porch if you can’t run with the big dogs, pup. Now, sit down,” David commanded, his voice now full of unmistakable authority.

Marvin, his face red with humiliation, stumbled back to his seat, his eyes never leaving the Prophet’s. The room remained still, the only sound being the faint rustle of pages in textbooks and the distant echo of footsteps in the hallway.

“Prophet Howard, you could have had him ... dismembered, but you didn’t. Why?” George continued to inquire, truly stunned by the merciful side of what he had assumed was just a false prophet empowered with occult magic by the Devil.

David Howard looked at George, his eyes piercing yet calm. “Violence is necessary at times, George, but there is a time for war and a time for peace. Isn’t that in the Bible? There is a time for mercy and a time for vengeance. This was not a time for vengeance.”

“Yes, in Ecclesiastes Chapter 3, verse 8, in fact,” George nodded in appreciation, his mind now reeling as he processed another challenge to his worldview and his Christian faith.

The class remained silent, the gravity of the situation settling heavily on their shoulders. The Prophet’s words resonated, even with those who had never stepped foot in a place of worship. It was a stark contrast to the world they knew, where survival often meant taking the harshest actions.

Mrs. Avery cleared her throat, trying to regain control of the classroom. “Now, if there are no more outbursts, I’d like to proceed with the questions. This is history in the making, after all.”

Her eyes fell on Becky, who had her hand tentatively in the air. Becky was known for her sharp mind and even sharper tongue. “Yes, Becky?”

Becky stood, her expression a mix of excitement and skepticism. “Prophet Howard, demons obey you, but what about ... snakes?” she pointed to Kieran’s serpent.

The room’s attention shifted to Kieran and Mr. Snuffles. The Prophet chuckled, strode over, and held out his hand. “Let’s see if I can charm this one too,” he said, and the snake uncoiled from Kieran’s arm and slithered into his outstretched hand. The class watched, rapt, as David Howard held the snake up, his touch gentle.

“You see, fear is often a product of ignorance,” he began, his voice a soothing balm to their frazzled nerves. “When we understand each other, we realize that even those we consider monsters can be allies.” He looked at Thea, his gaze lingering. “Miss Zoitakis, your aunt has told me of your aspirations. Perhaps there is a place for you in my council, should you wish to serve and not merely control this community. Power is a stewardship, not merely a privilege, though I admit that there are perks.”

Thea’s cheeks flushed with both anger and intrigue. The idea of serving under a man who wielded such power was both infuriating and fascinating. She had always dreamed of a position of influence, but she had never considered serving a prophet. Things had clearly changed, though. She watched as Mr. Snuffles returned to Kieran’s hands unharmed and unmolested.

“Thank you, Prophet Howard,” Kieran murmured, his heart still racing. The snake seemed unfazed, slithering comfortably around his arm once more. The class stared in amazement, some of them whispering to each other in hushed tones.

“What is the actual role of Jesus in all of this?” George dared to inquire.

“Jesus has been God at times and so has Jehovah. He was a demigod on Earth and now is a deity in his own right, of course. Yes, he was a real, flesh and blood man. Yes, he was a Son of God, sired on Mary by Jehovah Himself. Yes, he was crucified. No, I do not really know for sure the nature of his ... exaltation and/or resurrection, other than that he doesn’t appear to have wandered the Earth much, if at all, after he was restored to life, in a much more powerful body than he used to have. He wasn’t the Messiah, but I don’t care if you want to use that title of Christ, given that is one that has gained usage,” the Prophet reassured him now.

“But what does this mean for us? For Christianity?” George pressed on, his voice trembling slightly.

“No offense, young man, but Christianity has ... seen better days. It’s time to move on. It has been a mixed blessing and curse at times, but any usefulness it had has passed it by. It won’t die out at once, more likely fading into obscurity and oblivion gradually over time. You have every right to be a Christian if you wish, to marry other Christians and to sire Christian progeny, just know that you are ... fighting a war that you can’t win. A new day has dawned and nightfall has come for your religion,” the Prophet told him with a gentle smile and an outstretched hand, “alternatively, you can join us, be baptized into the new faith, and be part of the solution.”

George took a step back, his eyes wide with shock. “I ... I need to think about it,” he managed to stutter out, his hand dropping to his side.

“Fair enough. We have plenty of patience and time, my friend,” David informed the youth, not even slightly perturbed by his reluctance.

The class remained silent, the air thick with contemplation and a hint of fear. The Prophet’s words had shaken the foundations of what they knew. The room was a tapestry of emotions: shock, curiosity, and a glimmer of hope. The walls, once just a backdrop to their everyday lives, now felt like they were closing in, holding the weight of the new reality. So much had already changed since his arrival, and the transformation continued to cascade over the community. Alexis Nash was simply the first in the class to welcome this change.

“What about ... Schumacher Syndrome? What if one has it?” Alexis dared to inquire now.

“Then one will have very powerful urges to ... enjoy the lusts of the flesh, as well as she should. You lay with the Chief Constable and his wife, acquiring the condition from that encounter, didn’t you?” he told the sophomore what she did without her saying a thing about it.

Alexis blushed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and excitement at being so openly recognized. The class stared at her, some with pity, others with envy. “What ... what can we do about it?” she whispered, her eyes never leaving the Prophet’s, “and how do you know that?”

“I’m a Prophet, that’s how. And, of course, you must ... embrace the condition and welcome it, recognizing its divine purpose, to encourage sexual promiscuity and cure any who have any kind of social disease, among other things,” David told Alexis, just as she lifted her skirt in front of the others and bent over her desk, showing a lack of underwear and exposing her bare bottom.

The room held their collective breath as David Howard approached her, his eyes burning with a passion that seemed almost holy. He placed his hand on her back, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. “You are a vessel for a new generation,” he murmured, his voice a gentle whisper that seemed to fill the room, “you carry the Chief Constable’s seed in your womb.”

Alexis felt a strange sense of pride swell within her as the Prophet’s words settled in. The stares of her classmates no longer felt like judgment but rather like awe, as if they were witnessing something sacred. She nodded, her heart racing as David’s cock slid inside her and he gestured for the widowed Mrs. Avery to eat her ass while he fucked her.

The class watched in a mix of shock and fascination as the Prophet claimed Alexis’s body. Her moans filled the room, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to resonate with something deep within each of them. Mrs. Avery, initially startled by the Prophet’s command, hesitated for only a brief moment before she obeyed, her tongue delving into the depths of Alexis’s anus. The scene unfolding before them was nothing short of surreal.