Chapter 144

1015 hours, local time
Thursday, 31 July, 2014
John Slack Park
Racine, WV

“Welcome to Racine, West Virginia, part of Boone fucking County, folks,” I commented while Penny stopped the lead bus and the others followed suit.

I went to check up on all of my babies and tucked them under the chin, not to mention paid attention to the pregnant ladies such as Stephanie Lennart-Clarke. I chuckled as I noticed the bit of summer rain falling down now, not worrying too much as long as the exposure was minimal. Everyone who needed clothes, namely those who were human, could wear them, and did as we wandered around the hamlet. I soon saw a few locals chatting with Tara, of course, as she had much in common with them.

I checked out the local shops and houses as I inspected John Slack Park. There were even fewer people than expected, but some folks might have recently been demon fodder, after all. Sure enough, Evie, who didn’t bother to disguise herself as human, caused everyone to shy away from her in terror due to recent events. They had indeed been victims of maneating demons, or so it seemed. I made a point of kissing Evie and smacking her tush, which raised more than a few eyebrows in the community.

“Relax, guys, I’m not out to eat you ... I just want to drink you a bit. To drain some balls,” Evie teased the locals, closing the distance with one obviously frustrated guy to suck his dick in front of his unpleasant wife.

“Why, I never!” the matron recoiled in disgust.

“Yeah, I can tell!” I retorted with laughter, even as she made the mistake of pummeling Evie with her fists.

Before anyone else, including me, could react, Jeanette smote the woman and turned her into ash in broad daylight. The locals really shied away from us for a moment, well, the ones who weren’t busy taking photographs of the smoking hot, stark naked angel with the flaming sword in her hand. They could tell that we weren’t playing games now. I summoned the survivors with a wave of my staff, looking more like a wizard from fantasy lore than a Prophet right then.

“I am the Prophet Adam Clarke, and anyone who lays hands upon my companions or myself shall utterly perish. Whether that by my hands, those of my angel-wife here, or my undead wives, or my succubus wife, or any of my human spouses, those who seek my harm shall bring it upon themselves. Thus saith the Lord, through me, the Prophet Adam Clarke. I go west, as the poet Horace Greeley urged of young men like me, and I do not go alone. Do not attempt to molest any of us, or you shall likewise perish!” I deliberately sounded very biblical, as that might impress folks like these.

“May any of us join you, sir?” a young lady approached us in front of the others.

“Only women, girls, futanari, or those willing to become such may join us. I have specific instructions from Almighty God not to take any men in addition to the ones already in my company with me. My apologies, but such are the rules,” I said, even as some fool pointed his shotgun at us and opened fire.

I instantly smote him myself with the staff, even as Evie swallowed her partner’s load at last. Everyone visibly relaxed for some reason, but then I recalled that the guy in question resembled the already slain wife. They must have been related or something. He had wanted revenge for his kin, but he wouldn’t get it at my expense!

“Mister, sorry about the trouble. That was just Dougal Conley and his sister, Betsy. She always had her hubby, Earl Wren, by the short and curlies. She doled out the lovin’ just so, and he didn’t dare complain, let alone leave her, because he feared her brother so much. He was a bully to the whole town, so he can burn in Hell, for all I care.

“This town used to have more than two hundred folks. Not a lot, but plenty more than we have nowadays. Thanks to demons, gangs, thugs, disease, and a lot of feuds, as well as not enough medical attention for the elderly, we’re down to sixty people. Twelve are fifty something, and then sixteen are underage, so that leaves just thirty-two to try and repopulate this community. Half of those are over thirty as well, I might add,” a balding man with a thin mustache informed us now.

“What’s your name, sir, your age, and your profession?” I confronted him now.

“Steve Channing, sir. I’m the oldest man in town. I’m fifty-eight. I’m a barber, a volunteer firefighter, a Baptist deacon, and a Sunday school superintendent, or I was. I tried to exorcise the demons when they came. I commanded them to leave in the name of Jesus, just as the Good Book told me, but none of it worked. Any idea why, since you’re a Prophet, even a strange one who’s married to so many wicked folk? You’re really a true Prophet? I saw some weird stuff when I was a Navy corpsman with the Marines, but nothing like this,” the guy explained.

“Well, to summarize, Jesus retired, so did Jehovah, but as he was leaving office, the latter caused Fireball Day, killing millions of people around the world and collapsing civilization. Hell has closed down, Satan has retired, too, and lots of demons are out of work. Heaven is under new management, and the new God has chosen me, a Navy veteran turned college student, as a Prophet.

“I am leading these folk to Huntington next, in fact. We’re only passing through here, but if you want wise counsel, here it is. Abandon the old morals and stick to things like basic, common sense ethics and the Golden Rule. Treat others as you want them to treat you. Don’t rape. Don’t murder. Don’t steal. Don’t falsely accuse each other. Don’t cheat or defraud people. Don’t abuse anyone.

“The age of consent used to be sixteen in West Virginia, but there is no state government these days, and when one is formed, the law is going to reset that age at fourteen, not that previous figure. How many people here, of those sixteen you cited, are fourteen and fifteen years old? Add those to your acceptable mating pool. Also, men over fifty, such as yourself, can still mate and breed. Are you married, Steve?” I queried now.

“Yes. That’s my wife, Wendy, right there. She’s fifty-two, and she gave me two sons and three daughters. Well, one son, our firstborn Emory, and one daughter, Stacey, died from demonic attacks. That leaves our younger son, Hiram, and our daughters, Lacey and Mimi, to continue the bloodline,” Steve clarified now, “three girls are fourteen and two girls are fifteen, while two boys are fourteen and one boy is fifteen. One of those girls who are fourteen is Mimi. Hiram is the fifteen year old boy.”

“So, half of your ‘underage’ group, eight of them, aren’t really underage under the new standards. Good news there. How many other women are over fifty? How many more men, for that matter?” I probed a bit, gathering an idea in my mind.

“There’s three other men over fifty here and seven other women who are over fifty. This includes Wendy’s older sister, Mary, who is a widow. She is fifty-four. Two of the other three men are married, to two of the other seven women. The last man, Greg Antlers, yes, that’s his actual name, is divorced from two of the other five, but has refused to marry a third time. I don’t blame him for that. Divorce is expensive as Hell,” Steve pointed out his peers.

“Okay, what I am about to do seems pretty extreme, but trust me on this matter. How many of your people are male vs. female? Can you tell me that?” I inquired now.

“Thirty-six women and twenty-four men. Why do you ask?” Steve asked me out of curiosity.

I then smote him dead, after which I did the same to a shocked Wendy, then Mary, and everyone else over fifty. Before anyone could protest or avenge anyone, I touched the ghosts of my victims and revived all of them at once. Steve and the other men were restored as futanari, but the women as youthful versions of themselves. They all had the blue asterisks that marked them as mine, reducing the population to forty-eight.

“You guys are coming with me, of course. So is she. The one who showed interest. I’m not resurrecting Dougal or Betsy, of course. Earl, if you want to tag along, you have to let me touch you with this sapphire and change you into a futa or a woman. That’s your call, of course,” I invited him to become part of the tribe.

“And get to be with her? I like her ... a lot!” Earl exclaimed with the classic twang with which I had been familiar all of my life, “do it, please? I’d suck a helluva lot of cock just to be intimate with your hot as Hell demon babe and the rest of your harem. I’d love to be a futa ... a chick with a dick. I would miss my prick too much to be a woman.”