Venaliter


Be sure to read Immortalis before this.

“No! Please! I’ll do anything! Here, take my Object, I don’t want it anymore! Just don’t-” The Holder of the Harvest’s plea is cut off as the Black King’s Sword slides through his throat. He gurgles, staring downward as his blood runs down the blade. I pause for a moment before whipping the blade sharply to the side, decapitating the Holder. As the body slumps to the ground, I reach for the Scythe clasped in its hand. The hand is stiff, possessive of the Object even in death. I slice it off with the Black King’s Sword in annoyance. Picking up the Scythe, I sheathe my sword and make my egress of the institution.

“Freeze! Hands up in the air! Don’t move or we will be compelled to use deadly force!”
The human’s voice sounds loudly, obviously amplified. His jacket has the letters FBI emblazoned upon it. I am surrounded by perhaps fifty men in similar jackets, all pointing various automatic and semi- automatic firearms in my direction. One man is standing a few meters in front of the others, and I can see that he is the one telling me to put my hands in the air. I can sense the unease in him and all of the agents. Most of my form is covered by my cloak, and my face is downcast, making it impossible for them to see that I am conspicuously not human. However, like timid animals, they can still sense the danger.

I am standing outside of a tall mental institution in a city called Los Angeles, and the agents of the FBI are shouting threats that they will never be able to make good on as two human aircraft hover above. I can tell instinctively that the aircraft also have weapons trained upon me. “I will count to three!” The man’s voice blares, “hands up!” The amplified voice is growing tiresome. I begin to walk toward the man. “Stop right there!” He shouts nervously. I pull up my hood, exposing my face to him. The man’s face goes pale before he falls to the ground, convulsing and foaming at the mouth. I grab his throat with my right hand and lift him in the air. The man struggles- my hands no longer have skin, having long since become bone, chitin, and a sort of ceramic; an exoskeleton- there is no hope for him. My hand closes tighter, tighter, tighter, tighter- the man’s neck breaks with a resounding snap. The sound seems to wake the rest of the squad from their daze.

“Open fire!” someone yells. Almost instantaneously, the various firearms are discharging at a furious rate, small projectiles streaking toward me. Time around me slows down. I can see and hear the projectiles flying, cutting through the air to reach me. I close my eyes and feel my feet lift off the ground. I draw my arms toward me, and then spread them out. A wave of energy is released from me. The agents nearest to me are vaporized completely, while the bullets flying toward me are caught in the wave and fly back into their owners. The glass in the building behind me, as well as the aircraft, blows out. The shards almost float to the ground like a lethal snowfall, its pulchritude lost to all who stand below save for myself. In one of the glass shards, I catch a glimpse of my own face.

There is no skin, only a skull that has been covered and fleshed with a sort of white ceramic substance, and black lines and markings run down the front. My teeth have sharpened into fangs. Two horns, like that of a bull, extend forward, starting where my temples would be and pointing ahead of me. The ceramic extends off of and behind my skull, under which my pitch-black hair (which I obviously have not trimmed) falls to my back. I can see my own eyes in the shard, see the horrific emptiness inside of them. I can almost see my master. The thought brings me joy, being so close to Edo Edi Essum. The shard falls to the ground and shatters into even smaller pieces. I look up in time to see a large projectile arcing from one of the helicopters, a trail of smoke behind it.

I flex my wings, tearing away most of the back of my cloak, before snapping them sharply down. The speed at which I am propelled upward elicits a gasp from the other agents as I stretch my hand out, catching the missile in midair. I wind up my arm and extend it again as I release the missile, and I register shock in the pilot’s face as the missile flies toward him. A spectacular explosion follows as shrapnel rains down upon the agents below me. I touch down in their midst as the other helicopter opens fire, the projectiles chipping off small flakes of ceramic as they bounce off of me. I grab a nearby agent by the face and bodily throw him upward, into the aircraft. I hear the glass shatter as the body lands on the pilot. The helicopter spirals down, the explosion immolating what few of the agents are left. As the light dies down, I pull my hood up enough so that my horns are only barely visible and my face is obscured again. My wings fold back against me as I begin to walk briskly away from the scene of the carnage-

Bang. Bang. I turn around to see one lone agent, firing at me with a small handheld weapon. Bang-ping. The shot ricochets off my shoulder, small chips of ceramic bone flying outward. I turn toward him.

LeaEveD tOhiEs pDlaEce aSt SonUcMe EDO.

The man, previously trembling, goes still. After a moment of contemplation, he inserts his firearm in his mouth. He pulls the trigger.

I step into the Void, and am greeted by Edo Edi Essum. I bow, presenting in front of me the Object I acquired from my excursion. I can feel the familiar, colossal energy bearing down upon me. The horrific sibilance and susurrus of its voice assaults my mind and body; I see and hear and feel the speech and words encroaching upon me, constricting me.

The Scythe. Excellent. And what of its Holder?

DeEad, DmOy MaEsDter, aIs yEoSu coSmmaUndeMd EDI.

Good. You have done well, Edo Infectus. And now, I shall reward you.

ThEaDnOk yEoDu, mIy MaEsStSeUrM ESSUM.

I feel familiar agony as Edo Edi Essum imparts a little more of its power to me. I can feel the pain building, building, building to a crescendo inside of me. I feel as if the pain and energy is tearing me apart from the inside. My mouth opens in a silent scream.

Blackness.

To be continued in Mortuus Monumentum.

Part of the series Ieiunitas, Infectus, Talius.
Last modified on 2009-05-23 19:38:22Viewed 5190 times

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