Obligatory Disclaimer : I do not own anything (except maybe OC characters) all characters, places, worlds, universes…etc mentioned here belong to their respective owners and/or companies.
This is purely a work of fiction. Not meant to offend or incite, but to entertain and (maybe) inspire.
DEMON TIME
I had no qualms doing Amy a solid, and doing her as well. That however did not mean that I’d simply take her up on her offer to use her body as payment. It’d be epic for the short term, but long term, I’d be trashed. Not that I lived this life with much thought for the long term, when GTA-ing, you go with flow and the flow did not go with fucking Amy, not as payment. I’d rather have us do it as friends, that way it’d be a consistent booty call, is what I’d say if I was that much of an ass, which I was, so I do.
I was only writing an essay on the matter because I was here piping twins who dressed and looked exactly like her.
I placed two bundles of cash down on the bedside drawer and extracted myself away from the soaking, sweating women. They rasped and gasped for breath while sprawled out on the bed, occasionally trembling and convulsing as they gushed. Perhaps I should be the one paid instead, considering they’re the ones that got to climax.
It was something to note that I had a future as a prostitute should it come down to it, right next to an infinite organ generator.
I pulled on my fitting camo trousers and black boots and made my way out the room and into the elevator.
This one, this one I needed to be personal and brutal. I needed to send a deep message and leave a scar so gruesome, none would forget.
I walked out the elevator and under the arching marble ceiling and arches, drawing the gazes of the curious few that did not gamble or were too busy being drunk to pay attention to anyone else.
I walked to the wide reaching, gold plated doors of the luxurious establishment and stood. I retrieved the half-face Oni mask from a pocket and strapped it over my face, letting it sit comfortably on my nose bridge. The air was thick with excitement, lust and greed, the smell of money, fresh and old, intermixed with expensive alcohol to create an atmosphere that encourage reckless abandon and debauchery.
“Leave if you don’t want to die.” I said to the eyes that stared at me with terror, to those that knew and recognized what I represented. Those that hadn’t heard of me looked at me with confused frowns.
“Who the fuck is that guy?” Someone whispered to his friend.
“You fucking idiot! That’s the fucking Oni!” Someone yelled. Causing many to gasp and choke. The drunk regained instant clarity, the boisterous and loud went mute. Silence occupied the hall.
“You have sixty-seconds.” I said.
“Run!” Someone cried and out they raced, stampeding past me in their very expensive dresses and suits and perfumes, bumbling and through the door of the King’s Impresario. A restaurant to some, a brothel to others, a luxurious establishment located within the confines of Hightown.
With the last of them deserting the hall, only sweating guards in their dark glasses, black Armani suits with their guns drawn and pointed at me remained.
“You can run too.” I offered. Half rushed out the door, throwing their weapons aside, leaving the rest of their colleagues to face me. I waited, letting the air thicken with raw tension.
From the pinging elevator she arrived. Dressed in a green, body hugging leather suit, she led her crew of three women and a smiling man out to meet me.
“Why are you here?” She demands, speaking like someone accustomed to demanding things from others and having them obey.
Why is a lion in the Serengeti? Why do sharks roam bloody waters? Why do wolves stalk the forests? I am here to hunt.
I ignore the question, it is her fault for being ignorant enough to expect such an obvious answer from my lips.
She visibly fumes. A woman like her, someone with status from Hydra being ignored by a killer like me makes her seethe.
Good, anger makes them less likely to run.
I took quick deep breaths, enough to make me light headed. I inhaled their scents and pheromones, I released mine into the air. Blood would spill tonight.
Through an open mouth I released foggy breaths as though a fire raged beneath my chest. I pound against my chest till my skin reddened, oil to the flame.
Bam. Bam. Bam.
I continued with the deep breaths, grunting through it like a beast in heat. I pulled a knife from my belt and slashed against my palm repeatedly, letting the warm blood pool in my hold.
They watched in grim fascination. Curious as to my next move.
I inhaled its metallic scent and poured it over my face, rubbing it all over my features and hair, dying it red.
“RAGH!” I roared, driving myself into a berserker, bloodlust state. Tonight I feel alive, tonight I am beast. Tonight, I am my name. Tonight, I am the demon, tonight, I drive.
I rocket, bolting forward in a burst of speed that leaves them near stunned. The guards, the well trained ones, open fire, I am already past where they aim, their bullets simply tear through the carpets instead of my flesh. I reach them in a flash, my short blade crosses past their necks, heads drop, halfway attached to falling bodies. I snake through their numbers, stabbing, slashing, cutting, slicing, making short work of them. Their warm blood splatters against my skin, it is the appetizer.
The main course stands behind her elite guards. “C’mon!” I shout, this was barely getting me started.
I dash for the Viper. Two of her women approach; The dark skinned and muscular one is called Knockout, she possessed super strength and an ultra durable skin, she is dressed as an Amazonian gladiator. The Asian one is called the Snakewhip, she is skilled with using metal laced whips and costumed as a dominatrix in red.
Snakewhip lashes her cane at me eyes, a strike as vicious as the grin on her face, I roll beneath it and pounce, stabbing down at her head.
Knock intercepts the strike with the heavy metal dusters on her fists, the blade shatters, I flipped backwards with strike, landing with a crouch as the distance widens.
—TWhom!
I lean back and away from the energy bolt that misses my face by an inch.
“Heh, you’re in way over your head boy.” The man says, his left arm morphed into a fleshy cannon. He wasn’t in the files but I know him from the pages of a comic book. Bushwacker, mutant assassin with an organic arm cannon and a healing factor. He’s made this endeavor more expensive, that’s fine, I’m getting paid in blood.
I bank left, dodging a whip strike from Snakewhip that sends me right into Knockout’s path. Her arm is cocked backed, I know the trajectory it will take from the twitch in her shoulder and bicep. She is confident in taking me down, I am within her reach and do not have a weapon.
Her mistake. Her fist blurs for my face, I deflect it out with a forearm and enter her personal space. Her neck, chest, and eyes are open to strikes. Her ultra-durable skin makes two options unviable for a quick death.
“Got you!” She roars, intending on wrapping her other arm around my waist. She pays little heed to my swift jab, not until it nears her eyes. I can almost see the thought process in her head, my punch to blind her will result in nothing since she is durable enough to simple shake it away.
Her eyes widen when the punch isn’t just a punch.
Shilk!
Obsidian blades pierce through her brown eyes, with minimal resistance I bury their entire length past the orbitals and into her skull, flexing my fist to tear around into her brain. She goes down with a floor cracking bang. The Hand will know it’s me now.
While Snakewhip is distracted at the swift demise of her companion and the claws penetrating through my fist, I am already within arm’s length of her. She lashes her whip, again, for my face. I spy Bushwacker behind her aiming.
I open my mouth and bite down on the whip as it whistles forward, it tears through my lip and jaw, I swallow down the blood and twist, rotating like a dancer on the heels of my feet. Pulling the surprised dominatrix towards me and into—TWhom!—Bushwacker’s blast.
The bolt eats through her lower back, splashing her flesh, tissue, organs and bones away, her legs roll along the floor, discarded from her body. I hold up the upper body, casting a momentary glance at Snakewhip’s still cognizant eyes, she tries mouthing something I read as ‘I don’t want to die’ with the terror of an inevitable demise dawning upon her.
Bushwacker steps forward, taking aim and blowing my makeshift human shield to bits. I jump through the gore and right at him. He laughs and aims up, expecting me to be defenseless mid jump. I’m not. I’m a graceful bastard with the skills to prove it.
I bend and pull my hands inward, with elbows jutting out, I corkscrew past the blazing bolt, and—fuck that was disgustingly smooth—I land just by his side, he spends a momentary stare, perhaps in awe, perhaps. I duck beneath his wild swing and slash down on his ribs, feeling his bones part around my claws.
“Argh!” He goes, coughing up foamy blood. He might have a healing factor, but it wasn’t on a level like mine. I reach to sever his cannon arm. My claws cut through air as the cannon shortens, changing into a more compact and short form, slipping past my hold.
—BANG!
He fires dead center, I twist but not all the way through. My body isn’t elastic after all. The blast, instead of taking a bite through my center, eats through my side. My floating ribs and the organs beneath and behind it are gone.
“What—” I do not fall away like he expects me to, we are still within touching distance.
The pain does not pull me away from the battle, it makes me hungrier.
I spring up, palming his chin, the open palm upper cut turns fatal when the blade under my wrist pokes through at the strike’s crest, digging up his through windpipe and into his spine. As he goes limp with my palm affixed in place, I clasp his jaw and bash the back of his head against the ground, hard enough to hear a wet crunch, the back of his skull caves in, the tile beneath it shatters.
I push the rest of my claws through his neck and slice through the meat and bone, blood stains my—already stained—hands, cleaving his head off. I don’t know if he’ll heal from that but I’ll make sure he goes to hell first.
I stab repeatedly into the head, turning it into a disfigured mess of red flesh and pinkish tissue with threads of grey and white within. I then stomp on it, scattering the softened mush all over the damned place.
I breathe out and stare at the last two. A woman in pink with a bored smile on her face and the Viper, now chillingly calm.
“I will offer you more than whatever you’re being paid for this.” She makes her offer. Despite her calm exterior, I smell the fear on her it is kept at bay by the confidence and trust she has, maybe in herself, maybe in the one next to her.
Said one, Crystal, a minor telepath, looks into my eyes and does her witchcraft.
You are reading story Demon Driven at novel35.com
“Pain is something you must understand innately to weather it.” Says Ogun, standing over me and another boy my age. We are children strapped to chairs in a dark and dreary room. Unwashable blood stains are ingrained into the wood of our chairs, the smell of death and horror permeates through the chamber.
The boy next to me is already crying and hiccupping, he sobs uncontrollably as Ogun brings a serrated blade up to his ear. I don’t blink, I don’t winch, I don’t shout or cry, I simply watch as the serrated blade eats through his flesh, I listen to his screech and shriek, and then I listen to him beg.
That immediately disqualifies him. A ninja sends a length of metal through his stomach, the boy, regardless of the pain, finds peace in death.
It is my turn.
The still blood wet blade chews through the skin of my nose and into the cartilage, the pain makes my eyes water and my toes curl. I clench the seat I’m on and do everything in my power to offer not a meep. One and it’s the inferno for me again. Next comes the plier, I open my mouth, I hear the metal on my teeth. It sounds like scrapping a spoon against glass, this is just the start.
“Ahh!” Crystal screams, her hand is on my face, blood trails down her nose. Was the memory too traumatic for her? That was merely but one. She is however laughing triumphantly “Your soul is mine.”
She sends pink tendrils that bore past the material of my flesh reaches for my soul. For any other mortal man, these things would’ve broken their soul apart and fed on the remains. For me, with an immutable soul, it is merely a nuisance.
I jam my fist into her solar plexus, my claws slice through her stomach and extend out her lithe back.
She stares in shock, clutching my limb in place with both her hands as blood seeps down the sides of her mouth.
“How--!” I rammed my head down on her nose and slashed up, ripping her up from the stomach to the collar. She drops, bleeding profusely on the floor, her sliced intestines seeping through the long diagonal cuts.
The Viper’s fear is palpable in the air now, its soaking the atmosphere through her sweat.
“A blowjob.”
“Excuse me?” She’s backing away.
“A blowjob for your life.” She pauses, wondering if I’m being honest or toying with her.
“Fine but I will--”
“I’m kidding.” I snort, darting for her.
She twists a ring in her hands. A green glow rapidly envelops her body, starting from her feet, which immediately turn transparent. Before the glow reaches her head, my claw does. The top half of her skull drops where her body once stood, pieces of her brain are still stuck to my appendages.
This…this was anti-climactic. I expected more, I expected better, I wanted better.
“Fuck.” I was disappointed. I reach for the phone in my pocket and dial a number.
“Hello.”
“It’s done.”
“Are you certain?”
“They’re all dead.” The viper could come back as a cyborg though, so there’s that.
“…Okay, I’ll be there in a moment.” Said Amy. The gunshots and shouts in the background made it clear that she had her people clearing out the rest of the Viper’s territory.
“Yeah that sounds—”
BzzT!--Order delivered.
“—forget it, just meet me back at home when you’re done.” I cut the line to let her focus.
Clap! Clap! Clap!
“That really was a sight to behold.” He says, stepping through the doors. Smells rich and confident. “You’re even better than they say you are.” He claps again and steps up to me in his fitting black suit. He has a trained gait and an ease of movement that speaks to his experience and ego, this isn’t the first time he’s doing this.
“Name and business.” I state, simmering from the short battle.
“Professional, I love it.” He half laughs, if he’s bothered by my age he doesn’t show it, not when he’s just seen exactly what I’m capable of. I’m tempted to stab him, no, I will stab him if he’s going to spout shit. “I am Agent Orange and I operate on the behalf of a certain branch of the government.”
Oh, I know him now. “William Rawlins, CIA operative.” Might also be the guy who ordered/would soon order the hit on punisher’s family. I give his left eye a closer look and notice that it gives off a glassy glint, an implant certainly.
My statement wipes the jovial calm off his face. Which puts a smile on mine.
“Don’t bother asking how I know. Simply state your purpose and we can both get on with our day.”
“Very well, I and my higher ups would like to extend a contract to you. Seeing as you’ve just turned our main operative into…mush.” He gestures at Bushwacker’s corpse. So that’s why the guy was here.
“Here’s my email. Send the details and we can arrange a meeting.” I do hope they betray me after whatever mission I run for them, heck I might even get shipped off to the Weapon Plus program if they believe they can control me and use me as their version of Wolverine. I hope they do, I really pray they do. That’s free adamantium right there.
I’m out the building and gathered in the street are police cars, swat vans and even a tank. Excitement begins to slowly bubble up within me as I eye operatives armed to the teeth. I am prepared for the ensuing bloodshed, I grow hungry enough to drool for it. The vehicles separate, moving away to form a clear walkable path like I was Moses in the red sea.
I, I can’t even. Fuck. I walk out the path, moving past men in black suits who eagerly hand me regards and compliments from their various bosses.
At the end of the path is a woman in a golden, featureless metal mask. Madame Masque, assassin, crime lord, overall badass-psycho-bitch. She slides a gloved hand down her creaseless leather suit, reaching into a pocket somewhere on her dummy thick curves and slides me a card. “Viper was a valuable associate. Blood will be paid in blood.” She doesn’t say another word as she turns away. Why are the sexiest ones always the craziest? I had no idea if she was inviting me to work with her, fuck her, or try to kill her.
*.*.*.*
“Hold onto to your nuts.” Said the mercenary in red. He sheathed his twin katannas and pried the target’s picture from the hands of the seemingly reluctant ninja.
“This is the assignment the Hand has for you.”
“In other words it’s a handjob.” He laughed. “Oh c’mon you had to find that funny.” Says the mercenary, not to the ninjas, not to the jonin, but to “The guys watching. I think they get the point narrator.”
“This work must be discreet, Deadpool.”
“Discreet is my middle name senpai.”
Deez is my middle name. Still on the road, managed to whip this one up. Also updated 'Arachnids Don't Cry' the rewrite begins.
Ahh, caught the flu so yeah.
Aim like a butterfly, sting like alimony. Stay deadly.
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