Splak.net

Kevin Lannan

In His Image
(Part Two of Three)

I struggle to raise my head. But I must. It is my duty as the only witness to the last moments of humanity. My body pulses with new power, but this power is too much for me. I hurt everywhere, and the pain is overwhelming. Is this what they all felt like when they first turned? It’s no wonder they all went insane…

A great many of the Shadow-Gods stream across the sky, occasionally swooping down to kidnap, torture, or kill their next victim. Mostly for their own amusement. Forcing my morphing body down the street, I see a man crying in despair. He knows he has little time left. He looks about the sky frantically, watching for his potential Reaper. He finally looks over at my twisting, demented body. I can see his eyes open even wider in fear, and he bolts into the nearest wrecked building.

The building, like all of the other ones in this city, is broken and gray. Extreme damage has been done both inside and out. There is no roof to be spoken of. It’s interior has been thoroughly painted and stained with the blood of innocents. The initial assault on the city left it, more or less, raped. Turned inside out and back again. What is left is survivors, who serve as toys now, and wreckages, which now are suitable for hunting grounds.

I follow the man, unsure as to why. Obviously he doesn’t know that I won’t hurt him, so he has every right to fear me. After all, I am being turned. It’s quite evident. Or at least, I can imagine it’s evident. I now find that my body does not touch the ground. I am flying? Irrelevant. I’m merely coming into full corruption even more now. I float up the stairs, the direction in which I assume the man has gone. I begin to wander the hallways, looking for the man, room by room. There are no doors to open, and many walls are not full height. As I race down the hallways(floating seems to be much faster than walking or running, for some reason), I see another Shadow race along with me in the next hallway. It’s staring at me.

A stammering voice comes from above, and through a whole in the partial ceiling I see the frightened face of the man staring at me and the other Ghost. He thinks two gods wish to kill him? I look to the other, which hangs suspended in mid-air now. Then, in a desperate attempt to save the man(how many more acts of humanity will I get to perform before full corruption?), I try flying upwards to block the other minor-god off from the man. However, this entity is much faster than I, and flies straight at me, grabs my face in it’s newly conjured, oversized hand and slams me into the nearest wall.

Strangely, this does not hurt. If I were still human, this would be likely to kill me. Right now, it’s only inconvenient. It leaves me engrained in the wall, flies and twists upwards to the next floor, hunting the man. Hunting it’s newest attraction, it’s latest toy, it’s property. It sees me as trying to take it for myself, believing itself to have better claim to it because it is truly a god, and I am not. Yet.

I fly upwards, racing along each hallway, looking for the man before the Shadow-Monster gets him first. Of course, continuing to remain here might well get me killed, too, if it is still possible for me to be killed. Still, I must save this man if it is at all possible. I find him, out of breath, weeping in the hallway. Sweat fell from every pore in his body, the fear causing him to relieve himself. His sobs shook his entire body, and it seemed as if he had no hope. No hope? How can humanity be reduced to such? Was not hope the single most important thing to us for ages?

He sees me again and seems almost resigned. Then begins to run. I race behind him, faster than he is. He looks back as he gets to the end of the hallway, seeing me directly behind him, and despair overwhelms him. How could I do such a thing to him? He stands, back pressed against the wall. His mouth quivers, open, but he does not speak. Fear has taken away his ability to think logically. He smells awful, a collection of blood, sweat, and other filth hitting my senses.

He seems about to slide down the wall, resigned to his fate, but then his body stops. A new look flashes across his face. Pain. Overwhelming pain. He tries to scream out, but he cannot. He and I both look down. Horror fills his face. Mine would be the same, but I no longer own something that could qualify as a “face.”

A long, silvery gray spike pierces through his chest. It reaches almost all the way to me. Blood dribbles down from his chest. I reach out to him, hoping to save him, maybe pull him from spike. Instead, the spike instantly expands, growing larger in diameter, opening up a wider hole in his chest.

The spike recedes back, disappearing. The massive open space in his torso gushes blood, a veritable waterfall. His body stands, but he is no longer home. His arms hang limp like a puppet’s. The flow of blood decreases, and now I can see directly through his torso, an occasional stream of blood interrupting the view. I look into his open eyes, but they no longer take anything in. They are dead, like him. His body begins to lean, slowly, and then falls to the floor.

A shadow figure crosses the open space above me, where the ceiling should be. I look back and realize that there is a hole in the wall, right through to the outside of the building wall. It pierced the entire wall! Just to kill one man! Cruel, wicked creatures, these… And I am to become one of them!

I solemnly fly away from the building, traveling across the rooftops, looking for more survivors. It is my job to bear witness to their deaths, and maybe extend a few lives if possible. Were it in my power to kill a few of these Godlings, I would. However, I have been shown that I am far more feeble than my “elders.”

Cresting the edge of a rooftop, I see a street littered with cars that have long since ceased function or have blown up at one time or another. Down the street a boy, no more than a teenager, runs frantically from a large black mass that swarms behind him. A pack of Shadow Gods? Seems to be. The boy makes it half way down the street, then gives up. He throws himself into the nearest car that still has all of its windows and slams the door. Inside, silently, he weeps.

The pack of Black Hunters engulf the car. The car rocks violently, swaying underneath the frenzy of black masses. Inside, the boy screams. The pack could break the windows with no effort, but instead they choose to instill yet more fear into him. They choose to terrorize him. To kill him with fear, and not with their wicked bodies. They’re doing a good job at it. Individual black shapes can be seen flitting in and out of the black mass, sometimes yellow or red eyes gleaming as they pass. Many of them nearest the windows choose to show sets of razor sharp teeth, all misshapen and jagged.

A large explosion goes off, hitting the ground near the car. It is large enough to displace many of the Black Spirits, all of them angry at the interruption. A barrage of bullets fly through the air, and some of the minor gods are forced to dodge out of the way. Others merely absorb them, dropping them back to the ground. A rain like pattern of sound reaches my ear, the sounds of water replaced by sounds of metal. As if someone had tipped over a jar full of coins.

Out of the nearest alleyway comes a large, heavily muscled man. His face is lit up with a grin, and he is toting a large rifle. On the bottom of the barrel is a tube, now smoking from having expelled it’s only grenade. The man ejects the spent clip of ammo and slams another one in. I can make out a large shadow figure behind him, but just barely. The grinning savior takes a few more steps from the alleyway and challenges the minor gods flying in the air above the car.

“Ah! Come on, you buggers! You’ll meet your end now! Here! Face me!” His eyes are tinged with red. But not bloodshot.

Then it hits me. Stupid! He’s possessed! The Shadow-Being behind him is one of the Insane the delves into the spectrum of confidence! An unimaginable amount of confidence is being projected onto this human-being…Oh, no…I referred to him as human-being…My mind is slowly going? I hope not. I need more time.

I dart towards the man, attempting to…What? I’m not sure. Then a hammer hits me. Literally, an over-sized hammer hits me and sends me crashing into the building from which I had left. It came from the large shadow behind the man. Somehow, strangely, a portion of shadow extended from its chest, changing color along the way, shaping into a hammer. It knocked the would-be breath out of me. I’m not sure if you would describe it as breath, but I couldn’t move anymore.

Red eyes dared me to move again. The hammer retracted. The scene unfolded once again. The swarm of Corrupt Souls closed in on the mad gunman, who refused to give up, shooting rounds until his last. The large figure that once possessed him merely jetted into the sky after his death. That human life, even though he possessed it, meant nothing to it. It was but a puppet, one of many. Letting it be killed, eaten and absorbed by other power hungry entities meant nothing.

By now the teenager had fled from the car. Poor boy, he was only running to a worse fate. And, as if to prove my point, an angel descended from the sky. The Blackness in the sky parted, distant furious screams of the Black Masses could be heard, and a light shone down upon the street before him.

“Oh no,” I thought to myself. “He’s going to fall for it! Run for it, you fool! There are better ways to die!” But he walked towards her, stupefied, and so she hung before him, the picture of grace. Unable to move, I screamed mentally. I no longer have the luxury of voice, nor the human comfort of owning a mouth. My face is but a mask, now. A black, shadowy mask.

The angel embraced him and whispered sweet promises into his ear. He wept for the sheer joy of it, and then was ripped apart, piece by piece. First she took his manhood, his screams tearing through the air. Then she ripped off his limbs, making them fly before him. Alive for a few more moments, his screams grew ever louder. Then what was left was eviscerated into nothingness. Only blood remained.

The poor fool succumbed to Lust, induced by a God of Seduction. Already, I’ve had enough. It’s too much for my remaining humanity, but still I must go on…Still I must go on?…

Wandering the streets I see more scenes such as these, each one unique, almost as if they were set up with great care. If the Cruelties were capable of such a thing. Care. What care was left in this mad, mad world? And then I saw. A woman, cradling back and forth underneath some wreckage. A bird stood in her cupped hands, and she smiled upon it with tears in her eyes. The scene set me to weeping inside, and I floated in the air across from her for hours, staring. It was so beautiful. She was so beautiful. She had hope. And she was happy.

With my new powers, I created a picture of the scene. I labeled it THE LAST HOPE. The picture was made from crystal, which I conjured(which I found strangely easy, as if my wishes were granted with ease), and was colored by small lights(again, willed into being, like magic) that I placed inside. The crystal reflected the light in all the right places, and so the scene was painted. It is on the back of this crystal tablet that I engrave my story. And so now, I must fly upwards, braving the wrath of the Writhing Black above me in the sky, and leave to the stars this Legacy. I must do so before I lose the last remaining traces of my humanity. And so, the last stage of my mission begins…

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-Sweet, another installment

-No, this piece is not dissing/denying/denouncing/criticizing anyone's faith/god(s)

-This is a horror piece, so just keep that in mind. That is the GENRE I wrote it in.

-Honest, detailed feedback is appreciated.

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.:Splak|AWOL Soldier
Red tank! Rubber Sled! What the box am I doing? I am a Walrus, thru && thru, gimme my bukket oar I'll eat u.