I'm out for blood on this vampiric desire,

I'm a phantom mercenary,

Death for hire.

 

The wind whispers warnings through the humble cabin's open window. The warnings how ever go unheeded as the occupant continues to settle in for a nights rest.

A horse neighs in contempt as the rider delivers a swift kick to it's bonny ribs. Shouting out foreign commands, the steed's eyes flick to a demonic onyx as it picks up speed. The figure shroud in a flowing black cloak wobbles to and fro with the force of the uneven terrain.

 

 

“Who dares disturb me on this stormy night?” The irritated man bellows out through the heavy wooden door.

“Tis Death here, I've come to deliver an urgent message.” The figure responses tiredly, while straightening out his attire.

“It can wait 'til sunrise.” The man calls back dismissively.

 

“How many times can a righteous man trip before he falls?” A nasally voice slithers out of the churches ruins. Its sulfuric undertones stinging the side of the young priest's face, as he hastily turns away and quickens his steps down the path.

The wind dies down the further away he is from the scorched remains of what was once a flourishing house of worship. He sighs to himself as the bitter decline flashes before his mind's eye. News paper articles and rumor after rumor of satanic influences and the usual child abuse scandals. It was all too much, too persistent for the patrons to endure and people eventually faded away. He couldn't recall the last time all the pews had been full...

 

~*~

“Hey, have you heard anymore on the case?” The blonde youth asked his friend. They were seated just beyond the school ground's reach passing a cigarette between each other.

 

“Nope. Police still think they're hunting some protesters or something. I guess they're pinning the suspicion on a radical group south of us.” The more sinister of the two replied, a smirk maiming his sharp features.

 

“Well that's good. Ain't it?”

 

“Indeed it is Bentley. Indeed it is.”

 

~*~

 

“I'm telling you that we need to be prepared!” The elder man bellows, slamming the books that were once in his hand on the table, causing pens to fall and scatter across the floor.

 

His counterpart stares at him bewildered by either the sudden outrage or opposing beliefs. “I think that we need to take a step back and reevaluate the situation.” He attempts to reason with the infuriated man in vain.

 

“This isn't something to procrastinate about to put on the back burner or hide in the closet. This is warfare, Marcus.” He pauses, his chest heaving and face stained crimson. The veins in his neck bulge out as his slender fingers tremble. “This is biblical warfare.”

 

“I call in the reinforcements tomorrow.” Marcus sighs in defeat and quickly leaves the room. 

     Out of the seemingly levitating debris a hazy silhouette effortlessly climbs atop a fire mangled sedan. It stands with a presence of authority, inhumane blue eyes scanning the epicenter. A shadow at the end of the time warped tunnel. It shifts, almost knowingly- mockingly- and blocks out the remaining afterglow. 'You're not going to die today.' Its whole being appears to shout, above the screaming and the moaning of quaking buildings. It fills, its onlookers with a sense of relief, for this is their savior. All except for one, peering out from beneath the undercarriage of a tipped grey hound bus.

     This one, almost casualty of a spontaneous nuclear blast, spectator inhales a final breath. Heavy with the weight of burning fuel, flesh and radiation, he stumbles over wreckage and death. Running nearly blind, save for the peripheral of his right eye, into the great unknown. Into the aftermath. 

~Unfinished, unedited, hardly thought out~ Just killing time in Math.