Eyes of Revenge

Orbonne’s fist was wet from his enemy’s blood. Barga laid on the ground, laughing maniacally. Orbonne had been chasing him across the continent, from town to town, city to city. The man who killed her parents. He was a thief, a brigand, dirty and ragged. He stunk of sour sweat and shit, and now, blood. She pounded her fist across his chin again and again, half his teeth knocked out, his smile crooked all the same. The thunder rolled outside, cracks of lightning lighting the room intermittently. The raindrops fell harder than a battering rams upon the ground

“I’m not done…” he coughed, throwing her off him. Barga scrambled to his feet, arms long like spider limbs, skin and bone. His hair was dark brown and stringy, covered in oil.

“Dammit you bastard, why won’t you die?” Orbonne yelled.

“I don’t die. That’s the fun part.” Barga laughed. He clenched his fists, eyes bulged out, almost as if to pop.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. His bruises faded, lacerations healed, the blood seeped into the wounds and closed. He chuckled more and more. “No, that’s impossible!”

“Impossible? No. Just unbelievable.” he said. Barga’s voice slithered like a snake, his breath smelled of rotten fruit and excrement.

“You bastard. You won’t win, you can’t, I won’t let you!”

“Then lets go, little girl. Lets see what you’re made of, lets see if you’ll die like your parents, like a pathetic coward, too afraid to finish the job.”

Orbonne clenched her fists and bared her teeth. I can’t give up, i can’t. He may be able to heal, but he can’t go without breath, she thought. She dashed in, striking him twice under the ribs as he laughed. Barga shot his elbows down, knocking her wrists. He brought his fists down on either side, boxing her ears. She staggered back, growling in pain. Her ears rang, vision fogged as she saw him charge. Barga threw her to the ground, striking her in the nose twice causing it to bleed profusely. She caught his hands, he forced it into her face slowly, and her instincts triggered. She quickly opened her mouth, biting down with her jaw with all her might, cutting through his fingerflesh. He roared and screamed, rolling off her, onto his back. she seized the opportunity, shooting onto him. “Heal this!” she yelled. Orbonne threw her hands into his eyes, ripping them out of the socket. she jumped off quickly, throwing them out the broken window of the shack.

“What the hell, you bitch!” Barga rolled on the ground, writhing in pain. He clenched his fists rightly, veins popping from his forehead. Nothing happened, no matter how hard he tried, how intensely he breathed, his eyes did not return. Now to finish it. Orbonne jumped on him once more, gripping his neck with all her might. He swung for her face, pummeling her with strikes again and again. Her face stung and consciousness weakened, but she did not give up.

His arms tired, his breathing slowed until he could not hit her anymore. His arms lay flat on the ground as his lungs gave out. She continued for another half-minute it seemed, until she was sure. Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked, illuminating Barga’s dead body as she finished the job.

“Die, you son of a bitch,” she breathed heavily, seeing her task done. She had gotten her revenge. Orbonne looked down to her hands, covered in his blood. Did I really do the right thing? She looked out to the pouring rain for guidance. As his body laid lifeless, she knew.

You’re god damn right.

Colourful Nightmare

Joe entered the building he saw the freak of a criminal enter. There was no back up within ten miles, and this was the closest he had come to the colour killer, ever. A fright of a man, if one could call him that. Dressed with pants with stripes of all colours, several layers on his torso in neon green, pink, red, blue, yellow and all others. He wore a big red cover on his nose, and dyed the ring of hair around his white-painted bald head red. He was a clown. A living nightmare of many, and somehow was almost impossible to find. Joe Mandana found him in the act, running into this seemingly abandoned warehouse downtown in the middle of the night.

He entered to find something he did not expect. The door slammed violently behind him, and he heard nothing but eerie carnival music, with old-fashioned tones and bells. He came to a brightly coloured red-and-yellow room, with five open doors, numbered one to five in big rounded blue lettering, and a final closed door with a star around it, door closed.

Ha, ha, ha…

He heard the delighted cackle of the colour killer. A laugh he had heard at every crime scene played over and over, a laugh he feared. The light flickered overhead, blacking out in random intervals. His skin crawled, goosebumps all over. He looked behind him time and time again expecting the killer to be there with his signature weapon, a curved jagged knife, and a wide yellowed smile that could scare any child, adolescent, or adult into tears.

Pick a door...any door...complete them all to win! ha, ha, ha…

Joe had to press on. He chose 2, his favourite number.

Your favourite, Joe! I knew it was your favourite! Ha, ha, ha…

His legs shook, his hands trembled with his gun barely ready. He came to a bright green hall, covered in blood. He walked through, lights flashing on and off. His shoes squished on the crimson flow as he sauntered, come to a target range.

Guns, Joe! Shooting! Your favourite! Ha, ha, ha…

The killer’s wretched voice rang out, and a track began to run left to right, he expected targets to appear. They did, but not normal targets...heads. Painted with a bullseye between the eyes. He could not fail, they’re already dead, they’re already dead, he thought. He shot true, his hands steadied and fired bullets, one round per head, right on the target’s centre.

Great job, Joe! I’m so proud! Only four left! Ha, ha, ha…

Joe quickly ran from the range, almost slipping on the blood on his way back. This time, he chose number four.

Four? I don’t like the number four. But it’s important before getting to five! Ha, ha, ha…

Another hallway, ran the same length, this time covered in shit. The smell was absolutely putrid, he almost threw his stomach contents all over the hall. He had to press on. In the next room, he found a massive body, a man of five hundred pounds, with a puncture in his belly. A ticking sound came from beside it, a large black box, with a keyhole and timer marked ‘1:00’, started counting down immediately. 59...58...57.

Search for the key, Joe! Time is of the essence! Ha, ha, ha…

Joe stuck his hand into the man’s bloody torso, wringing his hand around rapidly as the timer counted down. He stuck his other hand in, searching for something solid. He searched high and low, he was up to his shoulder when he finally found a key in the man’s throat, Joe should have started with the mouth. He ripped the key out, guts all over his arms. He hated this game. He knew he had to play it, or it was all over. Before the timer hit 0, he shoved the key in and turned it, stopping the bomb. Joe whipped his arms around in a panic, trying to get the flesh off his skin. He lurched forward, puking all over the dead man’s leg. Joe turned and ran to his next objective.

The flashing lights got on his nerves, he roared angrily before turning to number 1.

We’re number one! We’re number one! Ha, ha, ha!

The blood-curdling laugh surged through his mind and felt poisoned by the thought as carnival music played over and over. The next hall was blank. Nothing there at all. The room was a simple task, hitting the pressure plate with a hammer, ring the bell. Joe grabbed the hammer with his big arms, swung down with all his might. Before it arrived, a man’s head rose from the ground, and a scream followed. The scream was silenced by the hammer’s impact, and blood sprayed from the head. It was his partner...Robert. No, what have I done? “Damn you, you bastard!” He dropped to his knees. holding the pieces of skull in his bloody hands. Adrenaline filled his veins, he knew he had to press on. He would mourn for his friend after his mission was over.

Hahaha! That was great! This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time, Joe! Ha, ha, ha…

He went for the number three. He ran through the hall, paying little attention to the surroundings. In the room, he found a stack of papers beside a lock.

Better find the combo, joe! You don’t unlock the code, everyone in room five dies! Ha, ha, ha…

He searched and searched, it was his documents, on the colour killer. He found a circled number, 15. There were ‘ha’s listed all over the place, over undetermined evidence, misread fingerprints, mistaken suspects. He was taunting Joe. The evil laugh echoed, over and over through the halls, through Joe’s very soul. Joe found another, 35. He continued to check behind him, fearing the killer would slice his throat at any time. Eviscerate, disembowel, as bad as his previous victims. The worst part was, the bastard was having fun. The final was circled, 23. Joe entered the combo, and the chest opened. It was a dart gun. What, what is this? Joe picked it up, running to the final room. It was splayed with blood, and five people sat at the end of the room, behind glass.

His wife, his sister, his daughter, his brother, his father. They were tied to chairs, each with a target on the glass in front of them. Joe took out his real gun, firing it at the top of the glass. No effect, it was bulletproof.

Then he came. He was there. The vile, rotten smile, the bulging green eyes, the colourful pants, the bright vest, jacket, and shirt.

“Hahaha! Hello, Joe!” He smiled widely. There were tears in all eyes watching him, except his. The killer had an insane happiness to them. “Now for the final game before we talk! Pick one, only one, and shoot their target with the dart! That one better be your favourite, oh yes! That’s an important point! Don’t shoot it at your least favourite, pick only one, Joe! You only have one dart!”

“Let my family go, you sick bastard!” Joe yelled.

“Now now, my good man! Have a little fun, shoot one, or you’ll cause more pain than you need!” He said with a gleeful jig to go with the carnival music playing.

Joe raised the dart gun, jittering wildly. Who do I choose? I have to...my daughter, I have to choose her, Joe thought. He aimed it at his daughter, shooting her target. He cried for all of them, his family, his friends.

“Oh my, the expected choice! But the right one, Joe! Don’t you worry, I’m giving her a tranquilizer!” The insane clown injected Joe’s daughter’s neck, and she fell asleep. “I hope you’ve enjoyed this event! This one is my favourite!” He smiled, pulling out a jagged, curved knife. He went, one by one, slitting the throat of each, their muffled screams called from beyond the glass accompanied by splattering of blood from their necks.

Joe bashed on the glass as hard as he could, shot his gun, nothing. He was helpless as his family died.

“Hehehe! Joe, better get to the final door, will you get your revenge? Will I have a bit of fun? Only time will tell!” The colourful, sick clown danced a jig as he walked off the stage through a door. Joe bared his teeth, clenching his fists harder than ever before. He slowly backed off, I will avenge you, he said to them, running toward the star door, now open. The light flickered inside, every part of him shook as the laugh got louder and louder.

Ha, ha, ha...Ha, ha, ha!

The clown’s laugh was maniacal and horrid, Joe held his gun out, analyzing every nook and cranny. He entered a final room with eight sides, eight doors. No, not again.

Where am I, Joe? Which door will I come from, which one of us will win? Stay tuned!

The clowns voice faded, the music faded. Joe heard nothing except the rapid beat of his heart and quickened breaths. He spun around, time and time again, gun pointed at each door, whichever he could see. He wouldn’t let the damned killer sneak up on him now.

A slick rush of pain shot across his throat, his torso began to feel wet as the stench of blood filled his nostrils. He felt weak, powerless.

“Ha, ha, ha...looks like I win again, Joe...have a nice sleep!” The clowns laugh came from beside his ear, growing in volume and insanity as Joe fell to the ground.

Ha, ha, ha...Ha, ha, ha! HA, HA, HA!

A New Reign

I am Kriktullus, the overlord of this world we have found. For long in the outlands we had lived, a wasteland of titanic beasts, monsters with feathers, fur and scales alike. They foolishly live in the lands beyond this place our people have found, happily crawling in the dirt, in the cold. I bring my people to a new age, a new territory which my offspring and I will encapsulate the titans in the webs of demise.

The titans, the massive fleshy-bodied vagrants who claim the territory for their own will have it no longer. They sit for eternities, gorging and wasting away while we plot our hostile takeover, expanding our empire within their walls. We lost many men in the past, but in our scouting missions we have learned they writhe in fear when they see our bodies. They speak obscenities at us, are disgusted by us. We are the future, we are the superior race. We create massive networks of steel within minutes, while they make nothing. Since the colossal fortress was formed, these titans have done nothing, built nothing.

Soon. Soon we will strike, wrapping their weak bodies in our steely threads. My sons, daughters and all others will move in unison, spreading out from the steely ducts, drains and vents at once, to become the rulers of this land, I will rule this fortress and claim it for our people. These four-limbed weak species know nothing of superiority, of success, of evolution.

We are the evolution. Eight-limbed, steel-creating gods who stream down from all angles, replicate by the thousands, and fight to the last to claim what is rightfully ours. We have lived in this fortress since the beginning, but our time is now. The titans shall fall. The spiders will reign.

We strike tomorrow.