His breath came in heave pants, and his chest shook with a racking coughs as he tried to draw breath. His aching legs called for rest, but his brain screamed for action for to rest was to die. They had finally come and he was damned if he was going to return to the Pit. So he ran pushing his barrowed body to its limits, which after years of alcoholism and over eating weren’t much. An yet, he continued to run bones popping and ligaments tearing.
Their numbers were numerous, for at every turned their seemed to be more coming. Right when it was too late he realized that they had been herding him like cattle straight to a dead end. He thought about scaling the wall, but there was no doubt in his mind that there would be more up their waiting for him. So he turned to fight determined to kill as many as he could before they took him down and exercised him. The clatter of foot falls echoed of the walls multiplying into hundreds, and the mist twisted shadows into towering warriors stalking forward to claim his head.
Then from the dark mist stepped a lone figure garbed in all black. His hair was true black an fell to he shoulders in a wavy mass, his eyes were a deep midnight blue endless in their depths of sorrow, and his skin was the color of fresh parchment an appeared baby smooth. He looked to be in his early twenties or late teens, and had the lean muscular build of a runner. “I have come for you Alexander Quarry, rapist and pedophile,” he said his voice ebbing and flowing in a sing song manner, “I have come to drag you back to the pit.” His trench coat and hair flowed about him in a dramatic manner as the wind began to pick up.
Aggravated Quarry looked about him waiting for the rest of the pursuit party to appear. When no one came out he turned his eyes to the young man before him sizing him up, cruel thoughts running through his mind. “Surely you are not the only one,” Quarry stated more than asked. “It would only take one of me to exercise a thousand of you vermin,” he replied his voice devoid of emotion, yet still flowing in its sing song lit. Quarry rumbled with laughter which died as quickly as it began as the skin of his vessel began to tear and rip as his essence within began to take on a corporeal form. “I’m going to enjoy shredding your flesh as I rape you boy,” as he spoke fangs ripped through his gums, and his skull began to rip.
As Quarry began to change the young warrior also began a change of his own. His eyes became pure pools of midnight, from his upper jaw descended a pair of slender an delicate fangs, and his nails became claws. His clothes and hair fluttered about him, propelled by an inner force. From a special sheath at his back he drew forth his weapon. Snapping forth the blade and twisting the shaft it became a scythe. It whistled through the air the blade a blur of quick silver as he warmed his muscles. Ending his dazzling dance with the shaft rested across his shoulder blades and his arms thrown haphazardly over it he turned his body side ways and faced the beast that had once been Quarry’s vessel. He was a twisted monstrosity with a barrel shaped chest, two sets of arms the size of tree trunks with way to many fingers, and a wide lip less face stuffed full of jagged fangs.
After sizing up his new opponent he smiled, a cocky lopsided grin, and said, “You can have my body if you wish, but only if you can lay a hand on me and keep it,” his laugh was cocky and insolent. Letting out an outraged roar Quarry rushed forward arms reaching intent on ripping him apart. There was a blur of light, and then the night was rendered with blaring howls of pain and raining droplets of blood. “My arms,” Quarry screamed waving his stumps, “you took my arms.” His screams were cut off by the cold touch of steel against his throat. Opening and rolling his eyes back he glared at the young warrior. “What is this,” he wheezed, “your not exposed to kill me, just send me back,” his voice was now filled with fear and doubt. Smiling, “I have a tendency to bend the rules a bit,” his laugh was filled with cruel mockery. “Te, te, tell me who are you,” he stuttered, “who are you who claims my life.” Laughing he said, “You will die not knowing,” then claimed his head in one swift stroke, blood spattering all over him.
His enemy dead he once again took on a stoic appearance and turned to face his guest. From the shadows he melted hands in his pockets a frown creasing his face. “It seems you did it again Arthmael,” he said rubbing his head as he looked down at the quickly decaying corpse. “Armel,” the young warrior replied walking away. “What,” the man asked puzzled. “My name is Armel,” he replied never stopping in his retreat. “Oh,” understanding crossing his face, “whatever, be it Celtic or French your in a lot of shit.” As he said this he looked about Cleary frustrated and unsure what to do. Sighing he said, “Get your ass to Manhattan you have another job before you go back to Headquarters I’ll tell you about it there, and clean your self p while you’re at it.” Armel kept walking not acknowledging if he’d heard or not until he was swallowed by the darkness. “This is some how going to fall on my head,” he said looking around once more before he to disappeared.