Demon Crusher
I love the night. At night, the would-be victims of my prey don't have to see my face. To them I probably look worse than the demons. I fight back the self-pity as the preppy cheerleader at my feet screams incessantly, scooting away from the demon lying smoldering next to her. I smile to myself, thinking of how my dark coat must make me look like the floating eyes of a monster shrouded in the night. She stumbles to her feet and sprints like a world-class Olympic runner. I feel bad for the demon. I've never charred one this badly before. I shrug indifferently and walk through the park, into the thick trees and brush, and come to the small pond I used to love so much. In the intense moonlight, I can see my reflection pretty well. I use magic to amplify my sight and now I can see perfectly. I have no ears, nose, or mouth – thanks dad – and my eyes are completely white – no iris, no pupils. All of my skin in completely black with oddly glowing marks, symmetrically patterned all over my body. Dad called them "runes", whatever they are. He said they would help me "absorb the infinite energy of the universe".
Yea right.
Even though I don't have much to go by anymore, I know I have my mother's eyes. I remember them so well. I miss my mother. I don't register emotion nearly as well as I used to, but I know I miss her.
My little brother too. If only we hadn't gone to that crappy back alley carnival uncle Lester said was so great. I should find him and kill him, but he's family and don't have a lot of that nowadays. I remember it so well, I can close my eyes and I'm right back at the carnival.
So much screaming. It makes my ears (or where they used to be at least) hurt just thinking about it. We were walking around the filthy carnival looking at all the horrid sights and attractions. My little brother was screaming bloody murder the whole time, and to this day, though I always punch myself I still think that's funny on account of what happened.
All the monster attractions looked all too real… they smelled too real too. The sky grew dark grey and the rain pelted us harshly as soon as we arrived from the hour trip from home, as though the heavens were trying to warn us of the unspeakable evil that awaited. My mother took the screaming, crying Toby to the bathroom – he had soiled himself. From the moment Uncle Lester suggested the carnival, I knew it was a very bad idea. I have never been more right in my life. Over the loudspeakers, all the carnival visitors were called to the center tent, where we all waited patiently, curiously to see what awaited. My father – at my request – called my mother to tell her where we were. I was worried about her; We then took our seats and not a moment sooner than we sat down a huge monster, a mixture between a black bear and an angler ( those fish with the little lights hanging over there heads to attract prey) burst into the tent. It had the body of a giant bear, with unreasonably long, sharp teeth and glowing green eyes; it had menacing bony fins all over its body and reeked of decaying flesh and waste.
It let out an unnatural scream and sent the crowd into a terrified panic. Then in glides a figure that I will hunt until I die, that I will never be able to rip from the substance of my mind. Seven or eight feet tall, pale red skin, lumpy, with small slits oozing blood and giving the creature a dull sheen. Slender, with eight hands, six of which are disfigured, fingers fused together. No hair, completely red eyes with black dots in the center. Two holes above his thin grey lips, no nose. Where his heart should be are dozens of snakes writhing and snapping at each other. He has no legs, just two strips of flesh on his torso; maybe that's why he levitates above the ground.
"Welcome, one and all, to the carnival of carnage!" He booms, unnaturally loud.
Everyone stops and stares, still quaking with fear. The monster is still snapping and tugging at some invisible leash, held at bay by it's master.
"Your terror is delicious…," he purrs softly. Every word he utters is laden with sorrow, the saddest voice I've ever heard.
"But fear not, little morsels, by the end of this day, all your suffering will come to an end.
"Gorge," he whispers to the monster, "enjoy your meal."
And with that, the monster lets out a horrible screech of glee and runs rampant throughout the tent, ripping and shredding its poor victims to pieces with its hideous jaws.
Pure chaos.
People running this way and that, screaming madly, pools of blood and limbs lay everywhere.
My father grips my arm tightly and rushes with incredible speed out into the body part-strewn carnival and pouring rain. He dashes for the car, when an indescribably horrific sight stops us both; my mother being devoured by a panther-like monster with the head of a hawk, but the snout of a dog, and my brother's limp, lifeless body being tossed around playfully by three impish looking monsters screeching with excitement.
I cannot stop crying or vomiting, and I am battling the urge to faint; but my father doesn't let me, and rushes us around some smaller tents until we are in clear view of the car.
But standing in front of it is a monster with the body of a dog, women's hands for paws, and the head of a crocodile. It growls, snaps it's mouth open and closed, seeking to paralyze us with fear perhaps. My fathers grimaces, and with a wave of his hand the monster flies clear into the sky and out of view with a high-pitched yelp.
We quickly enter the car and I'm screaming for my mother and brother. My father is stroking the back of my head and my neck very gently, trying to console me, and miraculously it helps.
After that, my father changed. He would spend so much time in the basement that I would hardly ever see him. I was lonely, the house seemed scary, I never left, even for school, and every night I was plagued by the most terrible nightmares imaginable. That red, blood-oozing face I cannot forget. On my thirteenth birthday (which my father had forgotten), I went into the basement, which he forbade me from ever entering.
There were odd machines everywhere, many of which were connected to glowing stones and tablets. A large, man-sized tube filled with green liquid cast a glow over the entire laboratory. Books and papers scattered all over the floor and cords and wires ran all over the floor and ceiling. My father was sitting at his desk scribbling madly, muttering to himself loudly.
"Dad?" I say quietly
He whirls around in his chair, his face contorted with insanity.
"What?" he snaps. He looks as though he hasn't slept in weeks, and his face is contorted in a grimace.
He sees that it's only me and face transforms, softening completely.
"I told you not to come down here son," he says quietly.
"I know, it's just that… it's my birthday… and…" I stare miserably at the floor, feeling selfish and childish.
My father smiles gently, and beckons me to him.
Tears in my eyes, I walk over and he holds my face gently in his hands and looks into my eyes. Then studies them. His brow furrows. He looks more closely.
"Hold this," he says quickly, handing me a smooth, crystalline stone. It glows brightly when I touch it.
His face contorts into a crazed grin, "I can use you," he whispers.
From that day in, he began running extensive (and sometimes very painful) tests on me as he explained everything to me. He says he has always been interested in demons and the occult ever since one attacked him and ripped out his spleen. Ever since then he has been able to do amazing things, using magic. Until then I never would have imagined that magic was real, but I believed him completely. He didn't have to explain what magic was. I had seen enough movies and read enough books to understand the general gist of it.
My father told me he was an alchemist, someone who mixes magic with science; a very taboo, very outlawed practice. He was trying to find a way to create the ultimate magical being to destroy demons, but none of his "subjects" was strong enough. I remember now that my father would often have strange visitors come to the house, and I can't say I ever remember them leaving. I think that's what my parents would argue about all night some nights. They were his subjects. And they failed the experiments. On the forth month of testing, my father had to subdue hysteria as he asked me if I wanted to continue.
"Your body will be transformed, but you will be more powerful than you can imagine," he said quietly. "Let me give you the strength to avenge your mother and brother."
And that did it.
I agreed with no hesitation. And the experimentation began. I was unconscious for most if the five years that it took, but when I was awake I awoke the excruciating pain. Images of my fathers face floated over me. Strange glows. Odd devices. Weird medical tools. Finally, I woke up in the large tube of green liquid. My body was so much larger, muscular. When my eyes cleared and I could see, I looked upon my self and screamed silently – all my skin was completely black, with grey spots here and there. I was too numb to thrash about. Cords and wires were painfully inserted into my body. I looked around and saw my father grinning at me from the outside the tube. He pressed a button and drained the liquid from the tube, and I felt my strength quickly return.
The tube opened, and when my father spoke as he handed me a medical gown, I couldn't hear what he was saying – I could feel it. The same way for my sense of smell. That's when I noticed I didn't have a mouth! No lips, just a wall of flesh where it should be. I tried to scream, and as I did so, my father held his ears and grimaced. I speak with my mind, I concluded, still horrified. My father nodded, then stood up straight and examined me more fully. He looked at me as though I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life. For the next few weeks, my father taught me many spells and magical techniques. I mastered them as quickly as if I had known them my whole life, and simply needed to be reminded of them. My father was right – I am powerful; extremely powerful.
The only thing I had of my former self was my memories. I couldn't remember my name, what I used to look like, my favorite color, food, nothing! I was home schooled my whole life because my family's house was remote, far away from the city and other people – both my parents liked being alone, yet they really loved one another. I miss her and my brother Toby. His laugh could make me happy no matter how bad I was feeling.
My father told me removing my identity was necessary for me to meet my full potential; worldly self-attachment was a hindrance to my magical abilities. He said he still doesn't know why I was born so strong. He says maybe its just a coincidence – or a blessing.
I didn't mind my new self, my new life. I actually came to like myself, my power. And I didn't resent my father, in fact I still loved him very much. We shared such a hatred for demons, and I was simply itching to destroy them all.
He told me that I didn't need three of my five primary senses – I only had sight and touch – because I could use magic to do those things much better. He said that I don't need to eat because I feed on the infinite energies of the universe. I still like to sleep though, even though I don't really need to.
I was sitting at the table with my father as he ate his breakfast, lamenting over the fact that I would never taste my one true love again – Cocoa Puffs. I sensed something. Someone was coming, humans. A lot of them. I told my father and he immediately jumped up and told me get as far away from here as possible. He looked scared and tried to give a farewell-bidding smile, but still I dared not disobey. I reached for a hug, but he barked at me coldly to get away now. My body is unable to cry thanks to my transformation, so I just tore away from the spot I was standing in and magically phased through the wall of the kitchen leading to the back yard. I jumped into the air and took flight, wearing nothing but my favorite black jeans and my father's trench coat I snatched from the coat rack as I left the house. I looked back at my house, saw that it was surrounded my SWAT Team-looking men, and an incredibly slender woman with thin lips and dark hair was entering my house. She wore a ring with a gold "L" encrusted on it. I wanted to turn back, to save my father, but I remembered his look, and knew that he wanted to protect me. With a heavy heart, I turned and fled into the forest, where I have living since that day, three months ago. Back in the present, I turn away from the pond into which I stared and march from the park back into my forest, coat billowing in the midnight breeze, determined to save my father, avenge my mother and brother, and annihilate any miserable monster that finds its sorry ass into my world. I have named myself Requiem, and I am the Demon Crusher.