Mars glowed brightly in the sky ,its sheen the colour of freshly spilt blood chilling the hearts of those who happened to see it.
Far away in a bar, the rowdy crowd dispersed . Only four remained, our trusty soon-to-be "conspirators". Admittedly the bar had closed ,but the barman wasn't in a hurry to have his pulverized innards ladled into a body bag the next morning .As a result, he could only glare at the offending beings and mutter something suspiciously like, "Kids these days...".
But lets not stray too far into the content of the ramblings of a barman...
The four "conspirators"(here I stretch the word to its uttermost limits)were...not exactly plotting .There were no hushed voices, maps, dark rooms, or the like .Instead, cheap flimsy beer poured into their gullets low-quality alcohol seeped into their blood, and tongues wagged as if a dogs tail .Obscenities poured out of their mouths as if water from the Niagara Falls, each one rapidly followed by "America", or "American" or anything remotely related to the USA . At one point ,"liquorices socks" were part of an epithet .But that's beside the point.
"I fucking hate Americans!",declared Wilfred, Self-proclaimed Future Emperor of America, Future King of the Seven Continents, Future Monarch of Earth, Future Owner of the Solar System, Future God-King of the Milky Way, Future Lord of the Galactic Empire, Future Universal Overlord, Future So-called Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse, Future So-called Destroyer of the Worlds, Future God, currently Bane of the Random Pub .He was a clinically obese man with five wobbly chins. A ragged brown moustache sits on top of thick, brown salami-ish lips which were further bloated by the effects of alcohol .He had watery blue eyes, and brown greasy, patchy, lice coated hair covered a pink, dandruff filled scalp which was usually covered in a curious mixture of grease and sweat.
"Seconded", growled a deep gravelly voice .Towering over the rest of them was Judd, commonly known as the " The Dreadnaught". He was indeed a sight to behold .Watermelon-sized(literally) muscles covered every inch of his body .His eyes, a brilliant orange flecked with gold, burned with a bestial urge to kill. With his primal, burning, rage filled eyes, bulging, ever rippling muscles, and tattooed scalp, The Dreadnaught struck fear into all the way a tiger would do to a helpless fall of lambs.
"Well said", hissed Vlad .His skin was paper white, as if a creature of darkness .Long jet black hair hung into his skull-like face .He possessed no facial hair, and was clean shaven .His mouth was constantly in a slightly feral smirk, the type a black mamba would probably give before it strikes .His deep-set eyes were a grey so dark, it was virtually black .His eyes were cold, analytical, and one feared of losing oneself in those swirling, hypnotic depths .He was as cunning as a fox, as well-versed in entrapment as a black widow, as precise as a mamba, and...as melodramatic as the Joker himself . One could clearly draw parrarels between the two.
"WANT COOKIE!".The rest of them groaned .The source of the atrocious butchering of the English language was was Pat .He was, for lack of a better word, average .In fact, everything about him screamed "AVERAGE!".His brown eyes were dull ,his brown hair mousy, his facial hair a pathetic excuse for a moustache .It looked exactly like he didn't even know how to shave .That was ,true, after all .For you see, my rabid readers, Pat was gifted with an IQ barely short of 42 .This ,combined with his unimpressive looks ,made him, quite frankly, expendable .
"Pat, you know full well that pubs do not serve cookies .",reasoned Wilfred .Although he didn't know it ,he was wrong ."WANT COOKIES!",bawled Pat, as if a petulant child .Finally, The Dreadnaughts patience reached the limit(which, as you can observe, wasn't much at all) ."SHUT UP!",he roared .His voice radiated like a nuke, literally .Chairs and tables sailed across the room, pedestrians were flung bodily into the road, and liquor bottles behind the counter detonated as if rows of antipersonnel grenades .A torrent of wine, beer, and vodka crashed onto the tiles in a gold-and-purple mix of froth and spray .As our soon-to-be insurgents turned to the counter at the splashing noise, time seemed to stop .A glittering rain of shattered glass shot towards them like thousands of lethal shrunkens, the dim light reflecting off jagged, wicked edges and illuminating the contrails behind them .
With a girlish scream, Wilfred dove at the ground, his bulbous nose colliding into the tiles .Glutinous blood splattered around, scarlet peppering everything in the speckled with Wilfred's blood, Pat squinted bemusedly at the incoming phalanx of death, his diminutive brain failing to comprehend his fate .
Seconds later, they would have died, and I wouldn't have to continue this .But alas, that was not their fate .
Their savior came in the form of a blur of an extremely brawny arm .With the power rivaling a 3 ton, rampaging rhino, Judd smashed away the legs of the immense oak table, which promptly turned into sawdust at the sheer force of his punch .With a flick of his bulky wrist, the massive table swiveled to shield...three of them .
An unshielded Vlad spun around, snagging a nearby barmaid(who somehow dodged Judd's "nuke blast"),letting out a deranged cackle as if a hyena ."Gerroff me!",yelped the barmaid as she was swung towards the hail of incoming death ."Fancy a dance?",cackled Vlad, his voice oozing dark amusement and a sadistic anticipation ."What!?",exclaimed the bemused barmaid ."Ignorance really issss blisssss...",hissed Vlad, voice saturated with sadistic contempt ."What are you talking about!? Let go of me!",demanded the still oblivious voice faltered as her blue eyes became riveted towards the counter .The barmaids eyes flicked back to Vlads onyx ones .Realization, disgust, and pure terror burst in the pit of her stomach, like a raging dragon from a cage, which clawed its way up her throat in the form of fear-inducing bile ."Nooo...",she wept brokenly, her mind shattered by fear ."Yesssss...",hissed Vlad, as if a viper spotting an elusive mouse gutted, but still alive on a counter .The barmaids clammy fingers slipped from Vlads frigid grasp ."Oops.., butter-fingers", snickered Vlad .But even as the taunting comment slipped by Vlads forked tongue, a piercing scream was already resonating around the pub .Eyes wild, legs kicking, arms flailing, the barmaid twisted around in a last-ditch(and futile) attempt to avoid the inevitable .The screaming went up another notch as the slightly squishing noise of glass thudding into flesh joined the din .The glass tore into her flesh, ripping past skin and fat with ease, cutting past nerves and severing tendons like a hot knife through butter .Even as glass tore into her, blood from previous wounds gushed into her lungs, drowning in her own bodily fluid .As if the coup de gr^ace,a final shard lodged itself in her jugular .Her hands flew to her throat ,grasping it instinctively .Blood streamed from between her fingers, staining her fair flesh red .A gaudy fountain of scarlet ripped through the air as her hands fell away, its shortening length indicating the life trickling away rapidly from her soon-to-be corpse .A horrible gagging noise issued from her wasted mouth as she choked on her own blood .Blood poured from her mouth, spilling over her jaw to flow down her chest in ever-crossing rivulets .The light went out of her eyes as she crashed into the floor, a flamboyant splash of scarlet and gold drenching Vlads blood-soaked clothes in blood and liquor .
Judd, Wilfred, and Pat peered out of their glass-studded shelter, gazing at the lone figure standing in the bloodbath .The men's eyes widened as they captured Vlad in his whole wild-eyed, blood-soaked, skeletal grin glory, looking just like a demon from Hell .
Outside, the deranged cackle of a blood-lust sated reverberated through the air, and Mars, if possible, glowed even brighter, as if reveling in the bloodshed ,monumenting this night in the form of blood-coloured skies .