The two dark skinned males unhitch the mule from the covered wagon, careful to work together so neither lose a finger or worse against the think straps of leather that hold the entire piece of work together. Neither has spoken a word to the other since their final discussion, about the contents of the golden box, and the younger male's face is drawn in a confused and lost expression. He looks exsaperated, sore, tired, and mentally finished. They finish their job slowly, the older man watching as the young male leads the mule to his pin in the barn. The young male returns to his side and helps him close the large warehouse doors, which cling metallically as they lock together damning the wagon and the mysterious box to an existence cloaked in darkness.
"Boy." The younger male turns towards the older male, "You dun good t'day."
The younger male only nods, a weak and almost pitiful sight, and without waiting for another word from the older male he continues off down the dry dirt path, the bottom of his thickly callused feet kicking up small puffs of red dirt that is quickly picked up and blown away by the soft breeze. A breeze gentle enough to tickle the neck, but quick enough to ruffle a woman's dress. It was the perfect breeze in an otherwise uninhabital stretch of land. The grasses were too long were they weren't being hambered down by large European style homes and farm houses, even the dirt roads constantly engaged in a battle with the vegetation and the few trees that dotted the horizon were low laying with stretched thin branches. Not a thing like the beautiful shade giving oaks of the north or the evergreen pines of the southern coast the old man was used to calling home, and prison.
He watches the younger boy disappear over the horizon of the road, more than likely heading into town to find the nearest gathering of young people. The poor kid had seemed more than upset about the story he had told him, and while the old man knew when the give reverence to those deemed worthy he couldn't comprehend his fear about the situation. Perhapes it was some new age fable the kids liked to tell each other about things they had no business gossiping about. He sighs softly to himself, running his dark fingers through his short wirey hair, his too-long dirty nails feeling all too good against his dry scalp, it was no place of his to wonder about the happenings of kids. He had a job to finish after all. Just because the youngster ran off without a proper status update didn't mean he was allowed the same curtesy.
He turns once to look at the large warehouse, a strangely built large barn a better educated man would have noticed was built for this purpose alone, before turning to walk towards the just as ominous tiny one story house just a small walk away from the warehouse. There is no dirt path leading towards the house, the entire building surronded by layers of too-tall brown grass that scratches uncomfortable against his bare calves as he makes his way through the overgrowth to pull himself awkwardly onto the raised porch. The house itself is well built, sturdy, only needing a new cover of paint to hide the various pockets of wind and dust damage. In a place this dry, windy, and nasty he was suprised the house looked as good as it did. It was a small house, and there was obviously no staff on hand to take care of basic cleaning needs.
He knocks, a little too hard, on the front door and hears the sound echo throughout the doorway before the home slips into silence once again. For a long moment he wonders if he should just have followed that boy into town instead, when just as he prepares himself to walk away the door swings open quickly in front of him. Standing in the doorway, staring down at him in an almost drunken stupor, is a tall heavily built man wearing a black suit. The white man glares down at him, his strange golden eyes entrancing in a way that feels almost dirty. His skin is unnatureally soft and pale, and if it weren't for the blackness of the home the old man can almost make out strange markings... like makeup...
He gasps, a pain erupting through his chest... splitting it wide open in the agony of the sudden uncomprehensible feeling. The man, the pale and darkly beautiful man was gone... he had just been there... He blinks, hectically, and shivers uncontrollably as the sensation of warm breathe crawls across his neck. He can taste blood in his mouth now, and coughs loudly in a desperate attempt to fill his lungs with air. His coughing only sprays blood into the air before him, and his eyes widen in horror at the sight of the droplets gathering on the porch before him.
"Where is the younger negro boy?" The white male's voice is rough, raspy, and powerful. The tone almost making the older man grateful to die by his hands… a thought that forces a whimper from his lips. He is being killed by Satan himself, he is convinced of it, and the monster is making him happy for it.
The male growls deeply, a sickly animalistic sound, and throws the older male to the side all too easily. His body collapses without any attempt at catching himself, the large open wound in his back bleeding profusely into his ragged, muddy black shirt. The creature stands there on the pouch watching the old man die in bemused silence, when a soft muttering catching his sharply pointed ears. He stalks over to the dying man, grabs him roughly by the shoulder, his claws easily piercing through the thin cloth of his old clothes and drawing pin-pricks of blood from his flesh, and roughly forces him to sit, turn, and look at him.
The old man's black eyes are swimming with tears now, his lips moving almost silently with words this man has encoded into memory well enough to chant even as his body dies around him. The white man stares, almost horrifically, at the dying man until a single phrase catches his ears and his lips spread in a horrific grin… fangs showing clearly through his lips…
"Pathetic human, you creatures begging for savior from a being far superior to yourself. What makes you think anything better than yourselves gives a damn, hm?" He laughs, a cruel and disgusting sound that comes from deep within his chest. His red lidded golden eyes narrowing even sharper on the human, the old man's head beginning to loll to the side as the world begins to fade away around him.
With a movement so swift it easily dispels any further thought that this man may just be a superiorly talented human, he swipes his left claw across the older man's neck, dropping the body as the head rolls across the porch until it thumps audibly against the wall of the house. He stands, turning his attention down the dirt road and off until the horizon towards the town, and without thinking brings his bloody left fingers to his mouth. His tongue wraps around the bare fingers easily, each clean finger sporting a nail sharpened into a deadly and noticeable weapon… his long black sleeve slipping just enough to expose the very tips of red marks crawling along his wrist and disappearing further down his arm.
He can smell the young boy still, his scent clinging almost obsessively to the dead male lying headless at his feet now, but he'll wait for now. No use exposing himself to the town before he's completely ready. Another grin crawls onto his cold and beautiful face, this one exposing a quick thinking mind and plots even he refuses to lose himself in at the moment. With another all-too-swift movement he gathers the corpse into his arms, the disembodied head locked in his left hand, and moves himself back into the dark house.
The darkness welcomes him happily as he closes the door behind him, unceremoniously dumping the corpse in the tiny bedroom with the others. He can already smell the heat working on them, despite the fact they had been disposed of for less than an hour now, and quickly withdraws himself from the room to slip back into his position on the torn old couch that smells of sweat, male ejaculation, and female fluids. The very act of looking at this piece of furniture makes him feel dirty, but there is no sense in standing until sunset which is still a good six hours away.
His eyes fixed on the drawn black curtains he watches, and waits, for the gift of nighttime to grant him the go ahead on his new hunt. Only one more child down, and he can finally grant himself the pleasure of unlocking the last piece of this plan years in the making. He chuckles softly to himself, crows cawing loudly as they fly off the broken roof of the house as he erupts into a loud laughter. Humans would describe that laughter as the sound of Satan himself at the thought of bringing down God, but only because they believed themselves to have successfully eradicated the others.
AN: Yay, we're moving right along in the story now! My goal for this fic is to get at least a chapter posted a day, however seeing as how I am a very busy college student I can't promise that that will always happen. I will promise to try and get as much written as I can in my free time, and I will always post at least a single chapter a week.
Hope you enjoy! Read, review, favorite, follow, share! I love hearing from ya'll!
~Chey