Music will be an integral part of the experience of reading this fanfic. Hence, music will be suggested in the following format: [Song - Artist/Band]. Thank you very much for your cooperation and I sincerely hope you enjoy your read.
-I-
Part One
At exactly three quarters past the sixth hour, ripe among the pained wails of his dear mother, stared upon by the unbreaking gaze of the good doctor and his noble assistants; in room 309 of Echo Creek Hospital, with his poor father pacing back and forth in a cold sweat just on the other side of the operating room doors: the cries. Oh the cries. What joy! What relief! Such happiness and glee overcame them all! Another child, another boy, was begotten into the world; and nary was there a semblance, a trace, of doubt to be found among any of the faces of the present witnesses that this newly come infant was healthy. Healthy, and strong, and full of life. Precious, oh how precious, is life.
The stars shone brightly and clear on that solemn November night, a night like so many others. Equally as fragile, as meaningless, as faint, and fleeting as so many that had come before it; and surely the boy here would hold no distinction. Like all other children come before him, like so many which would undoubtedly follow afterward. Equally as fragile, as meaningless, as faint and as fleeting. Not withal, such bitter and brutally boorish thoughts were far and well-removed from the mind of Rafael Díaz, his father.
"It's a boy," announced the nurse as she stepped out through the double doors, and in less than mere seconds, Mr. Díaz's rigid and unwavering stare of fear and anxiety freely molded itself into an expression of verve and reprieve as the amber hues of color made a swift return to his previously pale and phantom-like facial features. Straightaway his hesitation subsided, like the frigid twilight that precedes the morning sun's sweltering ascent, and he entered into the operating room. Scared, excited, heart trembling like leaves before the slicing wind. Hoping, wishing, praying, and pleading that the nurse's words were faithful and true.
Her smile. Oh her smile. Not unlike the seafoam that spreads like butter on the sandy shore, the affectionate gaze of Mrs. Angie Díaz washed over her little boy. Was he not his father's son? The same tawny tones, hazel eyes, and sable hair? Yes. He was his son. He was her son. He was their son. Now and forever.
"Look, cariño," she spoke to him, holding the baby so he could see it. "It's-"
"Mijo," he interjected.
"Just like you wanted, right?"
"Congratulations," said the doctor, putting a warm hand on Rafael's shoulder. "I personally wish you the very best, Mr. Díaz. Have you decided on a name?"
Both Rafael and Angie smiled at each other, their gazes resting in one another's eyes. They'd prepared well for this moment, and his chest swelled with pride and joy as he spoke the creature's name.
"Marco. Marco Ubaldo Díaz."
And Marco Ubaldo Díaz was precisely the name he'd penned on the forms, the same forms another staff member had preemptively prepared and made him sign in anticipation of this mirthful occasion. Three weeks later, the child's certificate would come in the mail and Marco Ubaldo Díaz would officially begin his life as yet another young Latino-American child in the city of Echo Creek, California. Equally as fragile, as meaningless, as faint, and as fleeting.
That's what they would have us all believe, of course. But I know better, Dear Reader. And I promise that you'll know better as well by the time we're finished here. In the meantime, let's jump forward, just a bit. Say, six years?
"Marco! Get down from there!"
"Look, mami! I'm a swan!"
Balancing himself over the handrail of the second-floor, Marco replicated the same movements he'd seen not even a minute ago on television, nothing but the excitement, adrenaline, and blissful naïvety of his young mind to safeguard him from the gravity of the situation. With all the natural grace and elegance of a slender crane standing atop a stone over the riverbed, he maintained the fragile equilibrium barring him from a nasty descent to the ceramic floor just below. His arms stretched out, they resembled the wingspan of a hungry falcon, hovering just above its unsuspecting prey.
Angie, you see, had thought it prudent to leave the TV on the government-issued programming where they were currently transmitting a live performance of Pyotr Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake; and finding himself swooned and utterly overtaken by the ballet dancers' enthralling movements, Marco proceeded to test his own skills in the art form. Much to the chagrin of his poor mother and father, of course. And much to that same chagrin, Marco's interests and perilous misadventures would in no way cease at simply defying death with dances done over dangling handrails. No, no, no. Not in the slightest.
Once more, let's jump forward, just a bit.
"I would have named him 'Pablo' if I'd known he'd do this!" said Rafael, two months later, exasperated at the sight of his son having painted a very surreal and artistically enlightened piece. A piece, you see, as expansive as it was rhapsodic.
Marco Ubaldo Díaz, the prodigy of our time, had taken to painting his chef d'œuvre, his Magnum Opus, on all four walls of the living room. WHAT COLORS! WHAT HUES! The masterful strokes of his fingertips were reflected on the solid surface where they'd bounced like springing grasshoppers over the impromptu canvas. Having thought each movement through with only the utmost diligence and peace of mind, Marco had moved his hands over the wall like a conductor leading each and every member of a symphonic orchestra to produce only the greatest and most powerful of serenades. Notwithal, the composition, for as striking as it was, was but a pale, fuzzy reflection of that which his twirling, twisting mind urged him to utter through the force of his unwavering passion and creativity. A passion and creativity only expressible by way of his undisciplined, unmatured hands. And yet, it was safe to say that such galant and enrapturing majesty had never once been known to mortal men! No, sir! Not at all!
Or, at the very least, that's how young Marco might have seen it.
"If you'd known he'd do what, mi amor? Hegh!"
A most audible and somewhat comical gasp burst through Angie's lips as her spine tensed, her shoulders raised, and head sunk. She shook frigidly as her eyelids drew themselves all the way back. Truly her son's work was a sight to behold.
"Mami, papi, look! I made a mural!"
"That you did, Marco. That you did," said Rafael, laughing as he put a hand on Angie's shoulder.
"Mami, papi. Do you think I could ever sign up for karate classes?"
They simply looked at each other and sighed in exhaustion.
"Ay, Marco."
Part Two
-14 YEARS AFTER MARCO'S BIRTH-
"And remember, children. Don't forget to study for Monday's mid-term. It'll be quite a doozy," spoke Ms. Skullnick in that same monotonous, raspy, unenthusiastic, symphonic sandpaper song of a voice for which her students had come to know and "love" her; and no sooner had she given them the news that they all "Uggghhhed" without even trying to mask it in the slightest. Same crap, different day.
"Exciting, isn't it?" she replied, chuckling ever so maliciously as to make one suspect that she genuinely reveled in her students' despair just a bit too much.
"Quit your bellyaching. All it means is that you're that much closer to getting out of here. Now, be dears and come up to receive last month's essays that I finally got around to grading."
Swiftly and quietly, he got up from his desk and made his way to Ms. Skullnick's desk who handed him a paper with a "71¾%" written in bleeding, red ink.
"Very well-written, Mr. Díaz. Honestly, it was the best one I read in the entire class. Keep up the good work and I'm certain you'll pass with flying colors."
"But it's barely a C."
"No work's done perfectly, sweetie. Now take your seat, you're holding up the line."
"Thanks, I guess," he replied, rolling his eyes, sarcastically smiling. Just one never-ending laugh track after the next, after the next.
"Don't mention it."
Sitting back down, Marco soon found his face being covered by a seemingly endless set of sandy blond curls.
"No fricking way. Is it even possible to score that high with her? What'd you do?" she asked.
"I'd like to tell you, but it's hard to talk over the follicle feeding frenzy you've got in front of me over here," was his reply among fingered scrapes along his tongue to try and remove any rogue strands.
Quickly retaking her previous position, she slid her chair out from under her desk and scooted closer to Marco, sitting so closely as to give anyone the impression that they were a couple; but whether such a thing was true had always been a mystery. She skimmed over his essay, humming and "hmm"-ing every so often, thoroughly and observantly analyzing every last word of her childhood friend's work. Or, at the very least, that's what she would've wanted him to think.
"Alright, Jackie. Come on. You've made your point."
A silly string of chuckles was all he got from her following this retort.
"Okay, okay. I guess there's no beating around the bush with you."
"After ten years, I'd be surprised if there was still a bush to beat around."
"So what are you doing this weekend?"
"Uh, studying. For the mid-term. The one I'd like to not fail."
"You're joking."
"No jokes."
"But that new movie you like is coming out this weekend. Remember? The one about what's-his-face. F'mooloo."
"K'zhulu."
"That one."
"K'zhulu can wait until next weekend. The mid-term, on the other hand, won't."
She sighed in defeat. "I guess you're right. Unless you and I study for it tonight."
"Tonight?"
"Sure. I'll drop by like I always do, we'll hit the books, study up, and then tomorrow we line up to see tentacle face."
"Mm-hm. Yeah. 'Study up'."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Jackie, you and I both know that what you call 'studying' is far from a dictionary definition."
"JaCkIe, YoU aNd I bOtH kNoW tHaT wHaT yOu CaLl 'StUdYiNg' Is FaR fRoM a DiCtIoNaRy DeFiNiTiOn."
"..."
"Nerrrd."
"Mockery will get you nowhere."
"Come on, Marco. Pleeease. Do it for meee."
"Jackie, I-"
"PleEeEeEease," she begged, now spreading herself completely over Marco's thighs like a spoiled child.
"Alright, alright already. Fine. You can come over."
"Yes!" she exclaimed, rising quickly from off of Marco's laps.
"Curse my weakness," he said under his breath, which would've been audible had it not been for the schoolbell's timely ring. A ring which all at once mixed with the cries of joy and freedom from the students as they rushed out like birds set free from their enclosure to at last take to the ever-expanding skies above. And slowly getting up from their own desks, Marco and Jackie-Lynn made their way to the school's main gate. Like so many days before, and, hopefully, many more to come after, the pair walked closely together. Rumors spread, word got around, gossip passed from ear to ear. Such a thing was inevitable, and yet, they both seemed comfortable with the idea of everyone thinking that of them. And how could they not?
It was ten years ago that they'd crossed paths for the first time. Someone had just moved in right across the street: a young couple, not too unlike Angie and Rafael. It was on that fateful spring day that Marco and Jackie met each other for the first time and quickly took a liking to one another. It wouldn't be long before they were attending school together, going over to each other's houses, and generally enjoying the company of one another. So why fight the gossip? Why try to deny it? Sure, they were embarrassed and ill-prepared for it all, as anyone would've been. But they'd already moved past that...right?
Who's to say? No sooner had they stepped through the door of Ms. Skullnick's class that Jackie decided to all-at-once intertwine her fingers along with Marco's. A gesture which sent the blood flowing directly to his cheeks, and a most tangible shock right up his spine that rested as a tickling sensation on the back of his neck and ears, causing the latter to twitch a few times.
"Damn it, Marco. Stop doing that," he thought to himself. "You've been friends for ten years now, stop getting so flustered."
But ancient and ongoing is the war between the heart and the mind which torments the souls of young lovers the world over, that their feelings may be reciprocated, and rejection may be far-removed from them. May they find that their hesitation was ill-needed, and that their reservedness was superfluous at best. May they be happy and content, for we know this world has no qualms about being twice as cruel, and cold, and grouchy, and gruff with the lonely, secluded, forlorn, and e'er hushed.
Out through the doors, down the steps, a turn to the right, and they were well on their way back home. But as they calmly made their way back home, the birds singing a warm welcome to the long-awaited, long-desired weekend, Marco proved poor company as his gait gave the impression he was walking on eggshells. Stiff, and rigid. Robotic even.
"Do you have to go to the bathroom or something?" asked Jackie.
"What? No, no, no. Nothing like that," he assured her.
Just a few more blocks. They were almost there. The sun shone big and bright, the noon was warm, and he? He was sweating.
"You can really feel summer setting in, huh?" she asked.
"Yeah. I think I might have to stop wearing my jacket."
Just a few more feet. Come on, Marco! You can do it! Be-
"Oh, hold on," said Jackie. It was her phone. Slipping it out of her pocket, her eyelids rolled back a bit once she saw the number.
"Oooh," was her reaction. "Hey, Marco, listen. I really need to take this. Could you go on ahead? I'll drop by later."
"Yeah, sure," he replied. Saved by the ringtone.
Without a moment to lose, Marco sped up ever so slightly. A second right turn led him past the cactus garden and right to the front door. He produced his keys in the same robotic fashion he'd been walking, unlocked the door, and stepped in. The fresh breeze of the cool inside breathed life back into him. Closing the door, he put his backpack on the living room table, and exhaled a boisterous and lusty sigh of relief as he melted into the couch cushions. Notwithstanding, he'd find little repose as his mother walked quietly behind him and, in place of a greeting, offered him this: "Jackie-Lynn and you are becoming quite close, aren't you?"
Straightaway the stiffness and robotic motions returned.
"You were watching us?"
"I can't help it. You always come back around this time, so I look out the window every so often. To check. A mother's instincts, you know? And speaking of instincts, I think someone's very fond of you."
"D-D-Don't be r-r-ridiculous, mamá. Jackie and I are just f-f-f-f-f-"
"Friends?"
"Yeah."
"Friends don't hold hands, mijo."
"We're close friends, okay?"
"Yes you are, Marco. Veeery close."
"W-w-what's that supposed to mean?"
"Only what you want it to."
Flustered and exhausted, the blood rushing through his ears, Marco made a beeline for the kitchen, his mother's chuckles knocking on the back of his skull as he walked away.
"I'm going to make nachos, ¿vale?"
"Go on ahead, Marco. I know how much Jackie likes them, after all."
[Me Gusta - Sanalejo]
All at once, Marco's arms reached out for his white chef hat, the one he always used for his culinary endeavors. His face was painted in determination, but this warpaint would not be the red blood of a fallen beast. No, this was the rouge of his cheeks. Be it from heat, be it from desire.
Producing the desert-colored dough of corn and starch, his poor mind was rapidly invaded by the intruding and ever-pervasive images of each and every detail of her feminine figure slipping out before him as his own hands peeled back the plastic wrap over the salty, saffron mass. So vividly he painted her figure in his mind. From her deep, engrossing green eyes, to the fine, feminine curvature of each and every eyelash. Her beautiful, curly hair which resembled the shores of a beckoning bay, a slender streak of greenish-blue swimming down the left side. Her skin, just as tawny as his, and yet somehow, so much more brazen, so much more pure. The sensation was still imprinted onto his hand, the riveting sensation of her soft fingers dancing and twirling around his own. And her hourglass figure. Her bouncy, booming chest. And her wide, supple hips. The mere mental image was enough to make him come down with a fever. Nevertheless, he pushed through.
Curving and folding the mass into the right shapes, with masterful skill, he separated each and every last delicate chip before graciously placing them on the pan and into the oven. Setting the heat and the timer, he sat down, praying his heart's palpitations would abate, if only slightly.
"She's just a friend," he repeated to himself. "She's just a friend. Nothing more, nothing less."
His mind stirred and tumbled about as thought upon lustful thought washed over him, overwhelming him like a mallet against the head of a thin and miniscule nail; his soul wishing, wanting, desperately needing something to take his mind off it all.
Poor, poor Marco. Please don't think he's to blame for what happened next.
Like a demented gambler with a penchant for high-stakes and unfavorable odds when they take the dice in their hands and shake them as if the quivering motion might stir some semblance of benevolence in the heart of Miss Fortune, Marco shook his head, trying to chase the erotic images away; but what he found when his thoughts and vision at last recollected themselves was far from the kind of snake-eyes with which one would usually be familiar.
Now sitting before him were a couple of most peculiar and curious looking creatures. Humanoid in their composition, one was quite robust with broad shoulders, a stout belly, yet thin, scrawny legs. The other was much taller, with long arms that almost touched the floor and webbed feet resembling those of water fowl. They were both wearing matching visors, chest plates, and possessed similar looking weapons with both of them covered in scars and various other wounds from a lifetime of savage hunting.
Seconds passed as he thought the sight before him would surely dissipate back into the lonely, hushed corners of his sci-fi loving subconscious; but such hopes were fleeting at best. Pressing a button on their visors, a series of flashing lights and strange symbols began to run across the lenses.
"This is him," said the thin one.
"Aye. Just like Toffee described him. Grab him and let's go."
Seeing the long, slimy hand reaching out for his arm, Marco jumped back, chair falling over as he rolled onto the floor.
"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, kid."
Dragging himself across the tiles of the kitchen until slamming against one of the cabinets, he asked them:
"Wh-wh-who are you?"
The two of them looked at each other in a comical fashion and, turning back to Marco, responded with a quaint:
"Delivery boys."
"Yeah, delivery boys. You know, the kind that pick up packages and take them to the people that ordered them."
Having received such a sarcastic and joking response, Marco's fear and suspicion quickly abated as his more logical and down-to-earth side of thinking took over. Slowly, he got up and dusted himself off.
"Okay, ha-ha. Very funny, mamá y papá. You gave me a good scare and had your fun. Now take off those ridiculous costumes."
"Hmm? What was that, mijo? Did you call?" asked Angie as she turned the corner to find her son standing beside two completely foreign and strange creatures.
Pausing to look at them, she turned to Marco and asked:
"Friends of yours?"
He shook his head.
"I thought it was you and dad."
The fear and suspicion began to overtake him even more strongly than before.
"What'd Toffee say about anyone else who gets involved?" asked the stout one.
"He didn't."
Slowly inching himself toward the silverware, Marco drew a large kitchen knife, blade trembling in his hand as he looked over to his mother.
⸺¡Llama a la policía! (Call the police!)
But before Angie could so much as turn around, the jingling of a pair of keys rang through their ears as the front door opened.
"I'm home," said Rafael as he walked through the door.
"You would not believe the day I've ha-"
Walking from the door to the kitchen, Rafael suddenly stopped in his tracks as he took in the sight of the two alien creatures standing before him, but more rattling and unnerving than that was his son. His little boy shaking and trembling with a knife in his hand.
"Right, here's an idea. You take care of mum and pop, leave the git to me," said the stout one as he walked toward Marco.
"RUN!" shouted Marco, throwing the knife at the thin one's face, just barely missing him. Without a moment to lose, Marco darted for the stairs, praying his parents would be alright. In mere seconds he was turning the corner and running into his room. Adrenaline pumping, he locked it shut and turned around.
"I need to call the police now!" he thought to himself as he reached for his cellphone in his pocket; but his fear would turn to frustration and anger as he desperately tried to turn on the screen, only to find that the battery was completely drained. He'd forgotten to charge it last night.
"You're a ballsy little bastard, kid. I'll give you that. But this is as far as you're getting," said the monster's voice from just outside his door. Cracking, creaking, shaking, and snapping sounds emanated from its wooden frame as the otherworldly beast drove his foot into it with all the strength its reptilian leg could muster.
Cold sweat clung to his body as a death-evoking chill ran up the length of his spine. His vision turned blurry as logic and reasoning escaped him, leaving only the baser instincts of survival and self-protection behind. Legs shaking and arms trembling, Marco ran into the closet and prayed from the bottom of his heart that he wouldn't be found.
Through the small fringes of the closet, he witnessed as his door was ripped right off its hinges and was sent flying across his room at breakneck speed.
"You can hide all you want, boy, believe you me; but I don't need this visor of mine to tell me the obvious."
Watching the monster make a beeline straight for the closet door, he felt his heart shoot right into his throat as words escaped him; but in spite of it all, a faint thought pervaded his mind.
"Isn't the fear exciting? The chase, the hunt. The delicate dance of predator and prey. Still, just playing one part seems a bit lacking. Wouldn't you care to have it the other way around, even if just for a moment?"
Perhaps it was best that his mind left him. Memories such as these are best not made.
Hearing the closet doors squeak open, he was greeted by the stout beast's glowing visor.
"End of the road. You're coming with m-"
Straightaway, a loud and audible clang sound was heard, and the monster fell flat on its face, revealing the shocked, concerned, and equally terrified faces of Rafael and Angie.
⸺Marco. Alabado sea el Señor. Estás bien (Marco. Praise the Lord. You're alright),uttered Angie as the tears ran down her face at seeing that her angelito was still in one piece.
Without a second of hesitation, Marco ran into their arms.
"I was so scared," he said, producing his own tears. "I thought I'd never see you two ever again."
"Don't worry, mijo," replied Rafael along with a sigh of relief. "You're safe now."
Wrapping his arms around Angie and Marco, he didn't know what was going on; but he knew that he'd done what he had to.
Ease and assuagement washed over Marco as he melted into his parents' arms. Was it over? Was this all just a nightmare? Was he to wake up in but a few moments? He didn't know. He didn't care. He was safe. They were safe; but it was dreadful. Dreadful to think that the becalming and easing warmth of their embrace made him both blind and deaf as the tall and towering second of the duo turned the corner with his blade drawn and ready.
Immediately, the chill ran up his spine once more as his eyes floated up and over Rafael's shoulder. His voice caught in the beating palpitations of the heart in his throat, he could only watch and tremble in dreaded horror as he witnessed how the monster, not a single word parting from his own lips, brought the sword over the shoulder across from the hand with which he was holding the mortal blade. Time slowed down to a mired crawl as the moonlight's reflection traced and translated itself along the argent edge of the sword as it traveled smoothly across the air and drove itself into the brazen flesh of Rafael's neck. A bursting stream of crimson swill flowed forth from the straight slice as Rafael's larynx was swiftly parted from not only his respiratory system, but his body in its entirety. As quickly as it befell him, the charging blade stampeded into Angie, bringing forth the same scarlet elixir as her husband. In a fleeting instant spanning whole centuries, their heads were parted from their bodies, and their blood burst forth in a red wave that splashed and flew forth, covering their poor boy's face, neck, chest, stomach, and even thighs in the final signs of their happy life. At the very least, the last look on their faces was that of consolation and contentment at being able to embrace their boy one final time. And if it should be of any solace, it was that same expression that stayed plastered on their faces as their heads rolled off, the last semblance of both life and light leaving their eyes behind, and fell gently into Marco's arms. There they were now, the last face Marco would ever get to see his parents make.
At least it was a happy one.
-Woe to you, my little child,
Ripped from home and made to suffer,
Neither loving father nor caring mother,
Would've wished to see your life defiled,
When fate be cruel, it laughs, it mocks,
It pulls and pushes, we play our parts,
Many hearts join you as you depart,
Into the dark which you must walk-
"DAMN IT!" she said to herself as she ran at top speed to his house. "Please, please, PLEASE tell me I'm wrong!"
Her watch's beeping only grew louder and louder as she turned onto the walkway and found the door unlocked. Bolting in, she found the living room made a mess, furniture turned over, and glass broken.
"Marco? MARCO?!" she shouted as she ran up the stairs to his room. There she found it, standing tall and proud, its blade coated in blood. A dark, dreadful, deafening sensation came over her as the worst of thoughts flooded her mind. She was too late.
"MARCO!" she yelled, her shriek of terror and agony echoing across the home.
Swiftly, the monster turned his head to see Jackie standing there in shock and disbelief. But just out of her range of sight, Marco's eyes opened wide as the tears streamed once more.
"It's Jackie," it said to him. "She's here. She came; but that thing will kill her if you don't help her. You have to do something, Marco. You can't let them take anyone else away from you."
Hearing these words, Marco watched as the monster walked away toward someone else. No. He wasn't going to stand idly by as someone else precious to him was slaughtered like a helpless lamb.
"What'll it be, Marco?"
Just outside the door of his room, the murderous creature walked cockily toward Jackie as it drew its blade. Her own tears showering her face, she drew the firearm the ICF had provided for her.
"Don't you get any closer, damn it!" she yelled at him. "You killed him, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU?"
Her hands trembled and shook in freezing anger and sweltering sadness as the monster merely chuckled at her.
"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head about that, sweetheart. He's just fine, really. But enough about that scrawny, little stick in the mud. What say we talk about you and me?" he asked coyly, stretching his long leg forward and sweeping Jackie right off her feet. Without even noticing it, she fell back, giving him just enough time to press the blade of his sword against her delicate neck.
"Ha, ha, ha! This is just too easy. When you can, tell the boy's parents I hope there are no hard feelings between us."
Slimy, sleek, sneaky, and serpentine, it shot forth from across the hall and wrapped itself around the skinny beast's waist, pulling him off from on top of Jackie. It twisted and turned, spinning him in the air and then dangling him upside down as he was met once more with the sight of those familiar hazel eyes.
He was dumbstruck. What had happened? A tentacle? In the place of his right arm? Was it even possible for a human to do such things?
"Frightening, wouldn't you say?" he heard someone ask, though Marco didn't seem to be moving his mouth. Once more, the tentacle twisted and the scrawny beast was presented before a set of sharp, serrated teeth, smiling at him with only the most dastardly of grins.
"I apologize for the slight misunderstanding, my good sir," spoke the tentacle to him. "I've not yet grown accustomed to the lack of vision, you see."
"This can't be possible. What are you?" he asked, taking in the purple and pink hues of the unnatural appendage.
"Hmm. You know? That's a rather interesting, unnerving inquiry you've just presented me. What am I, really?"
In a powerful whipping motion, the tentacle slammed the monster against the wall with great force, following up by hammering his head against the roof, and finally thrashing him against the floor like an old, fragile ragdoll.
"I've pondered that question for quite some time now. I've been called plenty of things, too. The Dark Prince, the Prince of Pleasure, the Lord of Excess. She Who Thirsts," it said, hissing with a serpent-like tongue as its smile grew wider, "one of my personal favorites, really."
"You're a demon."
"A demon, you say? Funny, some would consider me a god. It's all relative, really. Just depends on whom I feel like favoring; and I'd say you've fallen far, far, faaar out of my favor."
Pulling out a small blade, the monster sliced through the tentacle, breaking himself free.
"Hey!" it yelled. "A bit rude of you, wasn't it? I was just about to ask you about yourself, big boy. HA, HA, HA!"
"Fuck this," said the monster, dragging himself onto his feet and running past Jackie. "Toffee didn't say anything about dealing with this shit."
Jackie merely watched in shock and horror as Marco walked slowly past her, his entire upper body covered in blood, and his arm turned into a sentient, cephalopod extremity.
"We'll only be just a moment more," it said to her, smiling as it did. "Marquecito just needs to get this one out of his system. Once that's taken care of, he's all yours, baby. Be gentle, though. He's in a very delicate place right now. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha."
Without another word, Marco stepped slowly down, following his parent's executioner. But just outside, in his backyard, under the many bright shapes of the night sky, the monster opened a small portal with one of its tools and found on it reflected the image of what seemed to be a crocodile with a mane like that of a horse.
"TOFFEE!" he yelled at him.
"Wedge, my good man. How have you been?"
"Don't play coy with me, you slithering son of a bitch! What the fuck kind of sick game do you think you're playing here?!"
"My, oh my. Angry, aren't we? Is someone having trouble securing the goods?"
"The goods?! You told us it'd just be some stupid, fucking kid! You didn't say shit about him being some sort of demon!"
"Untrue, I'm afraid. I made it quite clear that he'd be a Psyker boy. I believe I mentioned it at least four or six times."
"You think we had any fucking idea what a Psyker was?!"
"Well, judging from your frustration and all-around irritability, I'd say you're practically an expert on the subject now. What seems to be the problem?"
"HE ALMOST FUCKING KILLED ME, DAMN IT!"
"Did he now? And here I thought you two were experts. Oh well. Live and learn. Guess I'll have to hire actual mercenaries next time."
"Listen to me, you shit-eating psycho. I want out, and I want it right fucking now. You can take your fucking money back, too. Transport me back right now or-"
"Or what? I won't live to see the day? Listen, Wedge. I'd really love to keep on humoring you, truly I would. But I've got more important things to attend to, and from the looks of it," he said, looking past Wedge's shoulder, "I'd say you do, too."
In mere seconds, Wedge felt as a crushing, creasing force wrapped itself around his neck, leaving him grabbing at his throat in what could only be described as his final exercise in futility. No matter how deep he tried to dig his own claws into the tentacle to try and tear himself free, they simply slipped off.
"Don't feel too bad. Personally, I like the ones who play hard to get," spoke the tentacle to him. "By the way, did you know that these aren't exactly teeth, they just help me articulate my thoughts better. I can make them come out of wherever I want. Like, say, right here," it growled into Wedge's ear as he felt sharp, serrated blades dig themselves into his slender neck, excavating so profoundly into his vocal chords until they came right out the other end, splitting his head from his shoulders.
His body fell lifelessly against the grass, small spurts of blood shooting out from what remained of his jugular veins. His head quickly followed suit, rolling down and landing, poetically enough, right on his petrified thighs.
The purple arm smiled dastardly, laughing heartily at the sight before them.
"Feeling better, Marco?" it asked; but received no reply. Instead, Marco's eyes were fixated on someone else.
"You," spoke Marco, at last opening his bloodied maw. "You're Toffee."
"And you must be Marco. Pleased to make your acquaintance, my dear boy. I hope my associates didn't cause you too much trouble."
"They killed my mom and dad," he replied, a frigid, icy breath escaping his lips.
"Did they now? I'm sorry to hear that. I merely told them to secure you and bring you to me, I didn't mean for them to-"
"DON'T YOU FUCKING APOLOGIZE, DAMN IT!"
"...and we're back to the unnecessary screaming."
"I'm going to find you, do you hear me? I'm going to find you, and I'm going to personally slice you open, tear out your organs, and press you into a new pair of shoes. And you're going to watch. I'm going to make sure you're conscious to live through every last grooling second. I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU WISH YOU'D NEVER BEEN FUCKING BORN!"
A silent eon seemed to pass as Marco's expression of gritting teeth and burning eyes remained unbroken before the nocturnal backdrop of the summer sky. His blood was boiling down to the marrow of his bones, piercing his soul with the thirst of a vengeance insane and insatiable, tainting both heart and mind. And at this sight, Toffee could merely smile.
"...hm, hm, hm, hm, hm, hm," he chuckled.
"You find that funny?"
"But not for the reason you might think, Marco. Not for the reason you might think. Rest assured, you will find me. And I'll be right here waiting for you. The both of you. Ta-ta for now."
And with these final words, the portal abated, leaving only the reflection of the night sky twinkling in the foreground.
Cautiously, she stepped toward him, keeping her distance. And turning, it spoke to her.
"A promise is a promise, Jackie baby," it said, grinning widely. "Make sure to keep him good company, you hear? I get the feeling he's going to be real lonely from now on."
Shrinking, shriveling, like a dehydrated plant before the unforgiving heat of the sun, the tentacle relinquished until it finally revealed Marco's arm and hand anew. Finally turning around, Marco's eyes widened in surprise, a big, joyous smile waxing over his bloodied face. Was he aware of what had just happened?
"Jackie? You came. That's great, I've got some nachos in the oven. I'm certain they ought to be done by n-"
But no sooner had he taken that first step, he collapsed from the exhaustion, the last bit of energy leaving him. Rushing forward, Jackie caught Marco in her arms, tears still sliding down the sides of her face, the usual chirping of the crickets overwhelmed by the distant sirens of police officers who were well on their way.
The wind began to blow hot that night, and the far-off stars shone brightly over them, sparkling like diamonds in the rough of the night sky's deep-blue hues. You could really feel summer setting in.
Main Theme
[Feel Good Inc. - Gorillaz]
AUTHOR'S CORNER: Expect a Spanish translation soon.
So, what do you think? I know the idea's pretty out there, but I wanted to try it out anyway. I hope you all look forward to more.