The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was a noxious mixture of
sulfur, rotting flesh, and those fucking demons! Upon smelling it a wave of
nausea overtook Flynn and he considered aborting, but he pulled himself
together. After a quick scan, he saw only two semi-humans about 500 yards
in front of him and facing the other way. It was easy. Too easy, he
thought. He wandered around the huge room, staying out of their limited
sight and surveyed the area.
To his utter surprise he found but one corpse, the head was nowhere to be found. Nearby him was an cast-aside pistol and a lot of spent shells. In his hands, immobile with rickets, was a chainsaw. Flynn put two and two together and assumed that when the pistol emptied he, like a good soldier, rushed headlong into battle with a chainsaw. The death was quick, he hoped.
Upon taking the chainsaw, Flynn silently unclipped one of his many medals and pinned it on the body, which he learned from his patch was Private H. Frost.
Quietly, Flynn put a bullet in each of the semi-human's head and took their clips.
"Fuckin' scum..."
He walked down the narrow hall toward the elevator, wishing he were anywhere but here. He thought of taking a vacation to the Caribbean after he pinned this Icon of Sin fucker's ass to the wall.
About 300 yards ahead was a semi-circular room with a slightly used first- aid kit lying on the ground. He picked it up and put it in his pack, certain he would need it later. As he turned around toward the elevator he felt a pain not unlike being stabbed with a hot poker. Without thought he dived into the relative safety of behind the wall.
He cocked his pistol and fired four rounds at the imp that had attacked him. It went down like a sack of potatoes, its brown body now crimson with blood. This was the first time Flynn ever saw an Imp's hand up close, and frankly he could have lived without the image.
It was one big black burn mark covering a hole that was filled with flames, fermenting, stewing, and waiting to come out. The sulfuric smell seemed to increase from its body.
Flynn walked on with a slight limp and a few broken ribs, occasionally taking potshots at the semi-human bastards running around. Memories flooded back to him of years ago when he first took on Hell. He scratched the scar on his cheek, recalling that Baron of Hell who gave it to him.
Almost without thinking he pushed the elevator button and went down to Sublevel 2.
He reloaded his pistol; and concluded that he would need more ammo. He wondered how many medals he would get for this mission.
He listened as the elevator boomed,, clanged, and whined its way down to Sublevel 2. The doors slid open...
To his utter surprise he found but one corpse, the head was nowhere to be found. Nearby him was an cast-aside pistol and a lot of spent shells. In his hands, immobile with rickets, was a chainsaw. Flynn put two and two together and assumed that when the pistol emptied he, like a good soldier, rushed headlong into battle with a chainsaw. The death was quick, he hoped.
Upon taking the chainsaw, Flynn silently unclipped one of his many medals and pinned it on the body, which he learned from his patch was Private H. Frost.
Quietly, Flynn put a bullet in each of the semi-human's head and took their clips.
"Fuckin' scum..."
He walked down the narrow hall toward the elevator, wishing he were anywhere but here. He thought of taking a vacation to the Caribbean after he pinned this Icon of Sin fucker's ass to the wall.
About 300 yards ahead was a semi-circular room with a slightly used first- aid kit lying on the ground. He picked it up and put it in his pack, certain he would need it later. As he turned around toward the elevator he felt a pain not unlike being stabbed with a hot poker. Without thought he dived into the relative safety of behind the wall.
He cocked his pistol and fired four rounds at the imp that had attacked him. It went down like a sack of potatoes, its brown body now crimson with blood. This was the first time Flynn ever saw an Imp's hand up close, and frankly he could have lived without the image.
It was one big black burn mark covering a hole that was filled with flames, fermenting, stewing, and waiting to come out. The sulfuric smell seemed to increase from its body.
Flynn walked on with a slight limp and a few broken ribs, occasionally taking potshots at the semi-human bastards running around. Memories flooded back to him of years ago when he first took on Hell. He scratched the scar on his cheek, recalling that Baron of Hell who gave it to him.
Almost without thinking he pushed the elevator button and went down to Sublevel 2.
He reloaded his pistol; and concluded that he would need more ammo. He wondered how many medals he would get for this mission.
He listened as the elevator boomed,, clanged, and whined its way down to Sublevel 2. The doors slid open...
