It was a natural reaction for the townspeople to gather fearfully in the streets when he came. The ground quaked, timbers shifted and groaned, windows rattled in their frames with every labored step that brought him closer to the surging pack of men and women. Some carried guns as a subliminal precaution, others pitchforks and shovels. A few of the younger ones bore no arms at all, hiding behind their fathers and uncles.
"What- what are you doing here?" demanded the man nearest the Goliath, flourishing his rifle. The monstrous form edged closer, unresponsive. Again the man demanded the animate boulder to speak. Wordlessly the giant swung his meaty hand out, cleaving his challenger's arm with a resounding snap and tear reminiscent to that of fabric rent asunder. Immediately a cacophony of screams and wails erupted. The youths fled the site, abandoning the less nimble elders and those transfixed in catatonia. Not one steadfast soul stood among the lot.
The titanic horror brought his boot swiftly into the hapless man's chest, crushing bones and organs until his body conformed to the shape of the monster's foot, smashing him airborne. His whiskey-barrel arms wrapped around the broken form and brought him down in a crushing suplex. He arose from the murder painted in blood, donning a black ten-gallon hat, wearing a black coat accented with edges of blue and metal bands lining the lapels. His splayed hands could wrap around most men, his feet could crush a skull, his limbs swelled and rippled with unnatural power. The midday suns obscured the hardened lines of his face in shadows, punctuated by the gleam of his eyes. He was known briefly by the living, and bitterly by the dead, as Jack the Dreadnought.
Sands scuttled across the dunes with a faint swishing, the flowing tides of the parched sea. Odors trickled through the wind, playing at a promise of unseen things just beyond the horizon. Small critters scurried away from Vash as he plodded on eastward. A minuscule sensation was nagging at him, an awareness of some inconsistency somewhere. A jagged irregularity that protruded from the universally correct, yet he could not identify what troubled him.
He took inventory of his senses checking for oddities. The sky was a light icy blue across the horizon, and deep cobalt directly above. Golden brown dunes wavered in the hot air. No plants could be found anywhere. White clouds as soft as cotton scooted through the sky casting shadows on the ground lazily. Vash decided it was not anything he saw that was unusual. He turned his attention on himself, focusing on what he could feel. His boots fit snugly on his feet, warm from the beating sunlight. His pants were also snug, yet appropriately loose in places. His legs ached, yearning to stop. Gashes across his chest burned and felt sticky with what blood hadn't dried and caked to his body. Nothing about his arm bothered him. Aside from the wounds on his neck, there was nothing that was out of the ordinary.
Next he checked any unusual smells. It presently became evident what was bothering him. The scent of iron, but with a slightly different quality to it, traveled in wafts from the east. The smell had been disguised by the dirt, and made even more faint by the southbound wind sweeping it away, but he knew something suspicious was happening to the east. He anxiously quickened his pace. It must be the town Horace was talking about, Vash concluded.
As he was thinking he noticed rooftops rising above the dunes less than one ile away. A sudden lump of panic swelled up in his chest, and he leaned into a full sprint toward the houses that rose into and dipped from view as he passed over mounds of sand. The soft ground absorbed his footsteps and wasted some of his momentum, yet he continued quickly toward the town. Over his heavy breathing and tromping footsteps he thought he could hear a crashing sound, like wood splintered under impact. With every step he felt more compelled to vomit, an urge brought on by exhaustion, fear, and disgust at what may be occurring within the town.
Jack looked with sadistic pride at the gaping hole in the cottage wall he had made. Blood rimmed the shattered boards, pieces of flesh stuck to splinters. Inside the cottage, lying atop the rubble of the destroyed wall, a boy sighed his last breath and never stirred again.
Standing beside him, his sister cried; her sobs muffled by a blanket she clutched. Jack stooped low to enter the cottage through the cavity, scanning over the furniture for any survivors he missed. He strained his eyes against the shifting dark interior, but he was certain he saw motion, heard a scratch. Somewhere in there.... His big hands wrapped around the frame of the breach and he hoisted himself inside. Halfway in he noticed a new scream from the edge of town. His smile broadened.
Blood and broken bodies littered the street like old pieces of trash. There was no discrimination in his victims; men, women, children, elders, animals. Vash trembled at the sight, and falling to his knees obliged his urge to hurl. He was relieved, but seeing fragments of bone scattered across the dirt road brought on another wave of bile. Now he felt shaky, his eyes drooped sleepily. His arms quaked as he pushed himself to stand, his legs could collapse at a change in the wind. He stumbled at a small tremor in the ground.
With belabored steps he moved through the ravaged town, turning his eyes upward to avoid seeing the carnage piled around him. It hadn't been iron he smelled. It was blood, large quantities of it. Another vibration shook the ground, and ahead of Vash the facade of a building exploded, spewing shrapnel through the street. A hunched, hulking mass rose from the billowing cloud of dust and debris, flexing his enormous musculature.
A small girl whined in breathless gasps as he gripped her head with a single hand. Vash pleaded him to stop, yet he lifted her off the ground oblivious to all else. He reared his second hand back, and pressed his fingers firmly together. Vash screamed again, his voice cracking. Jack the Dreadnought threw a quick glance around, drew his hand back a bit further, and swiftly brought it down across her eyes. Her skull imploded with ease. When he was done he cast her aside like an old bullet shell, completely useless and with no value to anyone.
He looked smugly at Vash, satisfied with himself. Did you enjoy my little demonstration? he thought maliciously. "I am Jack the Dreadnought, the fourth of the Deadly Quartet. Welcome." He announced his presence with casual grace in his deep voice, detached from the self-styled horror spread out at his feet. Many years ago, weakness had been the cause of many lashes on his back and face from his father and other older men. Therefore, he now took sublime pleasure in being the strongest. No one could hurt him if he was strong. But strength alone would not save him, he had to be willing to use the force available to him on others.
Vash bowed his head low, fists clenched and eyes shut tight, gritting his teeth. He hunched over in rage, his breathing came in quips and spurts. The display amused Jack. It was comical to him to watch such a little man try to put on a show, to intimidate him with his straw arms. The titan inhaled sharply through clenched teeth and curled his arms across his chest, mocking Vash with his superior flex. Vash snapped his luminous blue eyes on the giant, and he sagged like a wet towel in his bewildered shock.
Jack feared no one, especially not some wiry softy who couldn't handle a little violence. Any man that lashed out against him would soon become part of his growing tally of casualties, a tally marked by stains of blood. Horror was the only emotion he found in any fated man he loomed over. He feared no one, in most cases.
The diablo's rage had subsided, replaced now by a placid hatred. An unearthly aura of disgust and detestation emanated from him, an adamant purpose that would not falter in the face of any adversity. It was sheer intention, plain and simple. Nothing flashy about it, just a "now this will happen" composure. He strode forward in gliding steps, eyes fixed on the giant. Within striking range Jack swung his massive hand in a wide arc. Vash ducked low to the side, the rebounding blow skimming his arm and cracking the bone. Presently Vash straightened himself, quickly catching a second hook with the back of his metal arm.
A deadlocks ensued, both men glaring fiercely at one another. Jack strained to overpower Vash, his muscles surging. Vash slid sideways through the dirt, grinding and shifting his feet to plant himself firmly. With a final rush of force Jack thrust Vash aside, grabbing his arm swiftly once freed of the deadlocks. He peered at Vash, curiosity pulling at his features. "Hm. Nice toy. I wouldn't mind having one of my own." He wrenched his iron grip, shattering the synthetic fibers and beams of his arm.
Vash screamed in anguish, grabbing the bleeding stump of his arm. In the shock the anchors fastening the prosthesis to his arm had been dragged through the flesh, lacerating the muscle. Now the arm hung limp with a new joint, twitching furiously in spells. Vash clawed at the base of the artificial limb, removing screws to detach it. It fell to the ground in a heap.
"That must have been why you were so strong. You cheated by using a robotic arm." The Dreadnought leaned over his prey, a posture he was most accustomed to. "There's no way in hell a little piece of crap like you could give me any trouble with the state you're in." He spoke not to inspire fear in Vash, but to reassure himself and regain his confidence. Being rivaled by such a scrawny man had shaken him up, and he needed to reassert himself as the dominant force. He bolted forward to strike, causing Vash to stumble over backward in a confused retreat.
The monster brought his hefty foot down to smite Vash. Prostrate and defenseless, he rolled over his ruined arm, grabbed at the sand to pull himself along, and continued rolling as Jack stormed after him dropping heavy stomps and punches in the dusty road iches behind him. Vash whipped his legs out and thrust himself into a spiral to spin to his feet, but Jack snatched him by the shin and flung him into the air. He stepped up and placed a wide hand across Vash's chest, bunched his arm up at his side, and pushed Vash into the ground.
He lay sprawled for a time, faintly aware of the hulking mass lurching toward him. With his final fragment of strength he rolled from the path of Jack as he crashed to the ground in a leg drop. Both remained still for a few seconds, but before Vash could recover Jack rose to his feet. He bound his hands around Vash and lifted him from the ground again, setting him securely on his feet. "Run. It will be more fun that way."
Vash gazed at him in a drowsy stupor, disbelieving the Dreadnought would be compassionate.
"I said run!" Jack screamed, knocking Vash across the gut. He stumbled backward, but refused to fall. Squarely facing his opponent, Vash raised his arms in front of himself and prepared to defend against any attacks. Jack laughed raucously at bloody, metal-capped stump aimed at his chest. Twisting his body and rearing his arm back, he gave the warning one last time in an even voice, "Run."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Video games don't make you violent, I swear it. And, uh, I don't know if this was a good chapter. Anyway, I won't make anymore chapters this grusome for quite some time, and I never use excessive violence without reason.