Chapter 5
Sunlight trickled into the damaged bathroom at first, and then drowned everything in it's blinding yellow warmth, flooding through the opened door. Thorn was all that stood in it's path. He did not believe what met his eyes.
About a fourth of the stadium was almost completely gone. Rubble iced with blood and mangled bodies was strewn about the area. Thorn was paralyzed in place, surveying the scene with utter horror. Parents and children lay lifeless hand-in-hand with almost amused looks of suprise on their face. The culprit was still in the ring. There was no difficulty distinguishing the living from the dead. Anyone alive was yelling or screaming.
He was in his late manhood, wearing a navy blue jumpsuit that emphasized his rock-hard muscles perfectly. His hand was outstretched in the general direction of the chaos. His hair was like a lit match, and a golden flame surrounded him. An "M" was tattooed on his forehead, black and a style of some distant culture. What was most grotesque about the killer, however, was his expression. A sneer crossed his face, one that utterly disregarded the way he had discarded so many lives so easily. A man in a red gi stood arguing with him, and a small man with a mohawk was between, apparently trying to stop everything and failing terribly.
Ice still in his veins, Thorn turned back into the bathroom, calling in. His voice playfully echoed off the tile walls.
"Becky."
She rose from the floor, and invoked the usual stirrings within him as she did so. He averted his gaze. Now was not the time for longing. She turned her head, pleading desperately.
"Thorn what happened?"
He just shook his head and closed his eyes hard.
"I want you to go home. Try not to look as you leave. Get as far from the stadium as possible."
"But I-"
"No questions. Just get out of here." Thorn's voice was steely and cold. He moved away from the doorway, and she stepped out.
A gasp, a few horrified shrieks and words, and Becky was gone. When Thorn turned, so was the killer and his comrades. A muffled cry was heard from the rubble.
"...help me..." It was weak, and muffled, but Thorn recognized him. For a moment he stood wondering whether to help or not. Then he spat angrily and pulled Bill from the rubble. He didn't look back as he too left the stadium.
Sunlight trickled into the damaged bathroom at first, and then drowned everything in it's blinding yellow warmth, flooding through the opened door. Thorn was all that stood in it's path. He did not believe what met his eyes.
About a fourth of the stadium was almost completely gone. Rubble iced with blood and mangled bodies was strewn about the area. Thorn was paralyzed in place, surveying the scene with utter horror. Parents and children lay lifeless hand-in-hand with almost amused looks of suprise on their face. The culprit was still in the ring. There was no difficulty distinguishing the living from the dead. Anyone alive was yelling or screaming.
He was in his late manhood, wearing a navy blue jumpsuit that emphasized his rock-hard muscles perfectly. His hand was outstretched in the general direction of the chaos. His hair was like a lit match, and a golden flame surrounded him. An "M" was tattooed on his forehead, black and a style of some distant culture. What was most grotesque about the killer, however, was his expression. A sneer crossed his face, one that utterly disregarded the way he had discarded so many lives so easily. A man in a red gi stood arguing with him, and a small man with a mohawk was between, apparently trying to stop everything and failing terribly.
Ice still in his veins, Thorn turned back into the bathroom, calling in. His voice playfully echoed off the tile walls.
"Becky."
She rose from the floor, and invoked the usual stirrings within him as she did so. He averted his gaze. Now was not the time for longing. She turned her head, pleading desperately.
"Thorn what happened?"
He just shook his head and closed his eyes hard.
"I want you to go home. Try not to look as you leave. Get as far from the stadium as possible."
"But I-"
"No questions. Just get out of here." Thorn's voice was steely and cold. He moved away from the doorway, and she stepped out.
A gasp, a few horrified shrieks and words, and Becky was gone. When Thorn turned, so was the killer and his comrades. A muffled cry was heard from the rubble.
"...help me..." It was weak, and muffled, but Thorn recognized him. For a moment he stood wondering whether to help or not. Then he spat angrily and pulled Bill from the rubble. He didn't look back as he too left the stadium.