Before we begin, I feel as though I should apologise for the last chapter. It really wasn't my finest hour to say the least and I hope I can redeem my self with this. If I have time, I'll try and re-write it. Also, up to this point, it's been very slow moving. After this chapter, I promise that things will speed up so hats off to all of those who have endured the pervious 13 chapters and 1 interlude.
Chapter 14: Wrath
"Oh shit!" Jobe managed to mutter through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the searing pain that had just exploded in his forehead.
And still the word circulated round his head in a furious pulse, threatening to tear his skull apart. Out of the corner of Jobe's eye, he could just about see the Drowned lowering its warped excuse for a head, letting its growl trail off into nothing but a vicious hiss, like gas being let out of a cylinder at a dangerously high pressure.
Jobe stumbled back, trying to raise his gun at the monstrosity but his arm just wasn't responding. All his senses had clouded over, as if the fog that polluted the air had invaded his very being.
It regarded the staggering man for a moment before renewing its howl and lunging at him with inhuman speed, arms out starched, waiting expectantly for the lethal embrace.
But it never landed the blow.
Jobe's optic nerves barely managed to register the brown blur that came smashing down upon the Drowned like a furious angle, smashing it into the dark, tarmac surface with a sickening crack as bone and cartilage snapped. There was a low beat and Jobe felt the air rush past his face as the Drowned's attacker took off into the low hanging cloud, disappearing from sight in the blink of an eye and tacking its quarry with it.
The dullness that had enveloped Jobe's senses seemed to lift with horrifying clarity. He'd met this creature before and it had a name…
WrathJobe looked at the spot where Wrath had slammed into the Drowned, a spot marked by a splatter of rusty blood that quickly trickled between the cracks of the road's black surface.
'That thing must have hit it with the force of a freight train!' The thought flashed through his mind, along with a series of disturbing images of him befalling the same fate. With out a second though, Jobe ran in the direction of Phil's rapidly fading footprints, franticly using them as some sort of guide.
CRUKKKKK!!
The nearest car to Jobe seemed to implode as something fell like a rock from the sky and slammed into the car's roof. The whole thing seemed to buckle under the weight as windows cracked and their metal supports twisted like fractured bones.
Jobe froze in his tracks when he realised what the lifeless lump that had come plummeting from the sky was.
One of the Drowned's limp arms hung over the edge of the car, a thin trickle of blood ran down the pale green limb. It was the only part of the creature that was still recognisable.
Icy fear crept over Jobe, like frost. From where he stood, he had way too good a view of what remained of the Drowned. Its tight, muscular chest had been split down the middle in a long, messy cut that stretched from its shoulder to its thigh. The diagonal cut was so deep that Jobe was sure he could see the metallic surface of the car underneath, dyed deep crimson with the Drowned's leaking blood. The rest of its flesh was covered in shallow scratches in a bleeding network. Nothing had been left unscathed by its attacker.
He wanted to run, oh god did he want to run. He wanted to tare his eyes away from the mutilated corpse and flee into some dark corner where this town would no longer be able to hunt him, and for a moment, that letter he'd found when he first came to this town flashed into his mind.
Run awayBut it had got a hold of him.
It was the beat that finally snapped Jobe out of it, the beat of leathery wings that belonged to another of this town's unspeakable spawn.
Now, Jobe ran, pumping up the street as fast as his legs could carry him to the tireless beat of a demon's wings but no matter how hard he pushed himself it was quickly gaining on him, the sound of its corrupted feathers filled his ears.
This time, running wasn't going to save him, but misfortune would. If Jobe had looked down at his feet (Which, to be honest was his last concern at this moment) he would have seen that after wadding threw sewers and walking countless miles, one of his shoelaces was finally becoming undone.
Of course, Jobe was to busy running for his life to see this. The loss, flapping thread was caught under his other shoe and he came crashing down onto the rough, and soaked tarmac. The air rushed out of his lungs as gravel scraped at his chest and pain blazed across his skull as his head bounced off the unforgiving surface. He was barely aware of the rush of air as Wrath blazed past over-head; its talon's just missed skewering Jobe's soft back as he hit the ground.
He looked up, not aware of the thin trickle of blood that flowed from his split lip, only just catching a glimpse of his the winged monstrosity before it was swallowed up by the fog.
Jobe rushed to his feet to quickly, his head spinning from an overload of adrenaline that caused his frayed nerves to buzz.
The shotgun bounced softly against Jobe's back and he gratefully grabbed it. He raised the long metal firearm; already the sound of Wrath returning filled could be heard, signalled by the long rushes of air that echoed up the empty street.
Sweat stung Jobe's grazed forehead as he waited for the beast to reveal itself in all its damned glory, the suspense seemed worse that the impending confrontation.
A blur. That was all the incentive Jobe needed to see to fire the shotgun.
'BOOM'
The sound cracked through the street as he pulled the trigger and the weapon roared into life. The wooden handle kicked back into his stomach, sending his muscles into a spasm and he fell back, gasping like a fish.
Wrath hurtled past him, colliding ungracefully with the pavement. It came to a halt in a screeching mass of tangled limbs several feet away from Jobe, who was desperately fumbling with the shotgun in an attempt to re-load it.
Jobe finally managed to snap the barrel open, pushing two cartages down the twin barrels with shaking hands. He looked back up as he snapped the weapon shut and quickly found himself wishing he'd taken Virgil's advice about not going this way.
The thing that stood before him made the Drowned look almost cute. Gnarled, horribly sharp teeth winked at Jobe from receding gums that grew from the creature's snout. Its deeply set eyes were the colour of faded dollar coins and the twin orbs twinkled maliciously from underneath heavy, Neanderthal brows. Jobe noted with horror that there were straps of some kind of material that looked like dried, tattered flesh pathetically bounding the creature's beast-like maw shut. Unfortunately for him, they were doing a pretty crappy job of it as the gigantic jaws snapped angrily at the air.
The strips of stained, leathery bonds had been wrapped with almost rib-cracking tightness around the creature's bony chest, causing it to take deep ragged breaths through its skeletal nose. What looked like a vertebrate remerged from Wrath's rib cadge of a chest, evolving into a malformed pelvis but the spine didn't stop there; What could only be described as a tail twitched angrily, constructed from nothing but flesh and segmented bone, thrashing against the ground like a whip.
It bent low, tucking its ragged wings in close to its chest slowly pacing back and forth on legs that ended in sharp stiletto-like points, the tail whipped as if it were trying to hold off a swarm of flies.
Jobe felt as though his stomach had turned to water as he slowly raised the loaded shotgun. He silently prayed that the thing that looked as though it belonged on the cover of Meatloaf's 'Bat out of Hell' was to stupid to recognise the fact that he was aiming at it with a weapon that could tare a hole through Wrath's chest like it was tissue paper.
It seemed to take forever for the gun to cover the distance to his eye to the tune of Wrath's gore stained blade-like feet 'clacking' to and fro. Jobe felt like he was about to have a cardiac arrest and someone had replaced his tongue with sand paper as he looked down the barrel of the gun. All he had to do was pull the trigger and this ugly motherfucker would be reduced to a smear on the pavement.
It must have waited for the very last second to jump away because when Jobe recovered from the vicious kick back from the gun, Wrath was no longer there. He didn't have to look around franticly for long as the creature was now leering down at him from the nearest car roof, growling wetly through a throat clogged with a mixture of phlegm and tar. Jobe had just enough time to notice a long, thick strand of the putrid smelling concoction hanging like thread from a gap between its numerous fangs before one of the wings lashed out. A small, sorry excuse of a hand grew out of it, adorned with oversized nails that bit into Jobe's chest as it grabbed his shirt. The man let out a shriek as they raked three, deep lines in his skin as the stumpy fingers closed eagerly around the shirt and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed no more than a rag-doll.
The surprisingly strong, pterodactyl-like arms hoisted a thrashing Jobe into the air, bringing him level with its silver dollar eyes while is rancid breath rolled over him in nauseating waves. The smell was so bad, Jobe would have vomited all-over the beast if it hadn't have clubbed him with the flat of its other paw, sending his head snapping back. Slowly, Jobe managed to roll his head back, only to come face to face with the tip of Wrath's cruelly curved tail that stung at his forehead with a quick jab. He whistled through his teeth as it began to burrow through the skin like an over-sized worm, gorging itself on the thin layer of flesh.
Jobe's eye caught Wrath's and in that instant, he saw the sheer, malicious pleasure it was deriving from this drawn-out torture and this time, he did vomit upon the beast.
But it didn't care; in fact, it threw its misshaped back and performed a hideous mockery of a laugh that bubbled in the contense of its raw throat.
Jobe didn't notice the ripping sound of fabric as he was too preoccupied by the barb that was now grating at the very bone of his skull until the material of his shirt finally gave and he fell back to earth.
Never had he been more grateful to fell the wet tarmac knock the wind out of him as he scuttled back from the car on his hands and ass. All the while, Wrath watched him like a kid observing how an ant wriggles helplessly between its thumb and forefinger as the child plays god. Its lipless grin was one of rapture.
Jobe shuffled round to the front of the car, dragging the shotgun with him.
WHAP
The air ripped as Wrath unfolded its wings at break-neck speed and Jobe could do nothing but goggle at the spectacle before him. Three meters of raggedy, torn flesh stretched out from both of the sharp shoulder blades, giving it a six-meter wingspan. The frayed edges of lose, browned skin flapped loosely in the dead air as Jobe's rational mind realized that he'd just been presented with a huge target.
The handgun flew from his belt and Jobe didn't wait to aim before opening fire on the beast. The series of five small explosions were accompanied by a bray of surprise from Wrath as it teetered backwards. Small geysers of blood exploded out where hot slugs of lead sunk into it, powdering the air with a thin crimson rain.
When Wrath raised its head to look at him, Jobe realised that the gun had been clicking with dry importance for several seconds. Its eyes burned with furious anger as it let out a scream like razor blades being dragged over a chalkboard that set Jobe's teeth on edge.
The wings came forward as the wounded beast leapt down from the car at the man, aiming with spear-like feet and for once, he didn't think, he just was.
Throwing the handgun down, the shotgun came up and Jobe fired. The result was spectacular.
Wrath's chest simply exploded in a shower of blood as the oversize bat flew back, smashing into the car windscreen. Jobe slowly pushed himself back up to his feet, leaning on the heavy gun.
Any uncertainty that Wrath was just waiting to tare his head from his body was silenced when he saw he saw the state of the beast.
Its head was drooped on one shoulder, caked in a mask of its own clogged blood. The silver eyes stared lifelessly at a wing sheered by countless crystals of glass that it's landing had created. It had gone halfway through the plate of glass and now lay on a bed of the windows remains, dyed pink from the fluid that flowed from the hole where its stomach had once been.
'Our friend isn't going to be getting up anytime soon' Jobe told himself in an attempt to sooth his frayed nerves.
That didn't stop him from jumping out of his skin when a voice asked,
"Zat thing dead?"
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A/N: For a better idea of 'Wrath', there's a link to a picture in my profile in case people though that was a self-portrait. Well, for their information, I'm really not that ugly, although I have been known to crack the occasional mirror just by looking at it….
