Author's Note…again:
Dear Readers and Reviewers,
This chapter will introduce the last characters that will be used in this fanfiction. As I have said before character submissions are closed, however, I have recently started a new fanfiction and, yes, I do need at least 5 new character profiles for it. More will be explained later on…but as for this story, it's over. My brain cannot cram anymore! I thank you all who have remained reading and thank you for your dedication. Enjoy the next chapter of And the Wicked Shall Burn.
Raven McQueen looked at the fields and immediately thought back to the times when she killed for the pleasure of it. She remembered taking flight and plummeting downward towards those who she felt were inferior rats, just waiting to be picked off. She recalled how her claws would slash away the flesh on the throat, how life died before they hit the cold, uncaring earth. She was the Death Angel and Kyle was the Devil's Hound. Together wiped out the population over and over again; and still, Gatlin would find itself populated just a year after their massacring. No one knew; mail was slow and those who moved in felt that a plague wiped out the original takers of the land. They were a plague, a plague that continued to hunt down the defilers of the land, taking back what was rightfully theirs, killing those who refused to leave, and killing those who did. The hunt kept them in shape; killing those who left to settle elsewhere only caused more chaos, more talk. That kept them alive. And willing to do more.
Kyle, The Devil's Hound, tore out the throat of the man who had begun to call out to the others, ordering them to make a stand and fight back. But it was hopeless; Kyle was ruthless and heeded to his natural instinct as a half-demon. The man went down and died before his body hit the cold earth. A shadow flew over Kyle and immediately he howled out, calling to his faithful friend. Raven, the half-demon with the black, sky covering wings, flew over and noticed the men coming out of their homes, ready to fight back with their pathetic, mortal weapons. Pitchforks were raised, torches were lit, and angry cries filled the night air. Raven plunged downward, claws extended, while Kyle bared his vicious teeth and tore into the vulnerable flesh of a man who held a scythe in his hand. He hardly had time to strike back, when Kyle bared his teeth and lunged for the arteries in the neck. Raven flew over heads, tearing one off in the process. It ripped with satisfaction; that sounded silenced most of the men in the crowd. Until their stomachs decided to get into the action; a few lost their dinners through the mouth, while most lost their dinners when Raven decided that she would gut most of her prey for the evening. Kyle always had a fondness for the throat; it was just his way, a calling card to all who dared to notice. The Devil's Hound bounded forward, tearing and ripping, killing and slaughtering. The Death Angel plunged over and over again, picking a few up and downing them down. She enjoyed this; their pitchforks could cut through her entire body, but she would not stop. Stopping was not an option. They invaded their land, their sacred land. This land belonged to the pure of heart and even they died when their uselessness faded. But it was much easier to order around the pure of heart, for their were ignorant and would not question motives. Raven and Kyle were happier with the old system. They obeyed their orders and killed off many. This brought them the greatest amount of pleasure, a euphoria. This was their life, this was them. This was their way and this was their duty. Nothing could deter them from their calling. They were given life and this was how they honored it.
Kyle interrupted her train of thoughts. "Smell the air…it's changed dramatically. A new guardian is keeping Gatlin safe. I smell him…a wolf boy. Definitely a wolf boy…I hate wolves." He growled out the last sentence and crinkled his nose. "Damn flea-bags."
Raven placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. "I smell wolf too; it's strong…another demon?"
Kyle shook his head. "No…there's a real wolf and a guardian, whose is like wolf. He's been watching us for some time now. Can't you feel his eyes watching every move we make? He's out there and he's…arrogant. Seems like our master has forgotten to inform him of who we are. Shall we go in and inform the newest lackey of why we lasted so long in this world?"
Raven smirked. "Be my guest."
The pregnant Silkster became a fully employed mother, always watching her children pounce upon each other and their little gray bodies climbing over each other. They could not hiss or snarl or growl yet; they could only "meep" for the time being. Admatha watched them with her pale blue eyes; they pounced upon each other. Fortunately, they did not have the saliva that melted flesh, but they did have teeth that could tear through flesh. A conceited juvenile Silkster learned that lesson, when three of its eyes were ripped out of its head. The mother devoured the predator quickly before it thought about killing her children. They "meeped" happily; a few found themselves playing with the large black eye, while a few took to nibbling on the sweet muscle of the other two. The rest of the Silkster pack took to the ceiling, not wanting to get eaten. The mother was pleased with this arrangement, no longer would she have to worry about her pack mates becoming meals for her children or her children becoming late night snacks. It was a perfectly good arrangement. Five gray-bodied Silksters pounced and leaped upon the black eye and began to chase it frantically around on the floor. They "meeped" aggressively, hoping to ward off any adult Silksters from their toy; the adults listened well. They stayed trapped upon the ceiling, hissing warnings to the mother, who simply shrugged them off. She did not care what they thought; she only cared about her children and their happiness.
Admatha watched the mother Silkster care for her children and sighed. She had her chance, with her own. "Sano!" she barked as she watched the five infants kick the eye away from each other, "Go collect Idbash's charges…they are becoming nuisances. I can hear them from here and they are starting to give me a headache." Sano bowed and transformed, becoming the little thief that he was. Admatha muttered under her breath. "Now I know why they are called Children of the Corn…they are immature, little brats. It makes perfect sense."
Idbash could not take it anymore. They were becoming nuisances. Isaac and Micah were busy staring each other down, hoping that perhaps they could each other with a simple glare or muttered curse. Well, these did not work. Their glaring only becoming more and more annoying for Idbash, who had begun to wonder if she could kill them herself and get away with it. After all, this was probably the reason why He Who Walks Behind the Rows gave up on them. They were children with the minds of children. They could not put away their childish hostilities; they could not banish this weakness from their minds. And she was more than willing to bet that their own battle would be the longest; of course, most of it would probably consist of glaring, which at the moment, Micah seemed to be doing quiet well. However, Isaac had a smirk on his lips, a smirk that meant painful torture. She continued onward, wondering if she could lose them somehow; yet the thought immediately came back with a downside. To lose them would only mean that she would have to locate them and be punished at the same time. This prospect was deemed unpleasant. Very quickly; Idbash was losing this battle in a short amount of time.
Ezekiel walked into the fields; his guides shunned themselves away from him, obviously hurt about their outward appearances. They muttered to themselves and only spoke to Ezekiel when they question his reign or when he asked about his resurrection. He answered their questions and they made a valiant attempt to give him the correct answers; they spoke in hushed tones and broken whispers. They were answers that pleased no one but the demon guides. He walked through the path that was made for him; the stalks did not forget his majesty and they bowed accordingly. Law and order prevailed here and his swift and decisive was not forgotten. The blood that was spilt upon the land stained the earth permanently. The cries of the infidels and the unbelievers never left the roots the corn; sometimes, after a winter-week of hell or a summer hot, downpour, the stalks and leaves would cry out in their blood as a reminder of what they had done. It was never a sign of what they had accomplished, but what they had done with their own hands, minds and hearts. He continued on through the fields, thinking deeply about what would happen when he met the others; as far as he knew, this was his last chance to show his Lord and Master what he was made of. This was his last chance to show his followers that he was still supreme over all. Of course, a few heads would have to roll before they saw his power and prestige; in some ways, he knew exactly who he wanted to take down first. And in other ways, he wanted to stay in the shadows and watch them fuck up royally. It would make his second life much easier. But then of course, he was afraid of meeting another valuable enemy. He was afraid, because the rest would be afraid once he showed. Because he always had power on his side, power that he could wield with a single thought; power that could take them down in a single punch. But this leader was not at all flashy and he preferred to work in a simply, non-caring way.
Ezekiel, however, did not care to think to long about his rivals.
He cared about how he was going to decapitate the first.
She could hardly open her eyes, but heard the voices of two distinct women; one was rather smooth and pure, while the other was deep and rich. One good and one evil; perhaps her judges, ready to dictate whether she was good enough for hell or whether she was good enough for heaven. That was the way it was supposed to work, was it not?
"She's in very good condition for someone her age," spoke the pure voice with a hint of optimism.
"She should be…after all, I made sure that she gave one hell of a show for those pathetic, inbred mortals. I take great pride in my work."
"Ah," sighed the pure voice. "You never speak well of them. Why is that?"
The deep voice purred. "Because they always enjoyed doing her bidding. Not so much his bidding, but hers. She liked playing with them, making them move in the direction they wanted to go in; she loved giving them their inner desires. They worshipped her for it; deep down inside, she loved the spotlight and loved being loved. Therefore, she gave them her attention. I was on the back burner for most of my life. She always preferred them. I was always second best. A hand-me-down if you will; I was not new like they were. I was not pure and innocent like they were. I was just…a nuisance."
"Well, her playthings are about to start an uproar."
The deep voice laughed. "Yes, well; she thought she could get away with it. But of course, she does not know who you'll become next. And this girl is pretty powerful. She too has the gift of Sight. Which of course, is a blessing." The deep voice owner waited for a reply of any sort. None came. "She is definitely her mother's child. That Sarah…"
"Hush," responded the pure voice. "She's sleeping."
"Probably thinks she's dead."
The pure voice huffed a bit. "Well, since the bullet did hit her brain. To them, that means death."
"Like I said before, I take great pride in my work." The owner of the deep voice ran a hand along the left side of the face. "See…she thinks she's dead."
"Until she realizes that she can wake up."
David Johnson left the priest in the church; he had taken the liberty of stringing up his body and intestines upon the ceiling; sure, they dripped a bit, but as long as one had an umbrella, then you were fine. It was the usual routine now; the priest would piss him off and David would kill him. Of course, he would have to wait a decade and a half until he found which body the priest occupied and then they would start the entire relationship all over again. Yet, the priest always found this amusing. Always and forever, until He decided to take charge and wipe them both out. David did not find that amusing. He did not want to be wiped out and he refused to be lured in such a manner. He had higher priorities; one was to outlive them all and divulge himself in the finest.
The wolf boy was indeed watching them; he soaked in their movements and studied their personalities. He immediately hated Kyle and he immediately adored Raven. Of course, that would hold until she said something stupid; but until that time, he adored her. Darkness from the fields covered him completely from their eyes; it was a good thing too. It meant that his ravished blade was covered in darkness with him. That was all that truly mattered in life. A gleaming blade ready to bring justice to those arrogant fools who felt it necessary to defile the very thing he loved. "Behold, the two sacrificial lambs wandering towards the burning alter of the Lord. They knew it was their time to bring themselves before the merciful God and ask that He prepare them a place by His side. But the Lord, being full of wisdom and wonder, shunned the two black sheep from His sight. 'Ye are unworthy of the Lord! Thy fleece is damaged from your many unforgivable sins and thy eyes are blind to the true ways of the Lord'. And then, the mighty Lord spoke down upon then a curse. 'May the loyal wolf tear you down and strike at your soul; may your blood run like the river and your shallow, denounced cries howl like the stormy wind'. And the Lord called upon the wolf, whose eyes were like fire and whose teeth shone in the brilliance of the Lord. 'Go and take them from My sight. For I have given; now I take'."
Temita lanqo devilo; spirato gurmi locité miy otil. Guwynot simperel funik.
Time ago the Devil came; the spirit of the land knew nothing. And Gatlin was the key to it all.
Gatlin had seen its share of heartache and pain; Gatlin had seen its land overrun with blood and rats and other unholy testaments. Gatlin had seen many horrors in its heyday. In fact, the first massacre was only a short pit stop to the real horrors Gatlin had seen. And it was all due to the fact that a branch from the Devil walked upon the land carelessly and decided to make it His home. And even before that Gatlin had seen a lot worse. Gatlin, just a piece of land out in the middle of nowhere, had seen Armageddon many times over. Gatlin, not even a dot on a map, had seen the armies of Life and the armies of Death slay away and die. Gatlin, a small-town with only two stoplights, had seen the fall of the sun and the chilling touch of a long-lived after-life. Gatlin was cursed long before the lives of Isaac and Malachi. Gatlin was cursed the day it was born. He was there when it was born and He claimed it as His own.
Gatlin, a small-town, had seen worse in its heyday. Perhaps, because, He had brought along a friend; one much worse then He. And the Other knew how to steal the life of the party away from the host.
The dungeons of Hells rattled loudly as the bellowing from one of the inmates shook the cages to their core. "LET ME OUT!" screamed the inmate with the fury that could match a tornado. "LET ME OUT! I SWEAR, I'LL FIND HIM AND GRIND HIM BACK INTO THE COLD, DARK EARTH! LET ME OUT! LET ME FINISH WHAT I WAS COMMANDED TO DO! LET ME FINISH HIM OFF! LET ME FINISH THAT CONIVING LIAR! LET ME KILL HIM!" The voice became louder and louder with each new sentence. "LET ME OUT OF HERE! LET ME GO AND KILL THAT MANIPULATING, EVER-SMRIKING, HOLY-THAN-THOU BASTARD!" The inmate stopped and it seemed that peace might finally settle over.
"LET ME KILL THAT BASTARD, ISAAC!"