I felt bad for not updating ANYTHING in so long, so I decided to shove this out there for those of you who actually read my stuff. I doubt I'll have any free time for long updates anytime soon, but I'm working on typing the rest of the next chapter of "Demon Blood: So Strange" for posting sometime in the next few weeks. My apologies, once again.
I OWN NOTHING.
Enjoy.
He hadn't meant for it to come out the way it did. Well, in a way he had, but he didn't know this would be the end result.
"Hold his legs!" A pair of arms appeared around his knees and he crashed to the cement, dirt and rocks working their way under his skin and blood seeping out to stain the sidewalk his face was pressed against.
"Get behind him!"
Just one word. One word. ONE. And it came out wrong. Nothing unusual. Not his fault. It happened to everyone at some point. Just not... under these circumstances.
"Grab his arms! HIS ARMS DAMMIT! What are you, retarded?!" Someone's knee came down on the side of his head and stars exploded like fireworks across the surface of his brain. His jaw protested weakly and then buckled, choosing to break under the weight rather than bend against the sudden strain. His arms were crossed and pinned behind his back at an angle where any increase in pressure would snap the bones. The clunky watch around his wrist hissed and sparked, its face smashed and half the wiring torn out and hanging loosely to the side.
He should have kept quiet, that much was clear, but even if he hadn't had that option he couldn't help but feel that his current situation could have been somehow avoided. That he could have done something, anything, to divert the wrath of the overmuscled, overhyped, overstimulated, overblown young men who were crushing him against the street.
A wave of black hit him and he forced himself to the other side of the street. It wasn't far enough, but it retained their attention for another few seconds, preventing any of his assailants from losing interest and going after the second mutant that had, at least for the moment, escaped the direct consequences of their rage. "Shit! It's a teleporter!"
"Not a very good one." Their thundering footsteps echoed though the concrete pressed to his ear.
"He can't get far, get him!" He pushed himself up onto his knees and got two good bounds forward before something hit him with the force of a tanker to the stomach and he slammed into the brick wall of the shop behind him, his head snapping back and cracking against the solid blocks. The eruptions of illogically bright color behind his eyes were replaced with strangely oppressive black ooze.
Such a simple corruption of lexis and he was coughing up blood because of it. As far as the order of the universe went, that just didn't make sense.
Another spacejump and he was out of their arms and running down the street. Albeit not very fast or effectively, but that wasn't the point. The point was to keep things interesting. And not much was more interesting that sprinting through the streets in a part of town he wasn't familiar with where everything was suddenly a lot darker than it should have been, even considering that it was past midnight. The not-being-able-to-see thing was new for him. A hand grabbed his tail and yanked him to a stop, tearing the delicate muscles at the base of his spine and sending lighting shooting up his back to his brain.
Screaming wasn't an option with his cracked jaw, so a strangled gasp of pain was all that escaped his lips.
Maybe if he hadn't run, if he hadn't fought back at first, they would have gotten bored and left him alone. But playing the distraction was required of him and he was performing the part as best he could. Besides, this was just pain. Only pain. And hate. But no illusions. He could at least be consoled by that much. These people knew exactly what they were doing.
An arm hooked around his neck and he went down, two hundred pounds of solid human coming to rest on top of him and crushing the air out of his lungs. "Don't let him go! You! Grab his legs!" The lack of oxygen should have been impairing his vision, but instead it made him realize that there wasn't anything left for it to impair.
The lack of pretension was almost a relief. There were no shouts of 'demon', no German curses rattling his eardrums. It meant they were making progress. It meant people were listening. He was still a freak of nature, but he was at least hated for what he was, not for some mythological or legendary discrepancy in appearance that he happened to physically resemble. The thought of properly directed abhorrence was… liberating.
"You think you're normal? You think you're one of us?"
He gasped slightly, his fangs digging into the forearm of the thug who was currently squeezing the air out of him, struggling just enough to show that he was still alive, still conscious, and still fighting. That he was still worth their attention.
His attackers took it as a sign of confirmation.
One of them let out a growl that would make a pit bull proud. "You had this coming, freak."
His thoughts had gone past the feeling of hurt the pervaded his bones. He could hear the heart-stopping splinters of shattered bones crunching under well-worn sneakers but he couldn't feel it nearly as much as he suspected he should have been able to. His musings on the political correctness of hatred were draining his conscious mind of the energy it took to stay that way.
Rough hands grabbed his face and twisted it up toward the light. He assumed it was toward the light in any case, because there was no reason for there to be any luminosity rising up from the asphalt. "Just don't forget. You were asking for this." Cool metal brushed softly, almost gently against his fur before burying itself in his cheekbone. Hot blood sprang from the puncture mark and marred the chilly sensation he had been blearily enjoying a moment before. The no longer so welcome intrusion to his face traced its way down toward his chin, leaving warm, dark liquid trailing in its wake. He gave a sharp cry that was quickly cut short by his inability to move his mouth.
More lines appeared, the knife inflicting damage on a different area of his features every time his spiraling thoughts came back around to the present. The man with a mission who was guiding its journey was just a boy.
Just another child. He couldn't be more than a year older than him. So what changed? Was this boy's life so terrible that he found it preferable to inflict injury on others than to face his own reality? What cards had life dealt him that led him here, where he was playing the antagonist in a causeless fight? Did he even know? Did he realize that his age had not gone unnoticed by the one he was carving like a block of wood?
He smiled in spite of the taste of blood on his lips and the spasm of facial muscles under his skin interrupted the smooth line the blade was working on. The man cursed and finished the mark with a much harsher, deeper cut that the others. "Damn freak." He muttered. His 'victim' faded out again and came to at the startling sensation of having a steel-toed boot hook itself under his chin and snap his head back far enough that one of his ears touched his back.
What was meant to be a killing blow instead only caused him extreme discomfort and whiplash.
His limp body was released and he groaned slightly, welcoming clean air back into his body with thankfulness and several broken ribs. "God, is that thing still alive?!"
"I'll take care of it."
"Nah, leave him here. He can be an example to all his friends."
Pebbles vibrated into the cuts lining his frame as the group walked away. He couldn't move. Breathing was hard, but at least it was possible. He could feel his eyes leaking salt into his wounds, but he couldn't think of any reason he should be crying.
Ich werde für dich beten, meine Brüder.
The street was void of movement, but he still felt one presence lingering over him. "Goodbye, freak." They said, not expecting to be heard. A foot landed on the side of his head, the forward momentum of the kick transferring to his body and sending his unresponsive form into a metal post that should have been a streetlamp, but given that its bulb had been out for over a year it wasn't doing a very good job of it. The crown of his head made a clear ringing sound against the silver alloy.
And after that…
Nothing.
ss
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