Christophe's P.O.V.
Let me tell you this, right now so none of you have any concerns about my health or some other shit. If you do worry about my safety, I will brain you. I ex-fucking-aggurated I don't have amnesia. Why am I pretending that I have amnesia? Because I've withheld secrets. Facts that could change the war. In the beginning, I was scared. I felt like these secrets would ruin my life. I didn't tell them. I've hidden my real self from both these pages and the people that I call my allies.
I found one way to fix that. Create another secret. Fuck all of that 'Two rights don't make a left' or however the saying goes. This time, it's beginning to work. Even people I barely ever see notice a change in me.
My shovel moves slower than it normally does. I'm in no rush. For once, I don't have Gregory screaming at me to speed up or Kenny muttering that I better not kill him this time. I'm not on a mission. The doctor deemed me unfit to be on missions. I finally have a break.
Don't get me wrong, I'm still going in-humanly fast. Probably at 35 miles per hour. Try digging that fast. You can't.
The first time that I ever found out how to use a shovel when I was four. I was genetically modified by Angels two days before (Fucking bitches). That was the day my parents disowned me for being a 'Freak of nature!' It doesn't matter. They took me back when I was seven after Gregory threatened their financial security. It didn't work. So I threatened their lives. That method worked.
I only went ten miles an hour back then, even at my fastest speed. I've definitely progressed since then.
I don't speak as the shovel moves. I don't need to. I don't have to think of where to stab my shovel. It's a part of me. It moves as well as my arms and legs. Another limb.
Sometimes a curse can be a gift.
There are only four of us in La Resistance that have anything supernatural about us. Kenny with his immortality. Me with my digging. Craig with some Incan superman power. And Brofloski had some fucked up thing happen to him in fourth grade that gave him telekinesis or something. He only uses it when angry. Gregory is an overly perfect British fag, but no powers. It must suck for him.
Let me tell you most of what I think about my partner. He's obnoxious, selfish, uncaring, cruel, not trusting, not trustful, overly perfect, fagish, and completely insane. I've seen him plot the death of his own king, just so he could escape imprisonment. I've seen him murder his cousin in cold blood for calling him a rude name. I've seen him plot, and lie, and manipulate, and murder. I've seen him hide himself from the world. I've seen him pretend that he's alone.
He and I are exactly the same.
Sometimes when I get angry (Or should I say, so incredibly pissed off that I'll rip the head off of everyone in La Resistance), I'll make my way underground and just dig. I go fast enough that no one can follow. Not even with the residue of my strange digging abilities left inside each and every shovel. I've probably saved Craig's lift like that, since he normally takes a shovel with him.
Then again, Tweek could probably dig as fast as I can if he hears a gerbil in his tunnel. I smirk. Not a bad idea.
I check my wrist watch, and smirk when I see the time. 15 hours. Right when Craig's little gang should be getting back.
Tweek's scream echoes through the cavern. Craig and Clyde are barely able to keep up with him, the latter of the two holding onto the former as they run. They run faster than any human should have to, their feet bolts of lightning.
I literally roll on the floor laughing, like I've seen people say they are in chat rooms. I'm barely able to keep the laughter at a quiet volume.
Annoying Craig's Gang. The perfect stress reliever.
I know that someone in his Gang probably heard my laughter, but I just can't stop it. I roll back onto my back like a dog.
And that thought ruins the moment. I hate dogs. Guard dogs in particular. I hated them when I was eight, and my feelings for them only grew worse when they killed me. I never let Gregory get a dog when we were living in my first base when we were eleven. You can see why. He didn't.
I'm up again in a second, stabbing the blade of my shovel through the wall. I'd like to catch Gregory's expression.
The second I reach a fast pace I follow the four steps of digging. Stab, scoop, throw, repeat. Stab the wall. Scoop the dirt. Throw it over your shoulder. Repeat your previous actions.
I find this calming for some reason. Even as I hear Tweek's screams echo through tiny holes in the walls that I leave so air can get through. Sometimes it doesn't even matter. I can go so fast that I don't need to breath. I never worry about it. I never care.
I'm in a daze once the dirt falls.
Clyde is the first one of his group to wake up. He groans, and rubs the back of his head. His eyes look up to find that the tunnel is now about five feet higher than it was before. Then he realizes that he's covered in dirt.
He shakes his head to free the trapped soil. It takes him several minutes to stand again. He's bleeding, the side of his face red.
Craig is the next to wake up. He's the least wounded of the trio. He's the one who saw what was happening before it did. He's the one that escaped the worst of the blow. He's the one that bleeds the least.
Thankfully, Tweek doesn't wake up. Clyde makes sure that he's still breathing, before relaxing when he finds that the pessimist is alive.
"'E's unconscious." I say, moving only my eyes. I'm the least wounded of the four of us, with only a scratch next to my right eye bearing any mark of the collapse we just survived.
"No shit, Sherlock." Craig says, flipping me off. I narrow my eyes at his finger.
"Ees 'e alive?"
"He's fine. Can you just tell me why the tunnel collapsed, and why you're here?" The cynic demands. I just laugh.
"You don't geeve me," I struggle a few seconds, trying to remember the word in English. My German is better. "Ordairres." I finally remember, running a hand over my shovel. There's a few extra scratches, from where I shoved it into the wall like a pole and held on until the dirt stopped crumbling, but I ignore them.
"Why did the roof fall?" Clyde asks.
"Shut up, Capad." Craig says.
"Capad?"
"It's his codename. From that 'Lice Capades' thing. You were in South Park at that time, I think." He says, completely destroying the forth wall. I glare at him for a second, before turning to Clyde.
"I 'as deeging extremely fast. I deedn't realize 'ou were under me. I'm surprised eet deedn't collapse earlier. You're lucky zat ze least terreeble 'ound 'un of 'ou might get ees a coma for a couple of 'ears. Maybe unteel zis war ees ovairre. Lucky bastard."
"He's not in a coma, Mole."
"Fuckeeng sheet. 'Ow many of you beetches are een zis fuckeeng tunnel."
"I heard the commotion, and it seems all the better that I'm here." The smug cocksucker smiles. I want to bash his face in.
"Go fuck yourself beetch. I don't need you."
"You're still five minutes away from the base. Do you even know from what direction?" He leans against one of the non-crumbling walls and smirks. I'm going to kill him soon. It's then that I realize that no, I have no idea where I am. I have no idea how he got in here. There are no entrances,
"Fine." I snarl. "'Ich way, preeck?"
"Uh-uh-uh." Gregory waves his finger in front of my face. I fight the urge to grab it and cut it off. "No cruelty, Mole." He receives a different offending finger, this time from my direction.
"Fuckeeng piece of sheet." I mumble.
"This way." He points to what I presume to be West of where we are. He gazes at the boy that still lays on the floor before looking at both Craig and Clyde (or as they call themselves on missions; Chullo and Capad (I hate when people break that fourth wall). The duo takes the hint.
I dig. They drag. Gregory leads. I resist the urge to smash him in the ribs with m shovel. no one makes me seem like a bitch and gets away with it.
There's silence. Sweet silence that greets me only in the caverns beneath the world. I live for this bliss. A world away from the terrors that plague what fragile mind, that we human beings are allowed. I close my eyes for a second, living for this. Then I remember where I am.
"No." I say, once I hear what he has to say.
"I don't think that this is possible."
"What?" Mophesto asks.
"He's not going to remember." The doctor sighs, glaring at me in a way all doctors must want to glare at a troublesome patient.
"How did you make that diagnosis?" Gregory always seems to have the last word. Smug bastard.
"It's been seven months. I don't believe that he will ever regain his memories. I don't see any point in sending him on this mission." My eyes fill with worry for a second, before I shut it back down. I have to get back there. I have to be the one to take Cartman and Damien down, at least Damien. I'm not being selfish. My instincts are telling me this. And Angel kills a Demon. It makes strange sense.
"No." Gregory and I scowl at the same time. He turns and smiles at me, but I just scowl. Then: "He [I] has [have] to go."
"Why?" The doctor massages his forehead as if we're giving him a headache. He never did like children, and now he has to spend every waking hour, and non-waking, with a group of them. It must be Hell for him.
"Because I have to. Is there any way we can just make sure that I remember, or even not remember ever again?" Because this mission is the reason I faked amnesia. Every one of our lives are in danger. The second I heard of it I looked for the first way to fake it. Cartman taking France was the first, and only way out.
"Knock him over the head just as hard as before, maybe harder. It may cause brain damage, but the-" He would never get a chance to continue. Because a second after he says that, a hand grabs the back of my head before I can move and all I see is black.
When I come to, I can immediately feel a blinding pain in my forehead. Worse than a migraine, less than a gunshot wound. It's still enough to render me useless for the next few minutes.
After those pass, I see the dried brown liquid on the wall, and I recognize the British bastard that seems to be everywhere at once.
And I don't mean it in the sense of hallucinations. I mean that he's always the center of attention. And he's always everywhere.
"Are you awake, Christophe?" He asks, concern in his voice.
"Non, my eyes are just open and I'm talkeeng to you, but I'm a mozzerfuckeeng corpse." He rolls his eyes.
"Do you remember?" I stop for a second, and close my eyes. I'm lucky not to actually have amnesia after that blow to the head.
"Non. I remembairre nozzing." I say, after a few minutes. Lying isn't so hard after you've been doing it continuously for the past seven years of your life.
"That actually wasn't the cure. I paid him to prescribe that to you." Kenny laughs. Tweek screams randomly from one of the other rooms.
"Beetch!" I mumble, earning more laughter. The doctor smirks.
"No, that was the actual cure." The laughter immediately stops.
"B-but I paid you a thousand dollars."
"And I really have to thank you for that, it was very kind of you." I smirk at Kenny's defeated face. Tweek screams again and I hear someone scream at him to shut up.
"But the –ngh- gnomes! They'll get me man!"
"The gnomes will be the least of your problems if you don't shut up." Craig screams back.
"About his condition?" Gregory asks.
"Ah yes, he probably won't regain his memories in time for the mission. By now it seems like a hopeless case. There's no known cure for amnesia."
"Zen I'll sue your ass eef you don't geeve me 'alf of ze zousand dollars zat Kenny paid you for 'cureeng' me."
"Why half?"
"'Ould you do eet for ze full zousand?"
"You can't sue him. You're a fugitive." Ike points out.
"Shut ze fuck up, deeckless fag."
"Don't talk to a seven year old like that!" Gregory reprimands. I tell him to fuck off. He tells me I need counseling. I ask him where I'm supposed to go to one.
An hour later I find Fillmore watching me nervously.
"Hi."
"Fuck off." I lay myself on the make-shift couch and close my eyes.
"You shouldn't sleep, this is important."
"Fuck. Off." I repeat. He sighs.
"Why would you come if you don't want to talk?" He's not asking. He actually sounds slightly angry.
"Seven 'ear olds can't 'andle words." I keep my eyes closed, staring at the blackness of my eyelids.
"Curses you mean?"
"No sheet."
"So my job is to help you stop cursing," He says it as if it's impossible. "I've got my work cut out for me."
"Fuck you."
"Shut up and let me think, Mole." Yes, the name stuck. It's their way of differentiating me from the 'other' me. The one who 'remembers' his past. And I'm talking about myself in the third person. Just great.
"Great skeell. Insulteeng pateents. 'Ou are great at 'our zzjob."
"Yet you responded positively." Fillmore sighs and tosses his pad of paper and pen onto the ground. I spot a doodle of Cartman with a knife in his head and Fillmore standing over him.
"Maybe you're ze 'un zat needs conseleeng."
"Shut up."
"Why ze angairre?"
"You, Gregory, and Kenny aren't the only ones that suffered alright?" He finally snaps, breaking his monotone voice. He glares at me, continuing. "You're not the only ones in this base! You're not the only ones whose country has been taken. I watched Cartman kill my mother in the attack. I was five. You're not fucking special Christophe!" I notice that he strayed to the name that I haven't heard in seven months.
"'Ou 'ave no idea 'at your talkeeng about."
"I watched her bleed! I watched her scream out her last words, telling me to run. I watched him stop on her throat as he watched me follow her orders!" And then I snap.
"At least your maman stayed wiz your and trusted you! At ze age of zree she left me to die een ze streets. I 'as rescued by a group of rogue mercenareees, after a group of Angels mutated me eento one of zem. Ze raised me for anozairre zree 'ears before Gregory keelled zem all. Zen 'e left me een ze care of my maman. She zrough me out a 'ear latairre. I zzjoined wiz Dameeen keelleeng zings. Zen even 'e 'ad to go scam some fuckeeng town. I 'as left alone for ze forz time een my life. A monz later I met Gregory again. We teamed up. Zen I went to Souz Park, and ended up being keelled so zat Satan wouldn't destroy ze world. You want to pretend zat 'ou 'ave eet bad? Step eento my shoes for one fuckeeng day, and you'll see why I don't care zat your precious maman died. One mozzerfuckeeng day!" I snarl, venom in my words. The angered expression warps into a look that I can't put a name on.
"That method worked." He sounds smug. I want to wring his neck.
"S'ut up!"
"How much do you remember?"
"I remembairre dyeeng. I remembairre comeeng back to life. I remembairre stayeeng een a tunnel, not comeeng out for four days. And zen I came back up. And zen nozing." I lie.
"You've had a terrible childhood," I don't respond. "You want to talk more about it?" My glare shuts him up. He looks at me nervously, before continuing. "You're an Angel?"
"Zat's ze best fuckeeng zing zat you peecked from zat pile of sheet?"
"So it's a lie?"
"Non." I sigh, clenching my fists at my side. This is the only room with nothing for me to brain him with. Worst comes to worst, I'll strangle that dickless cocksucker.
"That sucks."
"Non sheet." I snarl, my glare intensifying. He winces.
"Why are you always so angry?" He asks, taking a different approach.
"'Ou try leeveeng my life and not getteeng peessed every 'unce and a while."
"It's not every once and a while. It's every day. You're always angry. I don't think it's healthy." Why am I telling my secrets to a nine year old? He's good at his job (The one job that we assigned him. Lucky bastard).
"Geeve me one reason 'hy I shouldn't keell you right now."
"See what I'm talking about?"
"Non. Can I go now?"
"Fine, I guess you got a lot done today."
"Shut up." I snarl, picking myself off of the rock couch. It's not that comfortable. I'm not a fucking architect.
"I have to tell Gregory." He calls out.
"Great client confedenti-fuckeeng-tality." Fillmore just laughs, and waves me to the door.
"I have Tweek in ten minutes. I have to make the walls safe enough that if he runs into it he won't pass out. Go shoo." He smirks, putting literal padding onto the walls, waving me away once more. I give him a bored look before going.
"How was it?" Ike steps out from behind a large piece of rock that I couldn't break with my shovel (Or a jackhammer).
"'Ou 'ere 'atcheeng ze 'ole time. You s'ould know, beetch." I snarl, continuing my walk.
"Gregory wants you to extend the base."
"Non."
"But we need more room."
"Are 'ou non 'appy?" He falls into step behind me.
"We need more room!"
"Are you non 'appy?" I repeat.
"We don't have anywhere to sleep!"
"Zen leave and go to a motel or somezing." My feet move on their own accord. My mind races, running through different possibilities of my own death. As July 8th grows closer, this happens more and more frequently. Gregory doesn't need to tell me of my fate. I already know that my life has been carved out for me. I've been prepared for this for my whole life.
"Christophe!" Ike calls, following me.
"Go away, leettle Canadian preeck."
"No! What's wrong with you?"
"Fuck 'ou." I'm not revealing any more information about myself. Who knows who might be listening as I speak? Just as the boy in front of me had been doing. "I bueelt a fuckeeng underground cave. Be 'appy wiz 'at you 'ave."
"Damn, Mole, you're a dick." Maybe I am a bad influence. Ah who gives a shit? If I wasn't here Damien and Cartman would be their influence. And if they turned out as demonic killing machines, not my fault.
"Zzjust s'ut ze fuck up beetch." I snarl, glaring behind me at him.
"What happened to you? You used to be nice. Now you're just a dick." Maybe I'm not such a bad influence. He only seems to know one insult.
"Times change, und people change wiz zem."
"Not as much as you have in the past few years. I don't care if you have amnesia, you'd still have your old personality! What the hell is wrong with you? You used to care, you used to protect. Yeah, you killed people constantly, but you never basked in it. And you weren't so cruel to people. you never shut anyone out!"
"Agaeen, times change, und people change wiz zem."
"Not this drastically!"
"I've always 'ad an exaggerated personaleety."
"Mole!" He whines, and I know what he's trying to do, but I don't care. I hid for years. I'm not going back into hiding. Christophe DeLorne will never return. The Mole is the only remnants of that hidden man.
And yes I'm talking about myself in the third person. I really don't care anymore.
He walks forward, trying to catch up with me. I push my hand forward, stopping him in his tracks by instincts. Either the British fag really is a fast trainer, or Ike is a fast learner.
"Just shut ze fuck up." And then I walk away. And the next thing I know, I'm digging a tunnel home.
Damien's P.O.V.
A snap of my fingers. A blink of an eye. A word from my mouth. A thought in my head. Any of these things, and I could kill every man in this room. But if I did, it would completely ruin the plan. And then La Resistance, the last threat to the United Federation Under Cartman, would win. And then, my father would be extremely angry. And by my father, I mean his new boyfriend. Vladimir Putin. He's the only person in any dimension that I'm actually afraid of. My father keeps asking God for another favor like Sadaam Hussein, because the dictator won't leave him alone and keeps mentally torturing him (Remind you of anyone?).
I have no idea how you mentally torture the ruler of Hell, but my father is an imbecile.
"Get me Cartman." I say, finally breaking the silence. The soldier practically jumps at the sound of my voice.
"You're supposed to call him Lord Cartman."
"No, I'm not supposed to call him anything. We are partners," I hate that word. "And we share the same title. Therefore I can call him whatever I want. Never call me out on anything ever again, or I'll ensure that my father deals with you personally." He gives a confused expression, at my glare.
"You're father?" I feel the flames in my eyes burn brighter, as I hear his tone. Uncaring, uninterested.
"The Prince of Darkness. The King of the Dead. The Lord of the Flames. The Red Devil. The Devil. Satan. Lucifer." I scowl, at the laughter in his eyes.
"Yeah sure kid." And I make use of the power that burns like a bonfire inside of me, watching his skin boil, as his skull engulfs into flame. His eyes fade into smoke, a wax like substance dripping down his face. Brain fragments fall onto the ground, as he falls backwards, shattering his skull. And then his remaining bone turns to dusk, leaving only blood, skin, and melted eyes on the ground.
The guard standing next to us doesn't say a word, doesn't even look at the dust and blood on the ground. Thank Satan for people who are definitely going to the underground dimension.
"Did you get that?" My voice is calm. I share his obvious feelings on the, now deceased guard. Neither of us really care.
"Yes sir." He doesn't look at me. I find that as a sign of respect. He doesn't look behind him as he leaves. He's a good soldier.
My eyes stray to the blood-splattered wall as he takes his leave. Cartman had insisted that it be in concrete (I have no idea why he's obsessed with this material. Brick would have been just fine, but he is melodramatic). The blood suits it really well.
Even mold grows in some corners of the room, and I made sure that it is never to be cleaned. We cannot show the dead any respect, or else we'll be destroying our own purpose. To torture one man physically in such a fashion in front of another, would be the same as torturing the other mentally. As cruel as human beings can be (though, I shouldn't be one to talk), they do seem to hate when a dying soul is set in front of them. Though, they forget just as easily as they remember.
My father once told me how over time, the human mind will and can chose to completely forget horrifying memories. Their own minds will repress said memories, to keep the protected person safe. That's why Hell is an efficient torture filled land. We make them forget. Because once someone forgets, they don't know what's coming for them next.
Karen McCormick has a repressed memory. A day after the death of her father, she completely forgot. All she knows is that she has an alliance with me, and only me.
And I'm raising her quite efficiently. In the past seven months, she's gained a healthy respect for torture. She's learned to manipulate. She's learned to kill. She's learned to maim. I've taught her of the fire, and of my father. I've told her of what awaits her after the war, if she follows all of my instructions.
My favorite part? When a human being is put through an extremely traumatizing event for an extremely long time, their entire lives are repressed. I cannot explain it, but they seem to have a skill for it. Forgetting is part of the human nature. She suffers this condition.
"How do you do that?" Karen asks, from the shadows in the corner of the room.
"What?" I ask, awaiting her response for several seconds.
"His face, it melted. How do you do that?"
"Even if many don't seem to care, I am the Anti-Christ. I do have Satanic abilities." It's strange. I don't know why people in this dimension seem to not realize that Satan's son would have Satanic powers. I've always guessed that the people on Earth are as stupid as the Angels in Heaven.
She doesn't respond, merely steps back into the shadow before His fatness himself enters the room. "What the fuck do you want, Damien?" Cartman snaps, not even looking at me. I wonder how he's not dead from a blood clot yet. Most likely my father's work.
"I found the next land to take over." I say, raising an eyebrow at his angry expression. That expression morphs into a smug one.
"What is it?"
"China."
"What? Those assholes? Why them?" He whines.
"A billion people live in China. If we can control all of them, we'll be able to take over Russia. We'll have enough firepower to take over the rest of the planet. We just have to rally the troops."
"Fine, do it."
"I'll send my protégé to England, and I'll go to France. You have to get everyone in the States, Mexico, and Canada prepared." I explain.
"How come I have to do most of the work?" I hate his voice so much.
"Because, you'll get a reward." I say in a seductive tone. I don't think it worked very well. It sounds more like the voice I use for prisoners in Hell. I can see his Adams apple bob for a second, before he nods. He leaves the room before he's able to say anything else.
Short conversations with him are my second favorite conversations with him. My favorite? When we don't have conversations.
No one trusts me, or understands my judgments do they? They don't realize that maybe, just maybe, Damien Thorn knows what he's talking about. Because I do. I've led Hell for a while, King of Darkness in everything but title.
I brought Hell back from the dead days. The days of my father's complete rule. I managed to steal control from him right under his nose. And now, I have the opportunity to gain the title of King of Darkness. If I can take Earth, the universe will be at my fingertips.
I'll be able to overthrow Heaven, and Purgatory. And I'll finally be able to shut up those happy-go-lucky Mormons.
"Do I do that too? Fake actual care?" Karen asks. She's a much stronger child than she used to be. As a tribute to every movie ever, I forced her to wear completely black clothing every second of every day. And I trained her to send a bullet between someone's eye from two hundred feet away.
"No, this bastard is just special." I say, watching her step out from the corner of the room.
Half of her face is scorched, teared beyond recognition. Dark circles line her eyes, which are too old for her age. The bottom of her hair is burnt to a crisp. On her arm, hidden by her clothing, is a symbol I branded onto her he first day of her apprenticeship. A pentagram. The universal symbol of evil and Hell. The universal symbol of Damien Thorn.
"Has he been behaving?" I say, staring at the wall.
"He's one of them. None of them behave." It's true. They'd shoot someone in the eye before revealing a single secret. That's what makes them such fun.
"Have you done exactly as I told you to do?" My voice is monotone.
"Yes. His only response was 'You should talk to Kenny'." I scowl at the response.
"Who's next on the list?"
"Someone named Ike Brofloski." She responds. I'm glad that I forced her to memorize it. She raises an eyebrow at my smirk.
"Cross him off, and replace him with Tweek Tweak. Then kill that kid. Tell Cartman I'm off to France. When you're done, go to England and rally the troops. It's time to take what's rightfully mine." It's time to take back Earth. It's time to become the bringer of the apocalypse. The Harbinger of Doom.
"Why him?"
"He's a paranoid fool. He doesn't understand the word secrecy," A ghost of a smile appears on my lips. Tweek Tweak, the destroyer of La Resistance. It has a nice ring to it. "Now get your coat on, and get to work." And that smile dissipates as I close my eyes. All of the blood in my body rushes to my feet, working its way up as my body exits the headquarters.
Teleportation is my favorite of powers. In ten seconds flat, I open my eyelids and the land around me has changed. Instead of concrete walls, I face wide open spaces. Instead of blood stained floors I'm met with guards on every street corner. One of the guards notices my arrival. He tries to stop me. When I close my eyes again, he's lost the ability to do so. Platypus(es?) don't have the ability to operate guns.
The other guards leave me alone. Only half of them know who I am. The others end up as particles of dust.
"Take me to the Prime Minister." I snarl at one of them. He nods, glancing at the piles of dust on the ground. He doesn't hesitate.
"Rally them."
"It's not that easy, we have to prepare the army. Then we have to get them all equipped, and recruit new soldiers. The new ones have to be trained. We need everyone across the country on high alert of any attacks. War is a complicated process, Damien." The Prime Minister smirks.
"Shut up and do it." Demons can be annoying. Demons that you make Prime Minister of France are even more annoying. I'm beginning to doubt this plan.
"Why so cross?"
"Why do you think? Tell father to rally his army. We are going to take China, whether you can join or not," I say. "And if we do lose, guess who's paying the price?" This time I smirk. She visibly winces.
"You wouldn't do that. You like me too much."
"I've never liked you."
"Why not?"
"Because you've been scheming to steal the throne from under my nose since you were two years old, Scar. I'm not an idiot. On the contrary, I'm smarter than you'll ever be. Because I'm the older one." Her playful expression turns into a scowl, at my words.
"Think what you want, I'm very happy with what I have. Take that from me, brother, and you'll see my wrath."
"And you mine." I don't direct any malice in my voice, or even the slightest hint of worry. Merely indifference. She doesn't understand, but this isn't her purpose. Her purpose is to be a pawn for the plan. And oh what a pawn she shall be. She'll make a rather interesting corpse, watching over the battle field for all eternity.
I'd bet my immortal soul that even Kenny McCormick could defeat her, if he truly wanted to.
"You know, the French are becoming wary. They think that you're too weak to lead them. You and your fat little boyfriend."
"Currere, Scarus. Run along before I get really angry." I growl. It's not the protrail of Carman that pissed me off in such a fashion. It's the fact that she considers him my boyfriend. I'd die before ever going near that Fatass again. Sadly, I have to. Every man, woman, child, and Demon in Hell must make sacrifices in this war. We must sacrifice for the end of all wars. The War of the End Time.
"I know you're there." I call out into the darkness. I'm granted no response. I scowl, eyes darknening in anger. No one, and I repeat no one, chooses not to respond to me. "Show yourself. Now." I keep my voice calm and collected.
"You'd like that wouldn't you." The voice is unplaceable. For a second, I question why an Englishman is in France when the borders are closed off. Then I realize he must have been stuck here.
"Who are you?"
"Why do you have to know," He stops himself before he can continue. I can hear the amusement in his tone.
"Because you are going to tell me."
"Tell you 'at, Damien?"
"Who you are."
"No, I don't think I will." I follow his voice with my eyes. Something moves in the corner of the burning orbs. I swing around, just in time to catch the spade of a shovel being pulled back.
"Mole." I say instantly. And just like that he steps out of the shadow. A scowl is in place on his pale face.
"Good to see 'ou agaeen, beetch." He says, eyes glinting with boredom.
"How has your little team been progressing? Any new recruits?"
"I 'as on my 'ay to peeck 'un up as we speak." I know he's lying. I've known him too long not to know how to tell the difference between his truths and his lies.
"How's the English bastard?"
"Bettaire zen 'ou could evairre 'ope to be." He responds immediately. The scowl on his face morphs into a smirk. I don't stray from my own expression.
"So he controls five different countries, two major superpowers?"
"Non. But 'e 's sources zat do. You really zink zat 'e're ze only 'uns zat aren't goeeng to let you take over our contreees. Zink again. Every mercenary een ze world ees agaeenst you. Every country, citizen, mercenary, ceeval rights acteevest, everyun. We're goeeng to stop you. And on zat date, I'll 'ave your 'ead on a steeck."
"What date?"
"You'd like to know zat 'ouldn't you."
"Yes, Chris', I would."
"Well zen. You seem to be completely screwed."
"Cocksucker." I smirk.
"You should be talkeeng."
"No one asked you, Moley."
"And no un asked for an eveel deectator and ze Anti-Christ to take ovairre ze 'orld. Eet seems like no un's getteeng 'at zey 'ant today, huh? 'Ell eet 'as great seeing you again, but I zink at I 'ave to go."
"Really? I was kind of hoping you'd stay and burn with your mother." His half-smile doesn't fade.
"She's dead? Zank you. I'd been 'opeeng to get onto zat, but I never seemed to 'ave enough time," The corner of my mouth twitches into a frown. He laughs, digging his shovel into the concrete ground. "'Ell goodbye monsieur. I 'ope zat I nevairre 'ave to see 'ou agaeen." I let him leave, not making oine move against him.
The frown lingers on my lips for the next few days.
You have no idea what's coming Mole. No one does.
A/N
Uh... sorry for the long wait. I just have very demanding teachers this year, that think that their students don't have lives. Wait a second... I don't.
I have a specific date for the next update, and I'm leaving myself enough time to edit it, fix it, and make it awesome. It'll be in about 29 days. (Dodges rocks thrown by readers).
I'll go now. Before you can kill me.
RK