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 Demon

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Wraith
Lady Illusion
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Female Number of posts : 2116
Age : 29
Location : CrazyTown. It exists. Really. It Does.

PostSubject: Demon   Sat Jul 07, 2007 7:03 am

Her scream rent the air, piercing the murky darkness surrounding her. The cry of anguish, longing, disbelief and utter grief touched the souls of those that stood nearby, close enough to appear concerned, but further enough so as not to disturb the grieving widow.

She knelt amongst the leaves, the blood pooling around her knees, staining her skirt a dark reddish brown. She dimly felt the tears that ran freely down her cheeks and only vaguely registered her own screams. Her body, her entire soul felt numb from the incredible weight that was grief that weighed down her very existence. She screamed once again, not letting anyone, whether friend or not, near her dead husband.

She fought, kicking and screaming as she felt hands come to carry her bodily away from her husband’s prone, dead figure. She bit and scratched at her assailants, their gently prying hands seeming too rough for her to handle in her fragile state. If she was listening, she would have caught one of her attackers curse under his breath as one of her finger nails raked his arm, taking skin.

“Get her out of here!” yelled Kain Silver. He watched; disturbed as his sister was carried away, her screams of anger and betrayal ringing in his ears. He shook his head, raking a hand through his thick, wavy shoulder-length hair, the dark chestnut a startling contrast to the outstanding hue of his piercing green eyes. He looked down to the man’s body and once again shook his head. Taking a deep breath he drew his sword, Slayer.

At his movement the clearing around him suddenly emptied of the curious onlookers that had clustered about when they heard that one of their fellow villagers had been killed. He took another deep breath and swept the area with his penetrating gaze. Making sure that the clearing was indeed emptied of all potential victims, or hindrances.
He raised Slayer, the tip pointing towards the dead man’s heart. He stilled, Slayer poised over the dead man’s body, hanging as if it were Damocles’ Sword itself. Kain quietly stood for what seemed an eternity, gathering the strength he would need to do this grisly task. He closed his eyes for a breath, listening to the silence that rung in his ears now that there were no living beings left in the clearing.

Including him.

Once again he took a deep pull of air, praying beneath his breath to be saved from his duty, this most sacred of duties that no-one but he could perform, but knowing that his prayer would only be answered if he were the soul to be sent to oblivion this day, and not the one whose heart Slayer was aimed at.

He screamed as he abruptly brought the sword down, bearing onto the husband’s heart. His muscles shrieked in protest as he brought the blade down with all of the considerable strength he possessed.

The screech that left his mouth was something between a scream of anger and a wail of a thousand dying men. Of those who heard this sound, the pure power that emitted from his open mouth; the living would shudder and a chill would settle deep into their bones, so deep that they would fear for their lives for everyday that they continued to live, for if they ever heard that sound again, they would then know that their time in this world had now ended. The dead would turn over in their graves and dread the sound that could pull them into true oblivion and never let their eternal souls rest, left to wander and suffer their otherworldly torment terribly silently, without any hope of being saved or pitied.

It seemed to take an eternity for the Slayer’s point to reach her destination. Kain’s scream of torment rang through the clearing, and just as her point pierced the dead man’s skin, his eyes opened.

With a groan only the dead could make, his eyes snapped wide and he screamed. His eyes took on an unearthly glow and his hand came up automatically to stop Slayer’s progress, grabbing her by the blade. Her sharp edge bit into his dead flesh, but he paid no heed, he was dead now. Pain meant nothing to him, but oblivion did.

Daryl Cross looked into his brother-in-law’s green eyes and snarled. There was no other way to describe the sound he made. His otherworldly eyes stared deep into Kain’s and he began to slowly push Slayer away from his vulnerable unbeating heart.

Damn, thought Kain, I shouldn’t have waited so long. Kain strained against him, pushing Slayer downward, grunting with the effort. Why did the undead have to become so strong? His own extraordinary strength pushed Slayer inexorably downwards again; Daryl grunting with the unexpected effort of having to fight for his life, again.

Kain shrieked once again and gave a last almighty shove downwards, Slayer bit clean through Daryl’s un-dead skin and travelled smoothly straight through his un-beating heart. Kain Silver’s brother-in-law’s eyes opened wide as he registered the only pain the un-dead could feel, the pain of being sent into true oblivion. He opened his mouth wide so that he could howl with disbelief as he finally began to go, his soul leaving his body once and for all, left to wander the Half-Realm alongside all those before him that had tasted the blade of Slayer and her master, Kain.

“Rosa!” was the last word that Daryl Cross would ever utter in this realm. The name of his only love, of the one that had loved him back; the one word that, in this instant of endless time, had any remote meaning to him. Kain watched and listened, all sympathy for the dying soul removed from his own, he had seen this scene too many times in his seemingly endless life to have anymore pity for the truly dead.

He watched the un-dead glint slowly die out of the eyes of the man he had just run through, he straightened and slowly pulled Slayer from her grisly resting place and wiped her blade clean of the still warm red liquid that clung stubbornly to her. He walked softly to Daryl’s head and bent over to move it to the side. He grunted without surprise when he saw the two small, still fresh puncture wounds on his neck. On reflex, he raised his hand and absently touched his own neck, right over the two puncture marks that mirrored the ones on the dead man before him, where they were hidden from view beneath the upturned collar of his long coat.

_________________
I clawed my way back from the depths of Hell
just to piss you off
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