IC: Fresh Meat

[paradigm]

(A brief portion of my post happens in Stream of Consciousness, I’m not sure if I captured it properly, but I gave it a shot *shrug*)

“I’m frightened,” She was breathless.

“I’ll not force you, Thisbe.” His hands caressed her; no place upon her was left untouched.

“Please, be gentle…” Her body was aflame with passion. His fingertips danced along her inner thighs and, despite her request, her undergarments were unlaced and removed before she could part her lips.

She gasped.

His fingers were everywhere; she could hardly catch a breath. Her breasts heaved with the effort and she laid back looking up at him, her eyes shimmering with the fires of lust. Thisbe gnawed on her lower lip before opening herself to him. She blushed, the crimson flesh spreading down her neck and through her breasts.

With a grunt he entered her and Thisbe screamed as warmth flooded out of her form. Was it supposed to hurt like this? Surely not! Were the pain always this unbearable no woman could stand it. Choking on her sobs, Thisbe pushed and thrashed beneath Pyramus, but every movement yielded a white hot pain.

Gods, it was warm down there as well...blood, was it blood.  The colors of the leaves…they weren’t green anymore…red…it wasn’t time for the leaves to change…oh gods the pain…Pyramus had brought her roses once…but they weren’t this red…her head felt light…the world was floating…Pyramus hadn’t moved…was this what it was like…momma said that papa liked to go then sleep Pyramus wouldn’t move the leaves were red something behind Pyramus her tongue tasted like iron pain wasn’t so bad anymore when Pyramus got up she would go home and red leaves have dinner with momma behind Pyramus a monster momma said monsters don’t exist red leaves…momma.

~*~
   
Her screams might have alerted the rest of the village as to his presence, but fear was not a companion Abaddon walked with. Placing a large boot upon the corpse’s cheek, Abaddon wrench his axe free from betwixt the entwined bodies. The blade had torn through flesh and bone as though it were nothing more than paper, but the force with which Abaddon had rendered the blow had made pulling it free a difficult task. The bodies had been split down the center from the navel down…the stench was overpowering.

With a low booming chuckle, Abaddon wiped his axe clean on the shoulder of the deceased man. Hefting the massive blade over his shoulder, the berserker rolled his neck in preparation for the massacre to come. The menacing helm atop his head bobbed left and right as though the large creature were amused by the sight of the sleeping city. Lights had clicked on in random patches, no doubt wakened by the scream.

Dark hazel eyes peered out from behind the confines of his helm. In the distance he could see the guards belonging to the Night Watch rushing to the scene. Abaddon watched them with amusement, when lips parted to cry at him his massive war-axe split them at the corners as it hurdled through the air, through the flesh, through the bone and through the guard’s brain.  

Throwing his shoulders back, Abaddon laughed malevolently. Each resounding boom carried a bolt of fear that buried itself deep in every guards chest, wriggling it’s way inside their form, fighting down and down, past their hearts, up their spine and into their bladder.  The guard’s comrades, though frightened, were smart enough to bet on superior number and launched an attack at the, now unarmed, Abaddon.

Reaching out with a massive hand, the Abaddon pulled a spearhead from the air and snapped it off. Sharp wood dug into his flesh splintering against his thick hide. The spear head was more than the Abaddon needed to dispatch the small patrol.  Driving the steel point into the collarbone of the spear-less guard, Abaddon smiled beneath the monstrous helm.

For him death meant life. Wrenching the souls of the living from their bodies gave him a purpose it was like he was home again, fighting with the Legion. The Abyss, oh how he missed the carnage. The blood, the gore, the pain, the fire! The thought of turning this plane into his own personal abyss pushed him onwards and he turned his attention to the four remaining guards in his vicinity.

He could smell their fear; it trickled down their legs, hot and salty. Dropping the spear head to the ground, Abaddon dropped his arms to his sides and stalked onwards towards dead men.

[Vorsoth]

Dark, malevolent energy coursed through the veins of the earth and sky, giving everyone a feeling of foreboding anxiety. The town’s main entrance was protected by guardsman, and they were tense as the dark figure moved closer to them. His scythe was held in hand as he approached the gated entrance,  two stepped in front of it to bar his entrance.

“There’s a situation within the town, and we’re not allowing outsiders to come in right now, so please turn around and find the next town.”.

The man’s dark eyes began to glimmer a bit, darting between the pair of guards. He was a figure of perfect stillness, his breathing calm, relaxed. Slowly a smirk began to split his lips, one that gave his almost beautiful face a look of dark, sadistic rage. Without so much as a warning, his scythe cleaved an arc through the air, tearing one of the guard’s upper torso from his waist. In the next moment Vorsoth used the spear type blade at the end of the scythe’s hilt, punching a hole through the back of the second man’s neck. He wrenched his weapon away from the guard, causing blood to spurt around him in the air.

Then he stepped forward, holding his scythe off to the side in his left hand. His right hand rhythmically opened and closed, balling a fist then opening, balling a fist then opening. Dark energy crackled around his fist for a moment, before he pulled it back and swiftly slammed it into one of the gates. The wooden structure was blown off it’s hinges and cartwheeled through the streets, colliding with a group of small children.

“Oh honey! I’m home!’’.

Dark, sadistic glee carried through in his voice, as he walked through the streets. His scythe cleaved bloody arcs in the air, seeming almost to rip the fabric of reality itself, cleaving women, children, fathers, grandmothers in half at a whim. Some lost their heads, others found themselves without limbs, before the spear end of the scythe was thrust through the neck, back, or even skull. A man on horseback challenged Vorsoth to battle, rushing forward and preparing to spear the demon through the heart. Vorsoth stepped forward, first swinging the scythe vertically to cleave the spear in half, then as the man rushed by on his horse, swinging around and swinging horizontally. The horses back legs were severed from it’s body,  the horse screaming in pain as it fell forward and launched the rider headfirst into a flaming torch.

But that was when Vorsoth realized something, there were people dying that he hadn’t killed! Someone was taking the town he’d begun rampaging, and what nerve they had for it. This just wasn’t going to do at all. Vorsoth reached out to grab a girl of about nine from off the street, where she lay cowering, digging his talons into her face as she screamed bloody murder. Eventually her skull cracked, and Vorsoth tossed her limp body off to the side as he continued to hunt for the unknown assailant.

Finally his eyes fell upon the other, some brute with a big axe. Vorsoth grinned a bit, watching the man even as he parried a blow from his sword by catching it across the shaft of his scythe. Swinging the scythe with the blade parallel to the ground, he cleaved the warrior in half and walked over the remains.

“You! What are you doing here? You must be the little problem the guards told me about, that means you’re the competition.

[paradigm]

Whoever the fool was, the Abaddon had no intention of granting him his full attention; there was slaughter to be done and not much time to do it in. And competition? Such an idea was absurd to him, a creature who maimed, slaughtered, murdered and devoured for joy did not really view the world in a win/lose perspective.

“ Annoy someone else, insect!” he bellowed, turning his attention to the fresh batch of militia that were slowly making their way up the street. They stood shoulder to shoulder in a uniformed formation.

“Good, GOOD! Come little children, all in a line, the Abaddon will take that bothersome flesh off your bones! Mwueh  ha ha ha!”

His enormous war-axe still buried deep into the earth and stained with gore and flesh, hungered for more, but Abaddon had no intention of using his blade. No, he wanted to feel the bones turn to dust, to feel the warmth engulf his hand, to look into their eyes as they died and, in that last fleeting moment when they looked for the light of the gods, he would show them hell and the wretched cries of agony would fulfill him.

These men were better trained than the ones he had previously faced. They moved as one unit, never breaking rank and never letting their shields down. He stalked towards them; he was not a predator eyeing his prey, but a child eyeing his toys. They were careful to defend one another, when one lashed out with a spear his comrade defended him; the pretty soldiers all in a row.

A mirthless chuckle filled the air. Such tactics were excellent in war, indeed he had witnessed many maneuvers during his time with the Barbed Legion, but they were only useful if the enemy was wary of being struck. Lowering his shoulder, Abaddon charged, head first, into the shield wall. Spear heads glanced off his armor and broke beneath his monstrous grip and like children they screamed then he laid his hands on them.

There is a distinct sound when a limb is ripped off the body, it does not tear and it most certainly does not break; it pops.

“Let’s find out which of you pops the loudest!” These men felt true fear and they died in agony.

[paradigm]

[The essence that surrounded him was something both foreign and familiar, something from another life and yet still his own. Blood stained his flesh and bits of gore clung to the edges of his armor and helm. The axe, still fixed within the earth, was growing restless; it wanted blood, flesh, and agony. The Abaddon threw his head back and let loose a ferocious howl, he was far from done with this village, or so he thought.

Then he felt it. Like an amputee’s phantom pain he could feel it gnawing at him, insisting that it was still a part of him. But it couldn’t be, for the power he felt to be back in this realm…surely he would have heard of it, unless that certain being was sending him, and very few others, a message.

Abaddon lowered his head to the blood soaked earth, his body crumpling beneath him in a heap of muscled flesh, it was not yet time. This form, it was far too weak to greet his master, it was far too weak to truly serve his god. Nevertheless, the call had come and The Paradigm would obey.

But what of the village?

Yes, there was still much to be done in the village. Still so many bones to snap, flesh to tear, blood to taste. It mattered not, his god had called; it was time and he would answer that call by tearing the world asunder. He was bound to weak flesh, but it was meaningless, he was duty bound to answer the call. Despite the mortal husk that contained him, his was the spirit of a greater being,

So it was that Abaddon rose to his full imposing height and grasped his war axe. With slow laborious steps he tore himself away from the slaughter, mayhem and euphoric madness that were to be had and trudged onward towards his new destination: to Eden, where the world would shudder yet again from the glory that he was to bestow upon it.

[Vorsoth]

Hefting his large club over his shoulder, he watched as the man began tearing the soldiers apart. He grinned to himself, reveling in the glorious bloodshed all before him. But then the man stopped as if being struck by something, then began to move away from the crowd as if he were on a mission. That’s when he realized he felt something stirring as well, eyes narrowed as he felt himself pulled towards the source, the same path as the man.

But even as he walked by a soldier reached out to grab him, and was rewarded with the club that launched him into a wall. He wasn’t sure what he was being called for, but he could tell that it’s goals were the same as his own and that was absolute mayhem and bloodshed.